Wrestling Universe

iMPACT 11

I do not own any of the characters, people, or events involved that are associated with either ROH, WWE, TNA, and independent rights. This series is a writing exercise for myself and posted for those that wish to read.

"We are here tonight on iMPACT!" Announced Don West.

"Yeah." Nathan murmured.

"This isn't Raw, so I wouldn't act so down. Our main event tonight is a battle royal featuring each of the contenders in the fatal-four-way match; including the men they defeated to get that shot at the title!"

"Should be a ra-ra night."

"Ra-ra? What?" Don was perplexed by Nathan's lack of enthusiasm. "You need to get your head back in the game because up first is a match that will determine who it is going to Raw iMPACT to face off against Chyna."

"That bitch had pushed her way into a contender match for the new title to be unveiled at Night of Hell." Nathan stated, "Santino or Natalya, either of them might make it to the supershow, but only one of them will face Goldust at the pay-per-view if they can also beat that back-stabbing bitch."

"Tension is high here tonight, well, let's get ready for the next match."

Feeling the weight of his last chance at a free contender match, Santino paraded out to the stage a little more subtle than he usually would have. He was threatened by the owner that if he could not win the new title, he would not be allowed to partake in any more championship bouts until he proved himself by climbing the ladder of a champion to the top. He was sure this time would be different, but that's only because his opponents were women. As Santina, he had defeated them many times before, but now he was forced to do it as Santino.

He climbed into the ring just as his opponent, Natalya Neidhart, came out to an enthusiastic crowds response. Her manager, Jimmy Hart, accompanied her with Bret Hart standing just left of him. Bret had seen how Santino Marella treated women, and if the excellence of execution had anything to do with it, he wasn't going to do the same to Natalya.

She stepped into the ring ready as ever to try her look at a possible title shot. Once the bell rang, she found herself victim of Santino's joking criticism -- insults only he would find funny. She struck him with a elbow smash as a response to his sexist antics.

She whipped her opponent horizontally across the ring and readied herself to grasp him for a german suplex upon return. He lean against the ropes and clung tightly to them, muting Natalya's advances. Instead of letting him humiliate her, Natalya charged and spun Santino over the top rope like a ferris wheel. He toppled onto himself, smacking his ass against the mats on the outer floor. He looked mortified that he had been dropped by a woman, but he pulled himself together -- and up onto his feet -- and returned to the ring. She was only eager to greet him with a snap suplex.

Santino was now Natalya's bitch. She pushed him onto his ass after he had tried to force his weight onto her. He brushed himself off, chortling in disbelief that he could be defeated by a woman, a Neidhart at that. Natalya responded by jumping onto his back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and thighs around his torso. Santino was quickly brought down in the rear naked choke.

He started to screech, then gasp, then slowly he began to tire. Moving slower and as lazily as a salted slug. He would soon lose the match if he could not manage to hold strong and fight back.

"Santino, in a very precarious situation," Don West commented. "Wait, he's getting up!"

"Well, there might still be some fight left in this hunk of waste after all." Nathan sighed, uninterested with the match.

Santino carried the weight of his opponent, the slender natalya being pulled up higher onto his back so that he could slowly rise up, his arms hooking around her legs and feet moving backward until he managed to fall back and slam his opponent to the canvas. Santino remained on top of his opponent until the pin count was final. Santino had won.

The victory was surprising to almost everyone in attendance, most of all to Bret Hart who had immediately darted into the ring to ensure Santino did not continue his come-back assault. He was happy to see Santino care more about celebrated loudly and with as many trumpet expressions and marching motions than to fight with Natalya any longer. They removed her from the ring and returned to the back as Santino absorbed in the idea of getting another chance to a title shot.

Standing in the ring, after a short intermission, was the team of Brandon Powers and James -- the latter with a microphone. The crowds were joined together in a display of derogatory chants, booing, some cheering, but their rebellious opinions were silenced by the deafening response to the rising heels in the ring.

James let out a slight breath into the microphone, as if to say something, but the crowds were only encouraged to heighten the volume of their persisting jeers.

Brandon scratched the side of his head and took matters into his own hands -- his free hand. He grabbed the microphone from his darker-clothed partner and shouted to the audience for silence.

"Shut up!" He spat. "Do you not see the stars of this business are trying to talk?"

"Shut your poverty-stricken mouths." James said, taking another microphone from a crew member. "What we have to say is not intended for the ears of common-folk-scum like you."

"That's right, so if you don't want to hear any of this, then why don't you drown your brain cells in more alcohol at the stands?" Brandon intervened, then turned to the stage and spoke, "Bret Hart, Harry Smith or David Hart Smith, whatever you want to think your name is, and the weird thing that looks like a robot, we told you that tonight would be the night we rid you of your title opportunities!"

"See, we're reaching the stars -- if we haven't surpassed them already -- and you're just a blip in the cosmos, but in order to reach our goal, rocketing to the titles and super-fame, we need to destroy that tiny pink blip."

"Also, this goes out to Legacy and the other two fools that think they're too big for us; we've surpassed you, we have no fear of Orton or Legacy and no fear of the ever monotonous Chris Jericho." James threatened, "so know this: To whom ever walks out the tag champions after tonight, Team Rocket will hunt you down. We'll be waiting in the wings!" James expressed his words with his hands, "Like a Tiger on a deer! With the cloven hoof and the broken arm!"

"You know," Bret Hart interrupted with David Hart Smith and Tyson Kidd behind him. "I'm getting pretty tired of hearing you two run your mouths. Everything out of you two has been nothing but a complaint or a threat."

"Yeah, whatever Bret. Go limp to the back, little princess, we got big boy business to do." James spat.

"You know, If I was in top shape, I'd come down there and beat you two myself, but I'm confident that David and Tyson here can do it better than I could."

"You want to fight, Bret?" James leaned against the ropes, a wide grin forming from ear to ear. "Is that it? You itching to get back in after Jericho wiped the canvas with you?"

"If you can call that a match, it has nothing to do with this. It's going to be the Hart Dynasty that walks out the contenders for the Universal Tag Team Titles, and if you two loudmouths think that you're going to be able to stop that, then maybe you should come back down to Earth." Bret responded.

"But Bret," James pouted, "I want you in this ring, so bad. Get in the ring, please? Pretty please? With a mountain of screw-balls on top?" He teased, "I'm not gonna' screw ya' Bret. You seem like you're itching to get in here, why don't we just put off the tag match so you and I can settle this man-to-cripple."

Bret just stared, standing in disbelief at the incredible lack of respect in the young men. He started for the curtain as David Hart Smith and Tyson Kidd stepped down the aisle, turning back only once to say one last word toward the youngsters, "you know what? I'll take you on, James, but it won't be here, and it won't be at Night of Hell."

"Whatever," James sighed. "Bret walks out and we have to deal with these two clowns?" he dropped the microphone and turned back to his partner, "bored now."

Kept silent in anger and respect to their uncle, Tyson and David now had their chance to deal with the situation the way they wished it could have been dealt with. Kicking the crap out of the two disrespectful bunches of garbage in the tag match. Eager to do so, David Hart Smith entered the ring first and it would be him who started the match against Brandon Powers.

Tyson climbed up to the rim of the ring, waiting in the corner for when his partner needed him. He could see James sudden lack of enthusiasm after Bret left the arena and thoughts of a quick victory started to sneak into his mind. He just hoped David could deal with Brandon quick, tag him in, then he would pummel both idiots to the ground.

No one disrespects the Hart Foundation!

Brandon and David locked arms, both trying to over power the other into a maneuver. They pushed back against one another and David Hart Smith steamrolled Powers into the canvas with a rough, hard-hitting clothesline. Brandon was back up quickly though, he was just as tough and could hit just as hard as the top tier wrestlers.

He gathered himself and wiped the taste of the canvas off his moist lips. Brandon Powers dodged an arm drag and pulled up David Hart Smith, transitioning quickly into a russion leg drop and then a cover.

Only a two-count. The match was still on.

Brandon swore at the ref, then reacted to the failed pin by beating the back of his opponent's head against the white canvas, pulling out what little hair David Hart Smith still had in the process. He then threw himself off and turned toward James, still slumped in the corner with a face like a depressed puppy. Brandon decided to endure until he could get his partner inspired once again to fight in the match.

Just as he turned, reaching down to grab his opponent, he noticed Hart was no longer laying before him. He had lunged toward his corner like a frog nearly a foot away and made a desperate tag toward Tyson Kidd.

He was thrown off balance, falling like a pile of tumbling bricks after a hasty dropkick from the fresh entry. Tyson was pumped, ready to rock, fight, and ready to teach these punks a lesson in respect.

Tyson rolled up his opponent into a small package, but the quick cover didn't make it past one. He latched onto Brandon Power's boots and began to fold them like a warm pretzel, twisting and turning them into the famous Sharpshooter submission hold. It caught the attention of Brandon's partner, finally.

He lunged through the ropes to kick Tyson off his partner. James then threw Tyson down and pulled his partner back to the corner so that they could make an easy tag.

Now the legal man in, James turned his side toward Tyson. The Hart was finding his footing after having been violently torn off his opponent. Once he turned his body to continue the fight, locating his opponent, he was met with a high impact smack to the face. James used the finishing maneuver of the very man he had also been trying desperately to torment and battle: Shawn Michaels. With the Sweet Chin Music successful, James covered Tyson for a full three count and quickly they retreated out of the ring before David Smith could charge in to retaliate.

"What a shame," said Don West. "The Harts fought valiantly, but the ever persistence of these two have come through in the end."

"The Harts have been doing nothing but losing lately. Perhaps it wouldn't be right to give a man like James a match with the likes of David Hart Smith." Nathan pondered to himself, "if I change the match to him versus Natalya? I wouldn't mind seeing that bitch get hammered."

"What?!" Don West exclaimed. "Have you had your crazy flakes today?"

With the Harts gone, James rolled himself back into the ring with his partner climbing in and then demanded a microphone. James then sat up atop the lower-right turn post, facing the commentary tables -- more specifically he was focusing his eyes on the owner.

"I want Bret Hart." Said James.

"Bret Hart?" Nathan said to himself, thinking aloud. "Is he serious?" He then stood up, borrowing a microphone from the ring announcer next to him.

"I want him. I want Bret! Give him to me! I want him at Night of Hell!" James persisted like a greedy, spoiled child begging.

"Your match is with David Hart Smith, though. You know Bret isn't a wrestler here." Nathan said, confused why the man had such a sudden obsession with the legend.

"Oh Nathan, when has that stopped Ric Flair, Chris Jericho, and anyone else that forces him into this predicament?"

"Well, for one, Flair is an old man, like Bret. They were evenly matched, not just in age, but in the fact that Flair has about as much in ring talent as a boulder," the Owner explained. "Why do you want Bret Hart? I understand that the new Hart Foundation hasn't been on a roll lately, and maybe you could use a better opponent at the big event, but putting Bret in the ring with someone like you is like feeding the Christians to the lions."

"I miss those days," James said to himself, "but that's not the point. Bret, I respect Bret! I don't respect Shawn Michaels. Shawn will have what's coming to him once I managed to find him snooping around the iMPACT locker room."

"I'll sleep on it and give you all my answer on the pay-per-view itself." Nathan grinned, knowing it would attract even more viewers to see if James really did get to face Bret or if he ended up with David Hart Smith as scheduled.

"Deal." Brandon said, taking microphone from his mouthy partner. The show then went to a break.

Mick Foley burst through the curtains and onto the stage with his Hardcore Championship title raised high in one hand and a barbed two-by-four in the other. With his title reign untested, Foley was, like Ultimate Warrior, one of the only men in the organization to hold a title longer than any others, so far. He displayed it proudly as he walked to the ring for his single pin-fall match.

Mick slid into the the ring, then showed off his two items to the cheering crowds. Both were merely for show, but he knew the Hardcore Championship could be challenged for at any time from the opening of the show to closing. He kept himself prepared for anything coming his way.

His opponent was a long time rival. The man that had called him "a glorified stuntman." The man Mick had faced during his opponent's feud with The Hitman. The man walked down to the ring in his stylin', profilin', and trademark robe, turning to show himself off to the booing audience that detested his behavior as of late.

Ric Flair didn't care what anyone thought. He was there for himself and for the money. With those two things in check, he didn't need the support of his former clique or the crowds around him. Triple H and Shawn Michaels had stopped spending time around Flair, only Batista and Sting still gave the man attention backstage, but Flair didn't care about either man. Tonight, he cared about beating this stuntman to a pulp.

Flair stepped into the ring, disrobing the shining article of clothing and then prepping himself for the bell to ring. His fists up, eyes alert, and arrogance at its peak, he was ready for anything. He jabbed the air, just barely missing Foley with his right fist. Foley countered the right hook by grabbing Flair by the back of his head and running him nearly over the ropes and out of the ring.

Flair stopped, holding tight to the top rope and pushing off his bigger opponent with an elbow strike. He turned and before Foley could pull another manevuer out of his pockets, Flair stabbed Foley with an eye rake and then slapped his forearm across Mick's chest.

"Woo!" He yelled out.

Foley found himself back quickly into the upper-right ring corner of the ring. Both hands grasped the top ropes at ether side of him and all he could see was a red-faced Flair chopping away at his chest. His reddening chest.

Mick managed to break free after punching downward into Flair's abdomen and pushing him into the same position he had just been forced into. It was Foley's turn to chop away at the derogatory legend. His seemed a lot harder than Flair's, but Foley had more body mass and so his hits seemed that much more effective against the almost scrawny Ric Flair.

"Bang, bang!" Mick shot his hands up like a gun!

He pulled Flair close to his body, hooking his opponent's arms up over his back and positioning his head around Foley's side. Mick slammed back into the canvas with his signature Double Arm DDT. The impact of Flair's anger-reddened cranium smacking into the canvas echoed the arena and the sounds of the referee slapping his hand against the ring during Foley's pin also echoed. Three times.

Foley pulled himself up off the canvas and raised his arms in victory. Once the title was back in his hand, however, the tides began to turn. Flair lunged upward with a low blow that keeled his larger opponent over in sharp numbing pain. Flair then grabbed the belt two-by-four and began a vicious assault. Cracking the barbed two-by-four over Foley's back and then running the belt into his head.

Flair was proud of himself as he left, taking the belt with him though he had not won it. He showed it off, like the champion he thought he should be.

"Ric Flair has just left the ring with Mick Foley's Hardcore Title!" Don West said, "could this mean that Flair wants to challenge Foley for the title, or is he holding it hostage? Can you do that?"

"Flair is smart. He's the man and to be the man, you got to beat the man. I think Flair knows exactly what he wants and what he's doing. Foley is going to want that belt back, and I think the next time these two meet," Nathan let out a slight, smug chuckle, "there's going to be stylin' profilin' hardcore blood!"

"The air is tense tonight, folks! Remember, we have the battle royal main event that features each of the qualified stars for the fatal-four-way, and the men that failed to win the qualifying matches."

"That right. It's going to be action-packed and intense! Everyone in this match wants the title from Sting, but only one will win it at the fatal-four-way."

"Randy Orton, Abyss, Batista, Booker T, AJ Styles, and Edge all compete in the main event tonight. Don't miss it," Don West said as the show went to a brief intermission.

Backstage, shown to all was a the aftermath of the previous event. Foley searched the corridors for Flair and his title. Little did the Hardcore Legend know that waiting for him around a white hall corner, hiding behind a concession stand, was Umaga and Gangrel. Both held a chair and stepping out in plain view, showing himself to Foley, was Ric Flair holding the hardcore title.

"Come on, bigshot!" He laughed at his rival. "You want to be the man? You got to beat the man and the man is Ric Flair! Come on!"

Foley charged, taking the bait like a fish to hook. A he rounded the corner, chasing off his older rival, Umaga and Gangrel sprung forth to attack! Foley backed himself against the wall, startled by their sudden presence, but he wasn't in flight mode. It was time for fighting mode. He swung for Umaga, immediately taking the biggest man with him in to a backstage brawl.

"Get him!" Flair cheered on his two paid goons.

The numbers game began to take its toll on Mick Foley. Umage drove him into the dirty tile floor with an impromptu samoan drop. Smacked into the floor like a rag doll, even at his weight, and blinded by the red mist spat into his eyes by Gangrel, Foley was shocked he was dumb enough to fall for Flair's surprise attack. It angered him even greater, but there wasn't much Foley could do as two men stomped away at him, refusing to give the hardcore champion a chance to free himself.

They eagerly preyed on the champion like hyenas, taking him down bite by bite through kicks. Down across the blue lobby, coming through the backstage door for employees and talent, was Batista and Sting.

They took in the scene that played out before them, just barely catching their attention as they were walking out to catch a meal before the main event -- of which, Batista is involved -- they ran over to aid Foley.

"Come on Batista! Let's get him!" Flair yelled out to his old pal, smiling and laughing.

Sting pulled off the Samoan Bulldozer, grappling him and struggling for control over the wild man until he managed to drive the man's head into the white brick wall.

Gangrel backed off.

"What is wrong with you?" Batista glared down at his old mentor.

"What are you doing?" Flair spat, pushing Batista aside to get at Sting. Starting a fight that Batista had forced into and threw Flair to the floor in order to help the leader of the Main Event Mafia and Mick Foley. "We're through Batista! You find another friend to betray!" Flair shouted.

"Let's go," said Sting as he looked to his partner when they hoisted up Foley to his feet.

Back inside the arena, ignoring what showed on the screen, challengers Chris Jericho and Christian entered the arena for their tag title match with Legacy. What happened to Ric Flair, Mick Foley, Bret Hart, or any other fool on the roster didn't concern Chris Jericho. He had only one thing on his mind: The Universal Tag Team Championship. With Edge taking the high road out of their group after his injury, it was now Chris Jericho and Christian, but both knew it only took them to get the job done. A third wasn't really that necessary.

Or was it necessary?

They entered the ring, as Legacy entered the arena. They knew Orton was the ring leader of that little circus. Jericho understood what it was that Orton was trying to do by reforming his former faction in the Wrestling Universe. Jericho had the same goal; complete control of the organization.

If the title belts were truly in jeopardy, Orton would show his smug self. But until then, Legacy entered the ring without their leader, Brian Christopher and Rhodes planned out their match beforehand. Cody Rhodes would start, Christopher would come in to help finish the job, and the belt would be defended.

If only it was that easy.

Jericho started the match with Rhodes and slowly they came together and the ring suddenly burst with a display of energy. Jericho whipped Rhodes across the ring, ducked under, then used a hip toss to slam his opponent into the canvas with a loud thud. He transitioned the toss, keeping his grip on his opponent's arm, into a wrist lock. Rhodes refused to tap, enabling a path to escape by turning around and reversing the wrist lock on Jericho. Jericho was not too fond of the reversal and kneed the tag champion off.

Rhodes took command. The son of legend Dusty Rhodes pulled Jericho close. Like a naturalist trying to carefully snatch control over an angered cobra, knowing that with one sudden strike, the game would be over. And like a cobra, Jericho was unpredictable. He twirled Rhodes arm over his head, then pulled down on it. Rhodes yelled out, yanking his arm away, but unable to pull it free.
Jericho then whipped him into his arms and dropped the Legacy member with a DDT.

Brian Christopher rushed into the ring!

He charged Jericho and clotheslined him out of no where, like a freight train hitting a brick wall. Jericho survived, punching back his attacker to make a tag with Christian.

Safe! Jericho thought to himself 'that was close.' He watched Christian take hold of the situation. A fresh entrant into the match and roaring to go! He ran the illegal Brian Christopher over the ropes and fell the charging Rhodes with a swift, and devastating swinging neckbreaker.

It was time to end this, he thought. Things were getting chaotic. Legacy knew that Jericho and Christian were more than enough to take their titles. Something had to be done to keep them on their own waists and no one elses. They chose chaos as the answer; running in the ring continuously to pummel the challengers and frustrate the referee. Now Christian had control of Rhodes, still the legal man in, and set him up for the Killswitch. Grasping his opponent's arm from behind, then turning them frontward as he turned his back to them, forcing their heads against his back and facing down into the canvas he ends up slamming them down into.

After his signature maneuver, he pinned Rhodes, but a desperate act caught his attention.

Out of the corner of Christian and Jericho's eyes, they saw Brian Christopher blatantly assault the referee.

"What the!?" Jericho thought to himself, but the act was done. The referee was toppled over the pinning Christian and as soon as he could throw his arm up, the match was ended. Jericho and Christian had won through disqualification, but it meant that the titles still belonged to Legacy.

With the results of the match just entering their brains, Jericho and Christian threw themselves up and chased the champions out of the ring. The crowds hadn't a clue what to do. Jericho insulted them and Legacy were no angels either, but when it came down to it, they decided to cheer the two heels attempt at getting revenge over the worser scum bags.

The main event was here.

As man to be announced in the match, Randy Orton took proud strides and glared around him. Not many signs were in his favor, but he didn't care. He wasn't in the fatal-four-way for them, but for himself and the struggle to raise Legacy up as the most dominating force in the Wrestling Universe. He wanted it all and to take it all, he needed the World Heavyweight Championship Title. Sting had it, and he was going to grab it from him one way or another. Orton didn't need Christopher or Rhodes to tell him that the title belonged to him wether it was on someone else's waist or not.

After Orton was in the ring, the next man to enter the match made his entrance in the arena, now dimmed to a dark-red lighting. Abyss was the man and he didn't look too happy to see Orton in the ring. It wasn't Orton that upset him, but the idea that he knew Orton would call on his goons when ever he was beginning to lose. Abyss didn't like scum, if anyone was going to win this, it would be the monster; himself.

Abyss entered the ring just as Batista made his entrance with Sting, and Booker T at his side. Booker T was also in the match, but the two knew that if it was down to the wire. Batista and Booker T being the only men to remain, then the better man would soon reveal himself in the greatest test of power and security in the Main Event Mafia was put before them.

Lastly came AJ Styles and Edge. AJ Styles was quick with his entrance, gaining the favor of the crowds, almost as much as Sting and the rest of the newly reformed Main Event Mafia had.

Edge, returning from injury, received the greatest crowd pop. Despite his position as a heel on iMPACT, he had been missed and having shed the scales of Christian and Jericho certainly aided his climb up the ladder to a title shot. Though a shot this was not, it was still going to be a chance for Edge to show off to everyone that he was back and better than ever.

The match quickly took start after the ring of the bell. Edge darted across the ring to spear and pin Batista to the canvas, but Booker T was quick to help his partner. Edge fought back, punching with left and rights, jabbing and countering a Booker T axe kick. He ran Booker T over the top rope, but his opponent managed to stop his feet on the rim of the ring and climb back in before Edge could do any more damage. It was Batista's turn then to save his partner. He clashed once again with Edge, but in this collision, Batista speared Edge.

The first man to be eliminated came merely minutes after the bell. Orton formed an uneasy alliance with AJ Styles; pummeling Abyss into a corner, lifting lengthwise against the top turnbuckle and trying to shove him out.

It happened, out of no where, when Orton suddenly jerked away, like a Viper striking on raw impulse and ruthless aggression. He forearmed AJ Styles and dropped him onto the canvas with the RKO. After that, Abyss lowered himself, only to be RKO'd himself, but he wasn't as lucky as Styles. Abyss bounced off the canvas and found himself toppling over the top rope and out of the match.

Orton turned his attention over to former fellow Evolution member. When Batista was turned away, forced to break his concentration from a Batista-Bomb on Edge, he discovered his rival trying to RKO him as well.

Batista wasn't going to let Orton get away with the sudden assault. He used his opponent's own maneuver to pull him up over his shoulders and slam him back first into the canvas. Orton's vicious assault was effectively, but temporarily silenced.

We'll deal with this punk later, he thought to himself as he returned his attention to Edge and Booker T in the corner of the ring.

Booker T bent Edge over, preparing him for an axe kick that had previously been evaded. He would kick him down so that Batista could then pull him into a Batista-Bomb right out of the ring. The Main Event Mafia was coordinated and they had a plan for dealing with the delinquents in the ring with them, but even then, plans could be interrupted.

Edge was good at interrupting others plans. He dodged the kick a second time and instead, lifted himself up in a dropkick to send his opponent clear over the ropes. Booker T was gone. Only one more Main Event Mafia member left in the ring now. Sting was getting agitated, but it didn't worry him because this was not the fatal-four-way itself.

Only four men remained in the match: Batista, Randy Orton, AJ Styles, and Edge. All four gravitated to an empty counter and occupied it. Their eyes scanned across the ring toward their opponents. Plans were brewing in their minds. Some were working on pure instinct and raw aggression.

The viper's eyes locked onto Edge. Edge was his try competition. Like predators killing other predators to eliminate competitors for kills, he decided Edge had to go. He charged Edge and they crashed near the corner, not quite the center.

Batista and AJ Styles took a slower approach. A method that welcomed friendly competition between two respectful competitors. They had no qualms with one another, and neither were even in the title match at the pay-per-view. The friendly competitive nature in them changed once it dawned on them like a light bulb bursting through its glass seal.

They weren't in the match; Orton and Edge were.

Batista and AJ Styles stalked the warring predators. As soon as they drew close enough, the two of them exploded into action. Batista threw AJ Styles from the ring and then lashed out at Orton from behind. AJ Styles looked up with a shocked expression plastered across his face. He hadn't expected Batista would do such a thing, but it would seem reasonable that the animal prefer to take on Edge and Orton on his own. AJ Styles was eliminated from the battle royal and then there were only the three.

Orton and Edge ganged up on Batista. Taking turns striking him with their fists and finishers. An RKO, then a Spear. A spinebuster and then a punt to the head. Batista was wrecked and the only thing that remained for the near lifeless body was elimination. Edge threw him out, but as he clotheslined Batista over the ropes, Orton reached down and pulled Edge up feet up in the air and pushed him out with Batista. The two crumbled onto the outer mats with the victor standing proudly in the ring.

"Sting does not look happy with Orton," said Don West. Sting stood up from the commentary table to glare and point his black bat at Orton.

"A fight is brewing for Night of Hell and when these two finally collide, among the other competitors, I can not even begin to wonder the kind of explosion that impact will bring." Nathan commented.

"Whatever happens at Night of Hell, someone is going to leave that match as the champion, be it Sting or someone else."

The show closed with Sting and Orton glaring hatefully toward one another. Sting knew Orton would do anything he could to get his hands on that title, just as Orton knew that Sting would not easily submit his high status in the organization. The belt was everything and the war between Legacy and the Main Event Mafia had only just begun.