I stood backstage, arms crossed tight over my chest, eyes locked on the monitor like it owed me answers. The Gauntlet Match was in full swing, and tension had wrapped itself around my spine like barbed wire. Five top-tier competitors—Punk, Jey, Breakker, Penta, and LA Knight—all fighting for a shot at Gunther’s World Heavyweight Title. And speaking of Gunther... he was ringside, arms behind his back, watching the chaos unfold like some cold-hearted king overlooking the coliseum.
My focus wasn’t on Punk. Not on Breakker. Not even on Knight. It was on Jey. “Come on, Uce,” I muttered under my breath, biting down the nerves rising in my throat. “You got this.”
He’d been on fire lately—even more so since Gunther took the title back, carving out a name that belonged to him and no one else. And tonight? This was his shot. His moment. I wasn’t going to miss a second of it. However, Bron Breakker was a damn freight train. He’d already wiped out Penta with a spear that nearly cracked the ring in half and tossed LA Knight like a sack of bricks before locking in the Steiner Recliner. It was savage. But Jey? He didn’t back down.
I leaned closer to the screen as Jey started firing up. He caught Breakker with a superkick—then another. A third. The crowd was roaring so loud I could feel the echoes through the floor under my boots. “Light him up, Jey,” I whispered, heart pounding.
He climbed the turnbuckle—Uso Splash! Nailed it. I actually grinned, pride swelling in my chest. Jey went for the pin—
Then boom.
Like a damn wrecking ball, Bronson Reed hit the scene. “What the hell?” I snapped, already moving. Jey didn’t even see it coming. Reed yanked him from the ring and slammed him back-first into the steel steps. My heart dropped. I was already halfway down the hallway.
“You picked the wrong night,” I hissed under my breath. By the time I reached the gorilla, I was sprinting. The crowd noise exploded the moment I hit the stage. I didn’t waste time with a pose or some dramatic entrance—I ran down that ramp like hell had broken loose.
“HEY!” I shouted, drawing Reed’s attention just before he could do more damage. “Why don’t you try someone your own damn size?”
Reed turned just as I leapt, shoulder-first, driving him back from Jey. We both hit the floor hard, but I rolled up first and grabbed a steel chair. “C’mon, big boy,” I growled, swinging for his ribs.
The chair clanged off him and he staggered—but he came back with a wild swing of his own. We brawled like rabid animals—throwing fists, slamming into barricades, knocking over monitors. Fans screamed, security scrambled, and somewhere in the background I heard the bell ring—but I couldn’t focus on anything but Reed’s fists and Jey’s groaning from the floor. I ducked a wild punch and kneed Reed in the gut. He doubled over. I grabbed the chair again and this time cracked it across his back. The big man fell, groaning, just as the crowd erupted. Punk had taken advantage. I looked up in time to see Breakker eating a GTS.
One… two… three.
CM Punk stood tall. I leaned against the apron, catching my breath, still glaring at Reed like I was daring him to get up again. But the match was over. Punk was the #1 contender. And Jey... Jey was still on the ground. I rushed to his side, crouching next to him. “Hey. You with me?” I asked softly, brushing some of his hair out of his face.
He winced but cracked a weak smile. “Damn, you really came flyin’ in like Batman or somethin’.”
I huffed a laugh, relieved he was still making jokes. “You’re lucky I was watching, dumbass.”
“Yeah, well…” He groaned, sitting up with my help. “Don’t think I could’ve taken Reed on top of Breakker. That’s like a freakin’ boss level.”
I smirked. “Good thing you’ve got me on your side, huh?”
He gave me that classic Uso grin, eyes full of gratitude. “Always, Angel. Always.”
But the moment didn’t last. That music hit.
Roman’s music.
The whole arena exploded. Jey tensed beside me, and I stood protectively between him and the ring out of instinct. Roman Reigns was making his first appearance since Breakker had laid him out at WrestleMania—and he looked like a damn storm in human form. He didn’t speak. Didn’t pose. Just marched straight to the ring, climbed in, and leveled Breakker with a Superman Punch. Then another to Reed, sending him out of the ring like a rag doll. The crowd was losing their minds, but all I could do was stare.
Roman turned, kneeling next to Jey. I didn’t move. Not right away. “You good, Uce?” Roman asked, voice low but unmistakably different than before.
Jey nodded, still dazed. “Took a beatin’, but I’m aight…”
Roman helped him to his feet gently, almost reverently. Like a big brother should. Not the tyrant he used to be. There was no condescension. No orders barked. Just quiet concern. I stood in the corner, bruised but not broken, watching Roman with narrowed eyes. We had history. And not the warm, fuzzy kind.
But something… felt different about him. He turned toward me. Our eyes locked. No words. No fake respect. Just mutual silence. And in that moment, I didn’t see the Tribal Chief. I saw a man trying to earn back trust. I nodded once. Subtle. But he saw it. A flicker of understanding passed between us. The ring was calmer now. Punk stood victorious, eyes set on Gunther. Jey leaned on Roman, still catching his breath. And I stood tall—still watching. Still guarding. Because this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. And everyone in that building now knew—I wasn’t just a guardian.
I was a reckoning.
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and then Add to home screen.