Chapter Text
The arena buzzed with a nervous energy. Fans packed into the sold-out stadium, clutching signs and waving foam fingers, eager for the night’s action to begin. The chatter of the crowd hummed like electricity in the air, an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation.
It was a special night. A night that marked the official rise of one of the most promising young stars in wrestling: The Golden Dragon, Yang Xiao Long.
The lights dimmed. A loud, booming voice echoed through the stadium as the announcer called out over the PA system.
“Making her way to the ring... from Patch... weighing in at 157 pounds… she is The Golden Dragon... YANG XIAO LONG!”
Pyro exploded at the top of the ramp, and the crowd erupted as Yang emerged through the smoke, her music blaring. With a confident smile plastered on her face, she punched her fists together, creating a cascade of sparks. Her golden locks flowed freely behind her as she strode down the ramp, her black-and-yellow ring gear gleaming under the spotlight.
This was her moment, her arrival as a top contender.
Yang had earned the adoration of the fans through sheer heart and determination. She was the embodiment of what a face should be—bold, passionate, and never backing down, no matter the odds. Fans saw in her a reflection of hope, and she fed off that energy, knowing that she was fighting for them as much as for herself. Despite her short time on the main roster, her infectious charisma and raw power had propelled her to the upper echelons of the company.
Her entrance alone sent shockwaves through the crowd, and signs with her name in bold letters flashed in every direction. "Yang for Champ," "Fear the Dragon," and "Golden Girl Rising" filled the sea of people as they cheered.
Once inside the ring, Yang climbed to the top of the turnbuckle, raising her fists to the crowd with a grin. She was no stranger to moments like this, having spent years training and preparing in developmental leagues, but tonight felt different. This was a pay-per-view event, the culmination of months of gruelling matches and intense rivalries. This was her opportunity to prove that she wasn't just a flash in the pan—she was here to stay.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, and for a moment, she allowed herself to bask in their love. She couldn’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline that came from standing in front of thousands of people chanting her name. Yang thrived on this. It was the kind of feeling that made every bruise, every injury, every setback worth it.
But tonight wasn’t just about soaking in the cheers. Tonight was about making a statement.
Yang had earned herself a shot at the Women’s Championship—the crown jewel of the division. But standing in her way was the most dominant wrestler in the company’s history: Blake Belladonna.
Blake was unlike any other opponent Yang had faced. The reigning champion for nearly two years, she had created an aura of invincibility. Calm, calculating, and ruthless, when necessary, Blake operated like a machine. No wasted movement, no unnecessary risks—everything Blake did in the ring was precise, methodical, and devastatingly effective.
And she had the backing of the Belladonna family—The Belladonnas, the most feared faction in the company. They had kept a stranglehold on the championship scene for years, using their connections and underhanded tactics to ensure their reign continued uninterrupted.
Tonight’s match wasn’t just about skill. It was about overcoming an empire.
As Yang paced around the ring, shaking out her arms and preparing mentally for what lay ahead, the lights suddenly cut out. A moment later, the haunting sounds of Blake’s entrance music filled the arena, low and ominous. A single spotlight appeared at the top of the ramp, illuminating Blake as she stood there, the Women’s Championship gleaming around her waist.
Blake walked slowly, confidently, her face as unreadable as always. She wore black leather ring gear, her raven hair cascading down her back, and her feline-like eyes narrowed as she surveyed the ring. The crowd’s cheers softened into a mix of awe and boos. Despite her heel status, there was no denying Blake’s presence—she was a master of her craft, and the crowd respected that.
Flanked by her father, Ghira Belladonna, and fellow faction members Ilia and Adam, Blake made her way to the ring with the air of someone who had done this a thousand times before. To her, this was just another match, another challenger to crush.
The Belladonnas had built a dynasty on dominance and intimidation. Blake stood at the forefront of that dynasty as the undisputed queen of the women’s division, and she wasn’t going to let anyone—especially some rookie upstart like Yang—take that title from her.
Inside the ring, the tension was palpable. Yang stood in one corner, bouncing on her heels, eager to unleash the energy coursing through her. Blake, in stark contrast, stood motionless in the opposite corner, staring Yang down with a look of cold calculation.
The referee called for the bell, and the match was underway.
Yang exploded out of the corner, her usual strategy of overwhelming her opponents with raw aggression and strength on full display. She landed a series of quick strikes, forcing Blake to go on the defensive. The crowd was behind Yang, their cheers growing louder with every punch and kick she landed.
But Blake was a veteran. She dodged and deflected, waiting for the perfect moment to counter. And when it came, she struck with ruthless precision—a snap kick to Yang’s midsection that knocked the wind out of her.
From that moment on, the match became a chess game, with Blake dictating the pace. Every time Yang tried to rally, Blake would cut her down with a well-timed move, slowing the match to a crawl, grinding Yang down.
Yang knew she had to adapt. She couldn’t afford to let Blake control the match like this. Gritting her teeth, she fought through the pain, digging deep into her reserves of strength and determination.
The turning point came when Yang managed to reverse one of Blake’s signature moves—a modified backbreaker—into a powerbomb. The crowd erupted as Blake’s body hit the mat with a thud, the first sign of vulnerability from the champion.
Yang wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip. She quickly climbed to the top rope, signalling for her high-risk finisher, Burn, a devastating diving elbow drop that had won her countless matches.
But just as she was about to leap, Ilia and Adam jumped onto the apron, distracting the referee. Ghira, standing at ringside, grabbed Yang’s foot, causing her to stumble.
The interference gave Blake just enough time to recover. She rolled out of the way, leaving Yang to crash into the mat, missing her finisher entirely. The crowd booed loudly, frustrated by the blatant interference from the Belladonnas.
Blake wasted no time. She locked Yang into her submission finisher, Shadow, a brutal combination of an armbar and leg lock designed to wear down even the strongest opponents.
Yang screamed in pain, her arm and leg twisted at unnatural angles. The referee asked if she wanted to submit, but Yang shook her head furiously. She wasn’t going to give up—not like this, not after everything she’d fought for.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had left; Yang inched her way toward the ropes. The crowd was on their feet, chanting her name, willing her to reach out and grab the bottom rope. Inch by inch, she clawed her way closer.
With a final, desperate lunge, she grabbed the rope. The referee immediately called for the break, forcing Blake to release the hold. But the damage had been done—Yang’s arm and leg were clearly weakened, her body battered.
Blake stood up, clearly frustrated that Yang hadn’t submitted. She stalked her prey, ready to end the match on her terms.
But Yang wasn’t finished. With the crowd chanting her name, she pulled herself to her feet, using the ropes for support. Blake moved in for the kill, but Yang countered with a sudden burst of adrenaline, catching Blake off guard with a thunderous clothesline.
Both women were down, the match hanging in the balance.
Yang, gasping for breath, looked up at the ceiling lights, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears. She knew this was it. She had to dig deeper than ever before.
With a surge of energy, Yang kipped up, rising to her feet just as Blake did the same. The two women stared each other down for a long moment, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.
And then, they charged.
Yang unleashed a flurry of strikes, her fists and feet flying as she drove Blake into the corner. She could feel the momentum shifting in her favour. The crowd’s chants of “YANG! YANG! YANG!” filled the arena.
But just as she was about to hit her finisher, the Belladonnas interfered again—this time, Adam slid a steel chair into the ring. The referee, distracted by Ilia, didn’t see it.
Blake, ever the opportunist, grabbed the chair and swung it at Yang. But Yang ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow. The momentum caused Blake to stumble, and before she could recover, Yang lifted her onto her shoulders.
With a roar of triumph, Yang hit her finisher. The crowd erupted as Blake crashed into the mat, the impact shaking the ring.
Yang went for the cover, but before the referee could count to three, Ghira yanked him out of the ring. The boos from the crowd were deafening.
Yang had won the battle, but the war with the Belladonnas was far from over.
This night, though, wasn’t about championships—it was about showing the world that The Golden Dragon was ready to take on anyone, even a queen. The fans saw it too.
And they knew that sooner or later, Yang would get her chance again.
The war was just beginning.
The roar of the crowd still echoed in Yang’s ears as she staggered backstage, her body aching from the toll of the match. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and every muscle in her body screamed in protest. But despite the pain, there was a fire in her eyes—a defiant spark that hadn’t been extinguished, not even by the Belladonnas’ dirty tricks.
The moment she stepped through the curtain, she was greeted by her faction—The Firebrands. Pyrrha Nikos, Sun Wukong, and Coco Adel rushed to her side, their faces a mix of concern and pride. Together, they formed a united front, a band of fan-favourite faces who had each carved out a reputation for being relentless fighters in the face of adversity.
Pyrrha, the technical marvel of the group, placed a steadying hand on Yang’s shoulder, her green eyes filled with empathy. "You were incredible out there, Yang. You almost had her."
Yang shook her head, wincing as she rolled her shoulder, the strain from Blake’s submission hold still lingering. “Almost isn’t good enough. They had to pull every trick in the book to keep me down.”
“That’s what they do,” Sun said, leaning against a nearby equipment crate, his golden hair tousled from his own match earlier in the night. He was the heart of The Firebrands, charismatic and full of swagger, but right now his usual grin was replaced with a frown. “The Belladonnas always find a way to screw people over.”
Coco, ever the stylish powerhouse, crossed her arms, her designer sunglasses perched on her head. “Yeah, but Yang made a statement tonight. The crowd was on fire for you. You’ve got momentum on your side.”
Yang nodded, appreciating the support, but there was a weight in her chest she couldn’t shake. She’d been so close to winning, to finally dethroning Blake, but once again, the Belladonna dynasty had slipped through her fingers. She was tired of playing their games, tired of the constant interference. She wanted a fair fight, and she knew she wasn’t going to get it as long as the Belladonnas controlled the women’s division.
“I’ve got to do something,” Yang muttered, more to herself than to her friends. “I can’t let them keep walking over us.”
Pyrrha’s brow furrowed. “What do you have in mind?”
Before Yang could answer, a voice interrupted from behind them. “What you have in mind better involve kicking some serious Belladonna butt.”
Yang turned to see Ruby Rose, her younger sister and a rising star in the developmental branch, standing with her hands on her hips. Despite her smaller frame, Ruby exuded a fiery determination that had earned her a devoted fanbase. She wasn’t officially part of The Firebrands, but she had always supported Yang from the sidelines.
Yang gave her sister a small smile. “You know it, Rubes. I’m done playing nice.”
Ruby grinned and stepped closer, her silver eyes shining with that same fire. “Good. Because if you need backup, you know I’ve got your back.”
Yang appreciated her sister’s offer, but this was personal now. It wasn’t just about winning matches or even the championship anymore—it was about breaking the stranglehold the Belladonnas had on the company. And Yang knew that if she didn’t do something drastic, they’d continue to cheat their way through every fight.
But as much as Yang burned with the need for revenge, she couldn’t do it alone. And she knew that her friends—her Firebrands—were ready to go to war with her.
“We’re going to take them down,” Yang said firmly, looking at each member of her faction in turn. “I don’t care what it takes. The Belladonnas are finished.”
Meanwhile, elsewhere backstage...
In the private locker room reserved for the champions, Blake Belladonna sat in front of a mirror, still in her ring gear. The Women’s Championship belt lay on the bench beside her, a constant reminder of her status as the top woman in the company. Her stoic expression betrayed no hint of the toll the match had taken on her, but she couldn’t deny that Yang had pushed her to the limit.
Yang Xiao Long was dangerous. Too dangerous.
Blake had seen up-and-comers rise before, but there was something different about Yang—something that made her a legitimate threat to the Belladonna dynasty. Yang’s connection with the crowd, her unyielding will, her raw power… it was unsettling.
She glanced at the door, knowing that her father, Ghira, and her allies, Ilia and Adam, would be arriving soon. They had saved her tonight, just like they always did. But Blake didn’t like the taste of victory when it came at the expense of her own abilities. She prided herself on being the best in the ring, and Yang had almost proven otherwise tonight.
A knock on the door pulled Blake from her thoughts, and Ghira entered, his large frame taking up most of the doorway. He was the patriarch of the Belladonna faction, the mastermind behind their ruthless reign. He gave his daughter a small nod, approval clear in his eyes.
“You did what had to be done,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “That’s all that matters.”
Blake didn’t respond immediately. She knew her father was right. winning was all that mattered in the end. But something about tonight didn’t sit well with her.
Ilia and Adam slipped in behind Ghira, both wearing smug expressions. Ilia, ever the conniving opportunist, grinned at Blake. “Yang was good, but she’s just a rookie. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Adam, leaning casually against the wall, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve taken down tougher. You’re still the queen.”
Blake’s golden eyes flicked to the championship belt beside her, the weight of her reign heavy on her shoulders. She was still the queen, yes. But how much longer could she rely on her family’s interference before it all came crumbling down? Yang wasn’t going to stop, and if tonight had proven anything, it was that the Firebrands were growing stronger.
“I want to handle this myself next time,” Blake said quietly, surprising even herself with the declaration.
Ghira raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting her response. “You’re not suggesting—”
“I’m suggesting that we’ve relied on interference for too long,” Blake continued, her voice steady. “Yang is the kind of opponent who won’t go down unless I put her down myself. I need to remind her, and everyone else, why I’m the champion.”
Ilia and Adam exchanged glances, but Ghira only watched his daughter carefully. After a long moment, he nodded, his expression unreadable. “As you wish. But remember—our family’s legacy comes before all else.”
Blake met her father’s gaze, her resolve unwavering. “I won’t forget.”
The Next Week - Monday Night
The next episode of Dust Wrestling Federation’s Monday Night Inferno kicked off with a bang, as the crowd packed into the arena once again, eager to see the fallout from the previous week’s explosive main event. The fans were still buzzing about the match between Yang and Blake, the controversial interference, and the brewing feud between The Firebrands and The Belladonnas.
As the show began, the familiar music of The Firebrands hit, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Yang, Pyrrha, Sun, and Coco made their way to the ring, with Yang leading the charge. Her usual bright smile was nowhere to be seen; instead, her expression was one of intense focus and determination.
As the faction entered the ring, Yang grabbed a microphone, her eyes scanning the audience before turning toward the camera.
“I’ve had enough,” Yang began, her voice sharp and clear. The crowd cheered louder, sensing the fire in her words. “I’ve had enough of the Belladonnas thinking they can run this place by cheating and using dirty tricks. I’ve had enough of Blake hiding behind her family. And I’ve had enough of this company letting it happen.”
The crowd roared in agreement, chanting her name as she continued.
“I came here to prove that I’m the best wrestler in this company, and I’m not going to stop until I get what I deserve—a fair shot at that title,” Yang said, pointing to the titantron where Blake’s image loomed large. “So Blake, if you’ve got any guts left after last week, how about we finish what we started? No interference. No family. Just you and me, one-on-one.”
The fans erupted, their voices echoing throughout the arena. This was the challenge they had been waiting for—a true showdown between the fiery underdog and the unstoppable queen.
But before the crowd could settle, the lights in the arena dimmed, and Blake’s music hit. The boos were immediate, but there was an underlying tension in the air as Blake appeared at the top of the ramp, flanked by Ilia and Adam. She had the Women’s Championship draped over her shoulder, her expression cold and unreadable.
She raised a microphone to her lips, her voice calm but laced with an edge of authority. “You think you deserve another shot, Yang? You think you’ve earned the right to stand in this ring with me again?”
Blake’s eyes narrowed as she locked onto Yang. “The truth is, you’re not ready for what it takes to be champion. You don’t understand the weight of carrying this company on your shoulders. But if you want another match... if you want another chance to fall short... then fine.”
The crowd roared, sensing the challenge was about to be accepted.
“But let me be clear,” Blake continued, her tone darkening. “This time, when I beat you, there won’t be any excuses. No interference, no distractions. Just me proving, once and for all, that you’re not ready to stand where I stand.”
Yang’s eyes burned with intensity as she stepped forward. “Bring it on.”
And with that, the stage was set for the ultimate clash: Yang Xiao Long vs. Blake Belladonna II.
No interference. No excuses. Just a battle for supremacy between two of the greatest wrestlers the company had ever seen.