[The Eye of the Storm: 12/26/2025] MWE Undisputed Championship: Deadblood VS Cravus VS KIZMAT

[Cravus]

A closeup of The Reverend's face... both eerie, and silent.... DEADBLOOD was alone in the ring for what felt like eternity.... Tony then looks over at The Reverend...

Tony: Hmm. I don't think anyone is showing up....

**The Reverend leans back smiling**

Reverend: Oh. The calm before the STORM hath passed.... now we will see which Creatures have the guts to fight DEADBLOOD....



And almost on cue, the LED screen lit up....




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A prominent figure of the DEATH family emerges from the make-shift aisle... sporting a long trench coat with a hoodie... he makes a slow pace towards the ring and stares at Deadblood, but does not enter the ring yet. Instead, he slowly takes off his hoodie, revealing his face paint... we then await the next opponent in this triple-threat street fight.

[Admin]

The combatants waiting in the ring, the anticipation mounting... who will be the next challenger? After some time, it was unclear- the wait game- and then- out of the blue- FIRE AND EXPLOSION FROM THE TOP OF THE RAMP....


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THE SHOCK OF KIZMAT'S ARRIVAL EVEN MADE DEADBLOOD SHOW SIGNS OF UNEASINESS.. THE LORD OF BLOOD DID NOT WASTE TIME, AND HE RAN OUT FROM THE PARK'S MAKESHIFT STAGE AND SLID INTO THE RING... THE LORD OF BLOOD HISSED AT DEADBLOOD AND GAVE A COLD, HARSH STATE AT CRAVUS.... WE THEN AWAIT THE START OF THE MATCH!!!

---

Night strangled Central Park in a cold, electric hush.

Floodlights ringed the makeshift ring like watchful eyes, their glare cutting through drifting mist and the skeletal trees beyond. Steel bleachers rose on all four sides, packed with a restless crowd—mortals and creatures shoulder to shoulder with things that did not breathe, did not blink. Sirens wailed somewhere far beyond the park’s edge, a warning no one intended to heed.


Triple-threat rules.
No disqualifications.
No mercy.

Deadblood stood alone in his corner, fists taped, chest rising steadily. No aura. No unnatural glow. Just a man. Across from him, the darkness seemed to lean inward.

Kizmat, The Vampire Lord, glided against the ropes, crimson eyes burning beneath his hood, a predator amused by inevitability. Beside him, Cravus loomed—taller, broader, something ancient and wrong stitched into flesh, ravens circling overhead as if summoned by his presence alone.



The bell rang!!!
They didn’t hesitate.





Kizmat and Cravus surged forward as one, the unspoken pact obvious—erase the mortal first. Deadblood barely had time to raise his guard before Cravus crushed him with a double-handed strike, driving him into the corner. Kizmat followed with a flash of speed, boots hammering ribs, fangs bared in a grin.

Deadblood was dragged out, thrown across the mat like refuse. Chants erupted from the bleachers—some mocking, some hungry.

Cravus hauled him up by the throat.




“This ends quickly,” Kizmat hissed.





Deadblood’s boots snapped up—sudden, sharp—hooking Cravus’s leg. A pivot. A drop.

Cravus hit the canvas hard.

The crowd shifted, surprised.

Deadblood rolled through, swept Kizmat’s legs, and transitioned smoothly into a grounded hold, wrenching an arm at an angle that wasn’t meant to bend. Kizmat snarled and tore free with brute force, but the moment lingered.

The mortal wasn’t panicking.
He was wrestling.

Cravus charged again, but Deadblood ducked, redirected momentum, and snapped him into the turnbuckle. A short arm drag sent Kizmat crashing into Cravus, their alliance colliding in a mess of limbs and fury.

Deadblood struck fast—precise kicks to joints, a snap suplex that rattled the ring, a rolling bridge that nearly stole the fall on Cravus before Kizmat tore him away.

The tide was shifting.

Kizmat rose, cloak torn, eyes narrowing—not at Deadblood, but at Cravus.

“You grow careless,” the vampire spat.

Cravus answered with a backhand that echoed through the park.

The alliance shattered.

They tore into each other with supernatural violence—claws against fangs, shadows exploding with every blow. Deadblood rolled out of the ring, chest heaving, eyes scanning.

Opportunity.

He followed them as they spilled beyond the barricade, into the trees, then through the park's iron gates and into the streets beyond.

New York was burning.

Cars lay overturned. Buildings smoldered. Supernatural and mortal combatants clashed in the chaos, the city itself a battlefield. The match dissolved into mayhem, but the fight never stopped.

Kizmat launched Cravus through a storefront window. Deadblood tackled Kizmat into the pavement, chaining a takedown into a choke, forcing the vampire to expend strength to breathe. Cravus reemerged, furious, driving both of them back with a shockwave of force.

And then—

The tank.

Abandoned, half-burned, its cannon angled skyward like a monument to collapse.

Deadblood saw it first.

He baited Cravus forward, ducked a killing blow, and redirected him—hard—into Kizmat. The two collided, tangled, snarling at one another.

Deadblood sprinted.

With everything left, he slammed his weight into the cannon's control, forcing it downward as Kizmat and Cravus lunged toward him at the same time.

Metal screamed.

The cannon drove forward in one brutal motion, out of the rubble and on autopilot, pinning both supernatural beings in place, lifting them off their feet, their struggle halted in stunned disbelief, and then the tank rammed into a wall, pinning Kizmat AND Cravus against it....

Silence fell.

Flames crackled. Sirens wailed closer now.

Deadblood stepped back, chest rising, bloodied but standing. He then ran over the debris, placed his hand against Kizmat's neck... and the ref, following, just decided to count for 1... 2... 3!!!!!!!


A mortal.
Alone.
Victorious.




Reverend Jones: [watching intensely on the monitor in the park] Amen.






Somewhere behind him, the bell rang—late, unnecessary, final. The sounds of "YOUR NEW MWE UNDISPUTED CHAMPION" cut through the stiff darkness...




Deadblood turned toward the burning skyline, the crowd erupting behind him, and disappeared into the smoke as New York continued to burn.