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Firestorm

Firestorm

At Up in Smoke, you could smell it.

You could see it.

You fuckin’ choked on it.

The flames were barely ignited, and plumes of smoke converged over Old School Wrestling, bringing men and women to their knees, gagging at our very presence. Where there was smoke, there was fire. 

And a firestorm was born.

 The flames have been fanned across this landscape for months, burning through everything they encounter. Old School Wrestling has been consumed by the firestorm. Every where you look is fire. Every single thing you touch burns to cinder in your presence. If you’re near the roaring inferno, you’ll choke and gag on the toxic fumes it produces.

Luke Storm has taken Pyre like a gale force wind and blown her through fields of competitors. I’ve been adding tinder to the fire, making sure that every where we fuckin’ go, we burn brighter than before.

The firestorm has taken no prisoners.

If you’re in its path, its blown through you, leaving nothin’ but ash in its wake.

I was the longest reigning VHS Champion to date – there wasn’t a person I didn’t set alight in the middle of that fuckin’ ring for three hundred and seventeen days.

Luke made the Double Feature Championship mean somethin’. He blew through the competition for ninety-nine days with gale force fiery winds.

And Pyre burned through a forest of competitors to climb a ladder and win the Invasion Briefcase.

Old School Wrestling has been consumed by the firestorm. We’ve burnt through everything and everyone in our path.

Luke Storm took care of the wind. He was the gale force that moved us forward, but he didn’t start the fire.

Pyre has always been the flame – the burning hot beauty.

But I was the one to start the fire.

I was the Firestarter. 

I brought the tinder; I lit the match beneath her and I watched us go. Pyre has always belonged to me. She’s always been my ride or die.

And now the fire has consumed everything in its path, it turns on itself.

Everyone wants the oxygen; they need it to keep going.

Luke Storm is trying to generate the wind to keep himself moving forward.

Pyre is trying to burn up the air so that she can breathe.

And me?

Well, I’m the Fireman.

And at Fuck the World, I’m gonna take my big black hose and douse the mother fuckin’ flames.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

And you can bet your fuckin’ ass it won’t be the last. 

When the firestorm is over and I’m the last man standing among the ash of what I created, you’ll both know how much I fuckin’ love you when I break out a pack of matches, set the tinder alight and make bad mother fuckers burn once again.

Old School Wrestling may get a reprieve in the firestorm on Monday night…

But when those flames begin again, they’ll be carrying me through Corvus and the OSW World Championship.

Bad Mother Fuckers will burn again.

And they’ll burn hotter than ever before.