As Athiambo continues on her path up the ramp, her now steady breaths become visible.
Shamoon: Is it getting cold in here?
A.B.: As a matter of fact, yes?
Dominga: Hey, guys, turn down the ACs, will you?
The lights in the arena shift to a dark blue as a cold wind flies in, and Athiambo's intense guitar riffs are cut off by a deep-sounding Latin instrumental overlayed with Aztec chants and an orchestral chorus. The sliding doors open, revealing a stocky frame, a set of glowing blue eyes and the golden gleam of the Thunderweight Championship. The crowd boos heavily. Those who aren't shivering, of course.
A.B.: It is H-He Who W-W-Wields Th-Thunder, El Demonio de las Heladas!
Shamoon: This is the first time he's ap-peared on in person. What is he doing here?
Dominga: Y-Y-You heard him, last w-w-week! He-He said he was g-g-going to f-f-find a ch-challenger or a v-v-v-v-victim.
A.B.: H-Has he d-deemed Athiambo worthy?
The Demon stalks down the ramp, a carpet of ice forming with every step. The Dark Talon remains in her own spot, clenches her fists and narrows her own eyes.
He stops, and they stare each other down; icy blue meeting solid yellow. The crowd tries to pop. Some manage. He walks past.
Shamoon: What?
She watches his path with a raised eyebrow for a moment. Only a moment, before continuing on her own.
A.B.: Oh no, h-he's head-ding to the ring. G-Get Leota out of the hair.
Holliday and the medics pull the still comatose Samoan out on one side of the ring. Heladas walks on the other side, not even looking in their direction.
Dominga:... Alf... A-Alf, you n-n-need to leave.
A.B.: What for?
Dominga: You tr-tried to k-kill his w-w-wife with a ch-chair.
A.B.: I d-didn't try to k-kill anyone! I w-was prot-tecting MY wife.
Shamoon: Sh-She's right, Alf. You gotta get outta here. I didn't realise it, but Cobra was actually warning us at the beginning-
A.B.: He's probably here to c-cut a promo or s-something.
Dominga: Alf, please!
A.B.: I have kn-known f-fo-for almost t-twenty years. I'm not-
Dominga: YOU KNEW A MAN IN A MASK! HE DOESN'T HAVE A MASK ANYMORE! LEAVE, NO-Oh no.
The Demon stands in front of the commentary desk, boring a hole through Balducci.
Dominga: S-Señor... Señor, por favor... (gesturing to Balduci) P-Por f-favor, perdona a este to-
A.B. (putting a hand on her shoulder): Dominga. Dominga, let me handle this. (Stands up, still shivering, taking off headset) J-José. José, please l-listen to me. I d-don't know what you were t-told and I don't know what you s-saw, but if you l-l-look back, you'll see that I-
Heldas grabs Balducci by the shirt.
Shamoon: ALF!
Dominga: NO!
They try to reach for their colleague, but he is dragged over the desk in the blink of an eye. Heladas throws throws him in the the ring, the mat is covered in a thin layer of ice that makes the old Italian slide. Heladas climbs onto the apron, unwraps the Thunderweight title from around his waist and enters. Alf holds up his hands, pleading with him.
Shamoon: I gotta do something-
Dominga: Don't you dare! He'll kill you.
Shamoon: He'll kill, Alf if we don't-
Dominga: Shabani! Steele! I am not messing around, send-
A familiar deep rumbling futuristic track plays. The titanron shows a speed-o-meter, which transitions into a vortex. A flash of light and the camera rushes through a subway, exits onto a busy street at even greater speeds.
Both Alf and Heladas look at the stage.
The temperature in the building rises and the crowd explodes long before the pyro.
Dominga: What the hell?
Shamoon: Wait, that's-
A blurry streak of blue, black and orange rushes down the ramp and into the ring.
Shamoon: That's Danys Vités!
The young Haitian stands in front, eyes glowing orange under his black mask, along with the symbols on his wrapped fists. The Demon grits his teeth, but ultimately backs down.
Dominga: What's HE doing here? This isn't his show!
Shamoon: I don't care. He's got the Thunderweight Champ running scared!
Dominga: Okay, let's get crazy.
Vités helps Balducci up, throwing side-eyes at Heladas, who has retreated to the ramp.
A.B. (nodding and shaking his hand): Thank you. Thank you!
Balducci leaves to rejoin the desk.
Dominga: You stubborn old fool!
A.B.: I thought I could reason with him. My mistake.
Shamoon: Your pants are wet.
A.B.: That's because of the ice.
Dominga: Yeah, sure. Anyway, what the hell is this guy doing here?
A.B.: It was supposed to be announced later in the week, but the first title defence for El Demonio de las Heladas has been set.
Shamoon: Alright!
Dominga: What?! What has Vités done to deserve a title match? He lost at Ascension, and he's only wrestled one match since!
Shamoon: Which he won.
Dominga: So, what? Athiambo's 3-0.
A.B.: She was standing right in front of him, and he didn't give her the opportunity.
Dominga: This is politics! Interbrand politics. The Fight Pit's trying to screw us!
Shamoon: They had a great match at Ascension. I'm looking forward to it. Whenever it is.
Vités slides his palm over his mask and points at Heladas with his index and middle fingers. The remaining frost and water in the arena and in the ring turn to steam.
Dominga: Great, it was a fridge before. Now, it's a sauna.
Shamoon: I guess you could say Vités is on a hot streak.
Dominga: Shut-...
Shamoon: Almost got you that time.
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