X Club Wrestling Divapocalypse -

The Divapocalypse was over. But somewhere in the rafters, a single cassette tape began to rewind.

One by one, they fell.

From the ceiling, a single drop of molten gold fell. It struck the center of the ring and exploded into a pillar of light. When it faded, she stood there: The Divapocalypse.

Not at the Divapocalypse—at the obsidian ring mat. The corner of the belt cracked the black stone. And beneath it, Lana saw the truth: the ring wasn’t a ring. It was a mirror. And the Divapocalypse had no reflection. X Club Wrestling Divapocalypse

“Divas don’t fight,” the Divapocalypse cooed. “They pose.”

The Divapocalypse screamed. The runes on her skin exploded outward like startled birds. Her form unraveled—first the hair, then the face, then the horrible beauty—until all that was left was a single, old-fashioned microphone on a stand.

Only two remained: Lana Vex and Candi Cruel. Former enemies. Current prey. The Divapocalypse was over

Sweet Charity, the submission specialist, locked in her dreaded “Halo Hold” from behind. For a second, it worked. The Divapocalypse grunted. Then she laughed. “You hug like a sister,” she said, and Charity’s arms turned to rubber, wrapping around herself in a self-inflicted embrace that would never end.

“What the hell did you do?” Candi screamed, scrambling backward on her sequined boots.

Jade Phoenix, the high-flyer, tried to leap to the rafters. The Divapocalypse snapped her fingers, and gravity reversed. Jade floated upward, screaming, until she was pinned against the ceiling like a butterfly in a display case. From the ceiling, a single drop of molten gold fell

“The belt,” Candi hissed, pulling Lana behind a toppled lighting rig. “You touched it first. What is it?”

The obsidian dissolved. The frozen fans gasped back to life. The arena returned, battered but standing.

The strobe lights of the X Club Arena pulsed like a dying heartbeat. To the 15,000 screaming fans, it was the finale of Total Mayhem , the biggest pay-per-view of the year. But to the women backstage, it was the end of the world.

“You’re not real,” Lana shouted. “You’re the shame. The part of every woman here who was told to smile, to shake her hips, to lose weight, to be sexy, to be quiet. You’re the monster we made by pretending that past didn’t hurt.”