ᥴᥲᥣᥱb mყᥱrs

꓄ꃅꍟ ꉓꂦ꒒ꀸ-ꌃ꒒ꂦꂦꀸꍟꀸ ꓄ꃅꍟ ꌃ꒒ꂦꂦꀸ-ꀸꋪꀤꃴꍟꈤ ꋪꍟ꒒ꍟꈤ꓄꒒ꍟꌗꌗ, ꀸꍟ꓄ꍟꋪꂵꀤꈤꍟꀸ, & ꌃꋪꀎ꓄ꍏ꒒ ☆ꉣꌗꌩꉓꃅꂦꉣꍏ꓄ꃅ☆ ꉓꍏ꒒ꍟꌃ ꂵꌩꍟꋪꌗ Open for signings.

Let's just call that a side bonus. I'm here for blood. Im here to hurt. And im here as the resident Psychopath of WSW. Caleb Myers is back, and he's 3x as Dangerous as ever. Watch. Your. Back. You saw what I did tonight, and YOU could be next in line. @WSWFederation

Unseen by my peers in the same light I saw them, but then I realized that I never lived up to my full potential. Im not here for the "what ifs" of it all. I'm not even here to rise up and win championship gold. No no no....because if a title shot comes my way... --

A lot of people will sit there and they'll ask me...Why, Caleb? Why did you go back? Why, Caleb? Why would you step foot in a ring that you claimed caused you so much suffering? The answer is simple. Yes I left because I felt mistreated. I felt...not good enough. I felt... --

On the ramp, Alan pauses. Just for a second. He turns back—eyes cold, unreadable, conflicted. Then turns forward again. And walks away. The camera pulls back and blacks out.

He resists. The medics try to steady him, but Arthur fights it, dragging himself up, collapsing to one knee, refusing to be carried out like something finished. The crowd rises—not loud at first, but building—respect, disbelief, emotion.

He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even look at them. He simply stands, and walks with them—like a man who has already done what he came to do. Arthur is lifted—slowly, carefully—but something changes. His hand pushes. Weak. Shaking.

Behind them, the ring fills with motion again. Officials rush in. Flames are put out. Medics slide in carefully, surrounding Arthur, checking for response. An oxygen mask is brought in, placed over his face as they prepare the stretcher. At ringside, security approaches Caleb.

Caleb doesn’t react. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move. He just stares. Alan breaks it first. Grips the title tighter. Turns. Begins walking up the ramp with Jonathan beside him, leaving the wreckage behind—not celebrating, not acknowledging the crowd—just leaving.

Jonathan Joestar beside him, steadying him. Alan looks down at the title—then up. And he sees Caleb. Their eyes meet. Alan frowns, jaw tightening, lifting the championship—not in triumph, but in statement. As much as his body allows.

Caleb studies him. Not with anger. Not with pride. With something colder. A smirk forms—small, knowing. Then slowly, he lifts his gaze… through the fading fire… toward the ramp. Alan McIntyre stands there now. Barely upright. The championship placed into his hands.

Through the thinning smoke—Caleb Myers. He walks in without hesitation, stepping over debris, over scorch marks, over what remains of war. He kneels beside Arthur Atlas, who lies twisted in the center, body trembling uncontrollably, breath shallow, eyes barely open.

Heavy. Final. Arthur’s body hits… and doesn’t move. Caleb rises slowly, looks down just long enough. He walks out and sits down on a chair at the barricades comfortably. Alan sees it—the opening—and charges, dragging his broken body into one last Claymore.

A twitch. Arthur’s fingers move. Caleb stops. Slowly turns back—this time, something colder in his eyes. Not rage. Offense. He grabs him again. No urgency. No emotion. Just inevitability. Hooks hai head. Picks him up— PILEDRIVER ON THE BARBED WIRE BOARD!!! BOOM. Loud.

The crowd rises, dread setting in. Arthur resists—barely—but still fighting. Caleb feels it. Places him on the board. Climbs carefully—methodical—then launches. HELLFIRE STOMP. Arthur convulses… then goes still. Caleb sits there for a moment, unmoved. Then stands.

He walks past. That one second breaks everything. Arthur turns— Caleb explodes. Chained punches snap his head back—short, vicious, precise. No wasted motion. Arthur tries to fight, but the blows strip him down. Caleb drags him by the hair toward the barbed wire board.

blood blinding his vision. He wipes it clear, staring at a man he’s only heard of. Caleb steps through the ropes without pause. No words. No signal. Just silence. Arthur steps forward anyway, defiant, circling, trying to read him. Caleb doesn’t react. Doesn’t even look at him.

Through the smoke, the silhouette stands still… then steps forward. No expression. No acknowledgment. Just presence. Commentary stays silent. Only faint, eerie clapping echoes as @CalebMyersPro walks, slow and deliberate, owning every second. In the ring, Arthur rises,

echo drifting through the dark. The tension builds, tight and uneasy. The voice cuts. Darkness again. A heartbeat of nothing— and then—BOOM. Pyro explode across the stage as the full theme hits instantly. The screen stabilizes— CALEB MYERS The reaction isn’t cheers, it’s shock

The arena dies—lights gone, sound ripped away, leaving a suffocating void. A sudden blast erupts from the ring, smoke curling upward as the crowd murmurs in confusion. Six, seven spotlights circle the stage like searching eyes. Then a faint voice rises—no music, just a haunting

ARE YOU READY!? WE CAN'T HEAR YOU! WE SAID ARE YOU READY!! ACW ARE OFFICIALLY OPENING SIGNINGS SO COME ALL AND COMMENT OR DIRECT MESSAGE US FOR YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO BE THE PEAK OF THE CARNAGE HERE AT ACW!!