The arena was filled with a strange silence. Not the triumphant kind, but the kind that followed disaster. A hush born of shock, of fear, of hearts collectively holding their breath. The referee rushed to Angel’s side, skidding on the blood-slick mat. Her arms were limp, her body unmoving. When he lifted one arm to check for any signs of consciousness, it dropped like dead weight. No tension. No resistance. Nothing.
He looked to the timekeeper and made the call, his voice tight and grim. “Ring the bell.”
Ding, ding, ding.
Cody Rhodes had won. But he didn’t move. He stood frozen in the center of the ring, chest heaving with ragged breaths, blood dripping steadily from multiple wounds. His back and ribs were torn open from fluorescent glass, his legs slick with crimson from where Angel had struck him with the barbed wire bat earlier. His hands were trembling. His vision blurred—not from blood this time, but from the weight of what he had done. The rage had lifted. The darkness had ebbed away. And now… only reality remained. He turned—slow, almost mechanical—and looked down at her.
Angel.
Her body was twisted on the mat, her back littered with jagged glass, her arms bloodied beyond recognition, her face streaked with crimson and tears. Her chest rose in shallow, almost imperceptible breaths. Something inside Cody shattered. “No…” he whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. “No, no, no…”
His voice broke as he reached out with trembling fingers, gently brushing a blood-matted strand of hair from her face. His palm hovered just above her cheek, too afraid to touch her, too afraid to confirm how cold she felt. He finally took her hand in both of his, cradling it like it was the last piece of something sacred. “I didn’t mean to—” He choked on his words. “Angel, I didn’t mean to take it this far… I didn’t even see you. I saw him—I saw the pain, the failure. I couldn’t stop. I should have stopped!”
She didn’t stir. His grip tightened around her hand, blood mixing between their fingers. “You tried to bring me back,” he whispered, voice hoarse with grief. “You never stopped trying. Even when I gave up… you didn’t. You came out here to save me, and I—I destroyed you.”
A sob escaped him as he leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers. “Why did you believe in me? Why did you have to be the one to pull me out?”
The crowd was still eerily quiet. A few scattered cries. Some sobbing. Gasps as the cameras zoomed in on the wreckage of two people who had given everything—and lost more than just a match. “Thank you,” Cody whispered brokenly, squeezing her hand one last time. “Thank you for not giving up on me… even when I didn’t deserve it.”
And then, without warning, his body finally gave out. His head dropped beside hers as his muscles slackened, collapsing from the blood loss, the pain, and the overwhelming weight of guilt. His hand never left hers. The medical team rushed down the ramp, EMTs sliding into the ring with stretchers and first-aid gear. They called for backboards and oxygen, voices moving fast and professional, but eyes wide with disbelief at what they were seeing.
Two warriors.
One victory.
And no winners.
Within minutes, Cody and Angel were loaded onto stretchers, still unconscious, still bleeding. And the crowd—now rising to its feet in stunned silence—could only watch as they were wheeled away, hoping against hope that this story wasn’t ending here.
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