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Roleplay Boards => Archived Roleplays => Climax Control Archives => Topic started by: LilithLocke on August 01, 2025, 08:23:27 PM
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Summer XXXtreme XIII
While her opponents are trading boots Lillith has gotten back to her feet and it doesn't take the relative newcomer long to realize that she's not in a great position to say the least! However she glances over at a nearby unoccupied cable and gets an idea before positioning herself sideways and leaping up to grab the cable! The crow starts to come unglued and as Lillith starts swinging back and forth on the cable to build momentum!
Simone: Wait, is Lillith trying to jump to that other cable from that position?!
Adams: This is as "High Risk, High Reward" as it gets! Either she makes the jump or she takes a nasty fall to the ground bellow and she isn't above the pool either! Neither Mercedes or Bella would have to eliminate Lillith to take her out of the match in that scenario!
Lillith's swings rock the cables enough for Bella and Mercedes to realize what she's doing but before either of them can do anything? LILLITH TAKES THE LEAP AND JUST BARELY MAKES IT TO THE OTHER CABLE! Lillith clutches onto the other cable for dear life for a few seconds before dropping down to the platform so she can position herself properly! Meanwhile Bella's grip has been loosened by Lillith's swings and she's fighting to stay on the cable.
Simone: I thought that Superplex was going to be the craziest thing we've seen in the match!
Adams: And the swings did more than just help Lillith! Bella's in a precarious spot now too and Mercedes knows it!
Lillith starts making her way to the centre of the cables but as she does? Mercedes scores with a stiff kick to Bella that sends the former Internet Champion plunging to the waters bellow.
Justin: Bella Madison has been eliminated!
Simone: Looks like it's back to square one for Bella but now Mercedes is in a prime position to retain!
Adams: Don't speak so soon Belinda because Lillith's moving as fast as she can!
Mercedes is delayed a bit as she has to reposition herself on the cables to make a grab for her title but this delay has given Lillith ample time to catch up with the veteran Bombshell, Mercedes doesn't see her and reaches for the title but a well timed kick from Lillith is enough to loosen the grip in Mercedes's other hand, sending the soon to be former champion plunging into the waters bellow! Lillith is all smiles as she swings and leaps, grabbing the title in the process and diving with it!
DING DING DING!
Justin: MERCEDES VARGAS HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! THE WINNER OF THE MATCH AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW BOMBSHELL INTERNET CHAMPION, LILLITH LOCKE!
Simone: LILLITH HAS DONE IT! SHE'S WON HER FIRST TITLE IN SCW!
Adams: WHAT A MOMENT FOR THAT YOUNG LADY!
Lillith emerges from the pool with her newly won title held high above her head! She quickly gets out of the pool to celebrate while Mercedes and Bella watch on.
Once she could get out of the pool and through the crowd she found herself standing in a dark hallway, water dripping from her hair but the biggest smile on her face. She had done exactly as she said she would. Her boots squelched with every step on the concrete, but Lillith didn’t care. Her hair clung to her cheeks, her gear was soaked, and the title belt shimmered under the dim hallway lights like it belonged to her all along.
She stopped for a moment, breathing heavy but steady. The echoes of the crowd still roared in her ears, even from here. Somewhere behind her, officials were tending to Mercedes and Bella, but Lillith didn’t look back. Not yet. She had earned this—every bruise, every doubt silenced, every whispered "she’s not ready" shattered at the bottom of that pool.
She held the title close, pressing her forehead against the cool metal faceplate. Lilith whispers happily. "You believe me now?"
The silence answered louder than words. And then—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, approaching from the shadows. She turned sharply, tightening her grip on the belt. A silhouette emerged: not a fan, not crew, not even an interviewer. But someone she knew.
"You made a splash, Lil. Let’s see if you can swim with the sharks now."
Lillith raised an eyebrow. The smile faded just slightly. "Let 'em come."
The figure in the shadows smirked—and then was gone, just like that. Lillith watched for another second, then turned back toward the locker rooms. The celebration could wait. The next fight was already beginning.
More than what you see
The lights in her local gyms locker room buzzed overhead, flickering slightly as rain tapped against the building’s rusted metal frame. The atmosphere was heavy, not just with humidity, but with something else—something raw and electric. Lillith sat alone on the wooden bench in front of a dented metal locker, a towel draped around her shoulders, the championship title resting against her thigh like a war trophy. She wasn’t looking at the camera directly yet. She didn’t need to—not right away. Her presence filled the room long before she opened her mouth. Her breathing was steady, measured, but her eyes… they burned.
“When you walk through fire,” she finally said, her voice low and gravel-laced, “you either get consumed or you come out forged in it.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, letting them sink into the silence. “Last week, I wasn’t walking through fire. I was the fire.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, fingers lightly tapping the faceplate of her newly won championship. “Triple threat. Bella Madison. Mercedes Vargas. A legend. A rising star. And me? They still didn’t know what to make of me. Still whispered in the halls that I didn’t deserve to be there. That I was just noise. Hype. The kind of girl who talks a big game but drowns when it matters.”
She chuckled, humorless, and shook her head. “But see… now they know. Now you know. I didn’t drown. I made waves.”
The scene played in her mind again, not that she could shake it even if she tried. The water. The screaming fans. The final moments where she planted both of them into the mat like roots snapping through pavement. “Bella Madison fought like hell. She’s fierce. I won’t pretend otherwise. She came in hungry, focused, with something to prove. I saw it in her eyes from the first bell. That girl’s got fire. And for a moment—just a moment—I thought maybe she’d take it all.”
She paused. There was no sarcasm in her voice, no bitterness. Just a hardened respect carved from sweat and struggle. “Bella, if you’re watching this, hear me when I say: I respect you. You stood your ground when most would’ve folded. You didn’t beg. You didn’t flinch. You gave me everything. But when the lights faded and the water settled? It wasn’t your name that the crowd screamed. It was mine.”
Now, the shift came. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers, once relaxed, gripped the championship a little tighter. The respectful tone evaporated, replaced by something colder. Sharper.
“Now let’s talk about her. Mercedes Vargas.” She said the woman's name, it tasted foul in her mouth. “Have you ever met someone who walks into a room and sucks all the air out of it just by pretending they matter more than everyone else?” she asked, looking straight into the camera now. “That’s Mercedes. Always bragging about her history. Her reigns. Her accolades. The legend of Mercedes Vargas, queen of self-importance.”
Lillith stood slowly, slinging the championship over her shoulder. Her gaze never left the lens.
“She thinks time equals relevance. That being around long enough earns her a throne. But here’s what I know: it doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been in this business if all you’ve done lately is exist. You can collect every title, hold every record, and still be hollow inside. Still be weak. Still be scared.” She walked slowly toward the far wall, pacing as if trying to burn off the tension building in her limbs. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“You didn’t just underestimate me, Mercedes—you disrespected me. You made me out to be a stepping stone. Like I was some obstacle you’d overcome on your way to whatever outdated fairytale you’re living in. You ran your mouth like always. Acted like you were invincible. But here’s the truth, and I want you to hear it loud and clear: I put you down. I did that. In front of the world.”
Her voice raised slightly, no longer steady and calm, but fiery—gritted with frustration, rage, and pride. “I’m not some rookie starstruck by your ‘legacy.’ I’m the storm that washed it away.” Now she turned and stared dead into the camera again. “You might’ve walked into that match as the veteran, Mercedes, but you walked out of it as a footnote in my rise. And I know that eats at you. I know you can’t stand that your spotlight was stolen. That your headlines were ripped from your hands. That for once, the match wasn’t about you. It was about me.”
Lillith took a step closer. The belt gleamed under the buzzing lights. “And now? This week, you and I go one-on-one. No distractions. No Bella. No triple threat. Just you and me in that ring. You want revenge? You want to prove that last week was a fluke? That I’m not ready to stand on your level?”
She laughed bitterly. “Good. I want you to be angry. I want you desperate. Because I want to look in your eyes when I break whatever illusion you’re still clinging to. This isn’t your company anymore. It’s not your era. This isn’t about what you were. It’s about what you aren’t anymore.”
She turned back toward her bench, slowly sitting down again, almost contemplative. “There was a time I looked up to you. When I was younger, watching from the shadows, I saw you tear through locker rooms, saw the fire in your eyes. You were dangerous back then. Hungry. But that version of you? She’s gone.”
Lillith reached up and ran a hand through her damp hair, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Now all that’s left is the shell of someone who doesn’t know how to let go. A ghost clinging to the echo of her own name.”
She leaned forward again, elbows on her knees, voice softening into something more intimate—but no less intense. “Mercedes… I’m not coming to beat you. I already did that. This time, I’m coming to finish you.”
A pause. The only sound was the distant thunder rolling outside the arena walls.
“You’ve coasted on your past long enough. But I’m not here to worship what came before me. I’m here to bury it. This title?” She said, lifting it slightly. “This is mine now. And every second you stay in this division thinking you’re still the standard… I’m going to make you hurt for it.”
The rage behind her eyes started to boil over again, the mask of control slipping with every word. “You want to talk circles in interviews, brag about your ‘historic moments,’ post your little throwback photos on social media like they mean anything now? Fine. But the only moment anyone’s going to remember after this week… is the one where I broke you in that ring.”
Lillith stood again, fire burning in every word now. “I want the real you, Mercedes. Not the one hiding behind old glory. I want the fighter. I want the woman who used to tear people apart just to remind them who they were dealing with. I want her. Because I want to kill that version too. In front of the world. Under the lights. With nothing left between us.”
She stared into the camera like she was staring through it—through Mercedes—like her words were daggers meant to cut directly into the soul.
“Come find me, Mercedes. Bring your anger. Bring your pride. Bring every ounce of delusion that’s keeping you warm at night. Because when that bell rings, and it’s just you and me? I’ll show you what happens when a storm meets a woman made of dust.”
A final pause. The rage, the focus, the drive—it all collided in her voice like a war drum. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not chasing your approval. I’m not waiting for you to step aside. I am the new era. And if I have to drag you out of the spotlight kicking and screaming… I will.” She grabbed the camera with one hand, pulling it close enough that only her eyes filled the frame—unblinking, dark, and full of fire. “I’m not just going to beat you, Mercedes. I’m going to erase you.”
The silence after her words felt heavier than the noise. That’s how it always was with truth—uncomfortable, undeniable. Lillith stepped back from the camera, her breath steady but her eyes never losing that spark. She didn’t just believe her own words—she was her words. There was no promo script here. No shallow soundbites for the highlight reels. This was real. This was war, spoken with venom and vulnerability, rage and resolve. She reached down and picked up a small photo from her bag. It was old, creased from years of being folded and carried. A younger version of herself stared back, sitting in a cheap arena seat, eyes wide, watching the ring like it held the answers to everything. And in the center of that ring? Mercedes Vargas, her arm raised, championship in hand, face lit by adoration.
“You know, I used to idolize you,” Lillith murmured. “You were untouchable. You walked into that ring like a queen, and I believed it. Every bit of it. You showed girls like me that we could belong here. That we could be more than eye candy, more than a name on a poster. You were power. You were rebellious. You were everything I wanted to become.” She paused, letting the weight of those words settle before she let the bitterness twist her voice again. “But then I got here. And I saw the truth.” She crushed the photo in her hand and dropped it without ceremony. “You’re not a queen. You’re a relic. A reminder of what happens when someone stops evolving and starts coasting.”
She began to pace again, each step echoing through the room like a countdown. “You’ve made a career out of being just good enough. You win enough matches to stay relevant. You talk enough to stay visible. You post enough to keep your name circulating. But when’s the last time you meant something in that ring, Mercedes? When’s the last time your presence made the air shift? Made the crowd lean forward? Made your opponents fear you?”
"Let me tell you what everyone in the back wont." Her tone shifted, laced with disdain. “You’re not feared anymore. You’re tolerated.”
She stopped pacing, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as if studying Mercedes in her mind. “And the worst part? You don’t even see it. You still think this is your world. Still think the rest of us should kneel and pay homage. You still believe you’re the final boss, the gatekeeper, the standard.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “But you’re not the gate anymore, Mercedes. You’re the rusted hinge hanging off it.” There was a beat of silence, then a smirk that barely reached her eyes. “And me? I’m the damn wrecking ball.”
She turned, picking up the title belt again, her fingers brushing across the engraved metal as if drawing energy from it. “Do you know what this represents to me? Not just a win. Not just a championship. It’s validation. It’s proof that everything I sacrificed, everything I clawed and bled and screamed for—it meant something.”
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed forward. “You don’t know what it’s like to come up through the cracks. To be told ‘no’ a hundred times before anyone even learns your name. To sleep in your car after training because rent was a luxury. To stand in line for hours at open tryouts, knowing damn well they already had their favorites picked. But still showing up. Still believing. Still fighting.”
She tapped the title again. “This isn’t just gold to me. This is survival. This is justice. This is mine.” Her intensity swelled again, her voice rising in pitch and power. “And you want to take this from me? You think walking down that ramp one more time and flashing that smug smirk is going to make me doubt myself? You think you can talk your way into making me question whether I belong here?”
She shook her head, stepping closer to the camera again. “Let me save you the trouble. I don’t doubt anything anymore. Not after last week. Not after I dropped both of you into that pool and walked out with this over my shoulder. You don’t get to take that away from me. Not now. Not ever.”
She took a breath, steadying herself. “You might have the history. The accolades. The record books are filled with your name. But I’ve got something you lost a long time ago—purpose. I step into that ring with fire in my lungs and nothing left to lose. I don’t coast. I don’t recycle old tricks. I evolve. I get better. I adapt. That’s why I’m still rising while you’re scrambling to remind people who you used to be.”
She let the words fall heavy. Let the silence do the work for a few seconds.
“Ask yourself, Mercedes—when’s the last time someone called your name and actually meant it?” she whispered. “Not out of respect. Not out of nostalgia. But out of fear. Out of that cold, sinking feeling that comes when they know they’re not good enough to survive what’s coming.”
She stepped back, the storm still in her chest, but the fire was now tempered with clarity. “You’re going to feel that, this week. When that bell rings, and you’re standing across from me, and all your experience, all your catchphrases, all your interviews can’t save you… you’ll feel it. That fear.”
She smirked again, but this time there was genuine emotion behind it. “Because deep down, you know I’m better than you. You felt it last week. And now, with the spotlight back on you? With nowhere to hide? I’m going to make you feel it again. Only this time, there’s no escape.”
She pointed down at the crushed photo on the floor. “You made me want to be a wrestler.” She pointed to herself. “But I made myself a champion.”
And then, she pointed toward the camera again, eyes locked, voice sharp as steel. “This week on Climax Control, Mercedes Vargas… you finally get what you’ve been begging for since the second you felt your throne slip from underneath you.”
A smirk crossed her features and she took a moment, tilting her head, her eyes locked on the camera as if she was looking into Mercedes' very soul. “You get me. Unfiltered. Undistracted. Unstoppable. You get a front-row seat to the end of your own legacy.”
She turned her back to the camera, the weight of the championship still resting on her shoulder like a loaded weapon. For a second, there was silence again—thick, suffocating silence. Then her voice cut through it, low and final.
“Legacies end every day. The world just doesn’t always notice.” She looked over her shoulder, just enough for the camera to catch her profile, eyes locked forward, burning with certainty. “But they’ll notice this one.” Then she walked out of frame—no music, no fanfare, just the sound of her boots on concrete, steady and sure, like a war drum fading into the dark.
End of promo.
End of Mercy.