~*~The Reign Continues. Onto the Era of Vikings~*~
The locker room was quiet save for the sound of soft laughter and the rustling of celebration snacks being unpacked. Bella sat on the bench, the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship slung over her shoulder, still gleaming under the overhead lights. Her hair was still damp with sweat, and her face flushed with the exhilaration of victory.
Malachi handed her a water bottle and leaned down to plant a kiss on her temple. “You did it, love. Another successful defense.”
Bella grinned, opening the bottle and taking a long sip before glancing down at their daughter, Máire, who was babbling happily in her playpen nearby, hugging a small plush replica of the championship belt.
“She was cheering the loudest,” Bella said with a chuckle, waving at her daughter who clapped her hands in response.
“I swear she tried to scream ‘Mama’ when you hit that final move,” Mal added.
Bella rolled her eyes affectionately. “She’s a smart one. Knows a match-ending combo when she sees it.”
The laughter died down just a bit as Bella leaned back, exhaling deeply. “It feels good,” she said softly. “Not just winning… but defending. Holding onto this title knowing I earned it.”
Mal nodded. “You did. No shortcuts. No favors. Just grit and heart.”
Bella tapped her fingers on the belt. “But now I’m wondering what’s next. The Viking Era tour is coming, and I can’t help but feel like something big’s waiting out there. Someone who’s going to make me dig even deeper.”
“You looking for a challenge already?” Mal smirked.
“I don’t want to get complacent,” she replied with a shrug. “If this title means something, then I’ve got to keep proving I deserve it. Every match. Every city. And every country.”
Máire let out a happy squeal, tossing her plush belt in the air.
Mal laughed. “Looks like someone agrees.”
Bella smiled warmly at the scene before standing, clutching the title tightly. “Let’s go find the next mountain to climb.”
With her family beside her and gold on her shoulder, Bella was ready to face whatever—or whoever—was waiting on the horizon.
~*~Back Home...For A Bit~*~
The house was a whirlwind of open suitcases, toddler snacks, and scattered travel documents. Bella was on the floor by the coffee table, double-checking passports and itinerary printouts, while Máire toddled around with her stuffed airplane toy, buzzing it over furniture like she was ready to take off first.
“Okay, baby gets one carry-on, diaper bag, emergency snack box…” she mumbled, tapping the screen with her thumb. “Mal’s clothes are squared away, mine’s ready along with all the new gear Mattie made for me, title’s packed…”
Bella didn’t look up when she heard the front door open.
“I swear, if that’s another package from SCW, we’re gonna need a second checked bag just for branded merch.”
“It’s not a package,” came her mother’s voice. “Just me.”
Bella glanced up. Laura Phoenix stood there with a travel mug in hand and her hair pulled back, casual but unmistakably confident. Bella offered a small smile but quickly returned to sorting through documents.
“Still running on lists, I see,” Laura said, arching a brow as she glanced around the chaos.
Bella didn’t look up. “Keeps me sane. Iceland’s not exactly a hop and a skip away, Mom.”
Laura crossed the room slowly, eyes on her daughter more than the mess. “You’ve been kind of… scarce since Blaze of Glory.”
Bella gave a half-hearted shrug, sliding Máire’s passport into a clear pouch. “It’s been busy. Getting everything ready for this tour. Making sure our daughter doesn’t get detained at border control.”
Laura’s arms folded. “That’s the only reason?”
Now Bella did look up, brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean? You could’ve texted,” Bella said, matter-of-fact.
“I figured you were too busy to answer,” Laura replied gently, her eyes scanning the chaotic living room.
Bella exhaled. “That’s not why I’ve been distant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Laura sat on the edge of the couch, watching Máire for a moment. “It crossed my mind. You weren’t exactly thrilled when I told you I was coming back for Blast from the Past.”
“I wasn’t thrilled because I worry about you,” Bella replied, finally meeting her mom’s eyes. “You don’t owe anyone anything, not anymore. You’ve already built the legacy.”
Laura gave a soft, almost nostalgic smile. “Maybe. But there’s still more I want to do. They changed the tournament this year—no more tag teams. Just singles. One-on-one. Men on one side, women on the other.”
Bella’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m aware. So it’s all on you now.”
Laura nodded. “And I want it that way. I’m not just stepping in for nostalgia’s sake. I want to show this new generation what it means to fight with purpose. To carry the weight of experience. I’m not chasing a belt—I’m chasing the right to say I can still go.”
Bella stared for a moment, then returned to stacking passports. “Well, just don’t get yourself hurt trying to prove something no one’s asking you to.”
Laura leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “I’m not doing this for approval. Not yours, not the fans’. But... maybe I’m doing it a little for her.” She nodded toward Máire, who was now trying to fit her toy airplane into a diaper bag.
Bella couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up. “She’s already got a mom who hits people for a living. She’s gonna be way too comfortable with violence.”
“Then she should see the full spectrum,” Laura smirked. “What it looks like when the old guard still has fight left.”
Bella gave her mom a long look—half wary, half impressed. “Well... I hope you know I’m not in the tournament. So I won’t be the one to stop you if you get cocky.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Bella smirked. “I’ll be too busy handling my own business. Reykjavík’s first on the list, and I’ve got a title to defend. I’m not looking back—I’m looking for whoever’s crazy enough to step up next.”
Laura stood and gave Bella’s shoulder a squeeze. “Then we both have something to prove. Guess the Phoenix blood really doesn’t run cold.”
Máire toddles over to her grandmother and reaches up, Laura picks her up and gives her granddaughter a raspberry on her cheek as Máire squeals in delight. Bella reaches over and plays with her daughter’s hand and smiles, “You’ll get to see your grandma fight again... I just hope she knows when to stop.”
“Oh trust me, I do. Besides,” Laura added with a shrug, “BFTP isn’t the only thing I came back for.”
Bella raised an eyebrow. “What else?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
~*~Rules of Engagement: Legacy vs. Momentum~*~
The cold Reykjavík air bit at Bella Madison’s skin as she stepped out of the black SUV and looked up at the iconic shape of Laugardalshöll Arena, its steel frame gleaming beneath the pale Icelandic sun. It wasn’t snowing, not today, but the wind rolled in with that northern sting, sharp enough to nip at her cheeks and remind her that she was far from Vegas. Far from home. And exactly where she needed to be.
Inside, the buzz had already begun.
The crew moved with Nordic precision—stagehands speaking in Icelandic, rigging lights, unfurling SCW banners, and testing the audio across an arena that had seen everything from concerts to combat sports. Tonight? It would play host to a main event meant to bridge eras. Legacy versus momentum.
Bella walked through the corridor, boots clicking on the polished concrete, title slung over her shoulder. The Bombshell Internet Championship felt heavier today—not because of the gold, but because of what the moment meant. It wasn’t a defense. Not yet. But it was a statement.
She found her usual quiet corner in the empty arena, overlooking the ring while the technicians ran checks. From here, the ropes looked flawless, untouched. In a few hours, they’d bear the weight of two generations colliding.
Bella sat on a bench, laying the title beside her. For a moment, she just watched. The Icelandic fans hadn’t arrived yet, but she could already hear them in her head—the roars, the passion, the love for Seleana Zdunich. Their adopted hero. Their returning queen.
“I get it,” she said softly. “It’s Reykjavík. It’s her crowd. Her moment.”
A pause. No resentment. Just resolve.
“But this is my era.”
“The last time I faced Seleana, I was still trying to outrun shadows—my family name, hell, even Mal’s legacy, and of course the worst of it all, my own expectations. I have stood across the ring from a multiple-time champion and been too focused on surviving to leave a mark. But that was then. This is now.”
“You see Seleana....This version of Bella Madison had carved her name in fire. Had bled, clawed, and screamed her way to the top. Seleana was still respected, still loved, but Bella? I am the one carrying the that is carrying a whole division and a good chunk of the bombshell division now. I realized that I was the storm, not the squall.”
“I didn’t come to Iceland to make Seleana feel seen,” she said with a wry smile. “I came to remind the world that no matter who stands across from me—champion or not—when it comes specifically to the SCW Internet Championship, I am the bar now. I’m the weight they have to carry if they want to claim greatness.”
Her eyes flicked to the title again.
“Legacy deserves respect. But I’m here to prove that momentum is what keeps this place alive. They called this the mid-tier title. Funny how that changed once I touched it.”
And then… of course… there was him.
Bella laughed under her breath. Just the thought of him made her rub her temples.
Fenris.
The last person anyone would expect in a referee’s shirt, yet here they were. Reykjavík’s own angry Viking, thrown into the middle of her match like a hurricane in a referee shirt. He was chaos personified. Sharp tongue. Deadpan delivery. And that constant smug look whenever she lost the last piece of chocolate cake at catering.
There was a rhythm to their strange friendship: banter, competition, mock-insults, and fierce loyalty buried beneath layers of eye-rolls. He didn’t play favorites, but he also didn’t do anything without a purpose.
And then there was her mother. Bella groaned just thinking about it.
“Still don’t know what’s worse,” she muttered, “the match, or having to listen to my mother, who is married by the way, flirting with a man who literally isn’t interested in women. It’s gotta be the shorts, I swear.”
She made a note to corner Fenris before the match and jokingly threaten him if he let Seleana get away with any funny business. Not that he’d listen. But still, it was tradition now.
“This isn’t a match born from bad blood. There is no vendetta, no deeply personal rivalry. It was just competition. But I know her too well to phone it in. Even a match like this—friendly, on paper—is a battlefield in disguise. Every step matters. Every win carries momentum. And I have no intention of letting mine die on foreign soil.”
She stood, title in hand, and looked out at the sea of empty seats that would soon erupt with Icelandic pride.
“Bring your best, Seleana,” she whispered. “Let them cheer you. Let them love you. But at the end of tonight, they’ll remember me, too. Because I don’t come to play tourist. I come to conquer.”
Bella turned and walked back down the corridor, the sounds of ring techs fading behind her. The title sparkled under the fluorescent lights, and her boots echoed with confidence.
Sunday, Reykjavík would be hers.
Whether they liked it or not.
