JOURNAL ENTRY
Date: Unknown — Time doesn't matter when you're chasing the thrill.
They say the ring is where truths are revealed. They say the canvas doesn't lie. Every scar, every bruise, every ounce of pain—honest currency in a world where most wear masks. But tonight, I'm not lacing up my boots. I'm not wrapping my fists or psyching myself up for another battle. Tonight, I'm sitting in silence. Just me, this pen, and the storm I’ve been pretending wasn’t raging in my chest.
And God… that fire.
Kevin lit it.
That son of a bitch—he lit it and walked away like it was just another matchstick in a pile of broken dreams. But I’m not letting it die. Not now. Not ever.
There was a time when I thought my name would fade. Just another girl in the endless line of bombshells who showed up, flared hot, and disappeared faster than they came. Wrestling is full of ghosts, and I didn’t want to be one. I wanted more. I deserved more.
But I didn't always believe that.
There were nights I stared at the ceiling wondering why I even bothered showing up. Nights where my body ached and my soul was too tired to argue with the pain. Nights where it seemed like no one noticed, no one cared. Where I felt like my name was barely a whisper in the halls of Sin City Wrestling—lost among the screams of louder, bolder women with bigger entourages and flashier gimmicks.
But then… Kevin. He didn’t come crashing into my life like a hero in some fairytale. He didn’t sweep me off my feet. That was never our style. He challenged me. Pushed me. Pissed me off. Made me feel like I was more than the role I’d resigned myself to playing. Like I was a wildfire just waiting for someone to stop trying to contain it and instead just… let it burn.
He saw me—not the show, not the mask, not the carefully curated version of Lilith I used to put on for the fans and the cameras. He saw the bruises I didn’t show. He read between the lines I never dared speak aloud. And that night—the one I’ll never forget—he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You’ve got the kind of hunger that swallows lesser women whole. So what the hell are you waiting for?”
It wasn’t romantic. It was real. Raw. A punch to the gut that hurt in the best way.
That was the night I remembered who the hell I was.
So here I am. Sitting in the middle of a war I chose—a war I’m going to win. Not just for the glory. Not just for the title. But because every damn step I’ve taken led me here. To this moment. The Bombshell Division isn’t ready. They think they are. They think they’ve seen everything. But I’ve got something they can’t measure on a stat sheet or a highlight reel.
I’ve got fire.
And unlike most of them, I don’t run from it. I am it.
They parade around like queens, like icons, talking about legacy and dominance and sisterhood—whatever the flavor of the week is. I watch them preen for the cameras, throw shade on social media, pretend they’re untouchable. But I’ve seen what they look like when the lights go off. I’ve seen the fear behind their eyes when someone like me steps into the ring.
I don’t play the game the way they want me to.
I don’t kneel.
And maybe that’s why I’ve always felt like the outcast. Like I wasn’t made for this world but somehow forced my way into it anyway. I used to be ashamed of that. Now? It’s my greatest weapon. Because I’ve got nothing to lose—and everything to prove.
Kevin has told me, “You don’t need their crown. You’re a kingdom unto yourself.”
I didn’t understand it at first. I thought it was just some poetic bullshit meant to make me feel better after a tough loss. But the more I sat with it, the more it took root inside me. I’m not here to play nice. I’m not here to fit in. I’m not here to wait my turn. I’m here to carve my name into the walls of this place—whether they like it or not. Let them call me a problem. Let them label me difficult, dangerous, unstable. Let them write me off. It won’t matter when they’re flat on their backs, staring up at the lights, trying to figure out how the hell they lost to someone they didn’t even bother preparing for.
Because while they were practicing victory speeches and booking photo shoots, I was bleeding for this. Sacrificing for this. Burning for this. And no spotlight can outshine the kind of fire that’s been lit in my soul. Some nights, I still hear Kevin’s voice in my head. When the crowd fades and the adrenaline wears off. When the locker room is too quiet and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
“Don’t forget why you started, Lilith. Don’t forget who you are. Be the thing they fear, show them.. Show me you can stand on your own.”
As if I ever could. The truth is, I don’t fight for the fans. I don’t fight for the accolades or the paychecks.
I fight because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because the ring doesn’t lie to me. It doesn’t gaslight me. It doesn’t pretend. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt honest. Out there, under the heat of the lights, everything makes sense. Every scream, every strike, every pinfall—it’s all real. And for someone like me, who’s spent a lifetime being told she was too much or not enough, that kind of truth is everything.
They’ll remember me. One way or another.
Maybe not for the glitter or the drama or the press conferences. But they’ll remember what it felt like to stand across from me. To face me. They’ll remember the way I didn’t blink. The way I smiled when they thought they had me beat. The way I refused to break, even when they threw everything they had at me.
Because I’m not just another Bombshell.
I’m the warning they ignored.
I’m the storm they didn’t see coming.
I’m the reckoning they can’t stop.
And if Kevin’s reading this—if by some twist of fate, these words find their way to him—I hope he knows…
You lit the fire.
And I’m not putting it out.
Not yet.
Not until they scream my name like it’s carved into legend.
Not until I’ve made damn sure that every woman who steps into that ring after me knows exactly who Lilith was—and why she could never be duplicated.
You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. You broke me open and showed me that even in the ruin, there was something worth saving. You didn’t save me, Kevin. You armed me.
And now?
Now they all get to find out what happens when the fire doesn’t die.
It consumes.
End Entry.
But not the end.
Not even close.
“HELL OR HIGH WATER”
Location: Colorado Springs, Colorado – Off the Grid
The cold mountain air bit at Lilith’s skin as she stepped out onto the overlook, boots crunching over frost-hardened earth. Colorado Springs stretched beneath her, lit in patches by halogen street lamps and the faint pulse of neon far below. The sky above was a sea of storm clouds rolling in slow, quiet menace—bruised gray and roiling with promise. Lightning flickered somewhere over the Front Range in the distance. She inhaled, slow and steady, letting that cold sting her lungs, letting it wake something inside that hadn’t slept in weeks.
She wasn’t dressed for the cold—not really. Torn black jeans clung to her legs, her boots worn and mud-caked. Her jacket was leather, scuffed and scratched from too many nights spent on the road and in fights no one would ever document. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low braid that whipped slightly in the wind. Her fingers flexed at her sides—tight, then loose. It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t hesitation. It was restraint.
There was a GoPro perched on a nearby rock, the red light glowing. Recording. Capturing everything. This wasn’t a show. This wasn’t some manufactured studio set or in-ring promo crafted for ratings.
This was Lilith.
Unfiltered.
Unforgiving.
Unstoppable.
She stood there in silence for a beat longer, eyes locked on the city as if she could already feel the shockwaves rippling outward from what she was about to say. And then, with her voice low and steady, she began.
“You know what’s funny?”
Her lips curled—not a smile. Something sharper. Something with teeth.
“I’m about twenty minutes away from the arena right now. While they’re testing the lights and setting up the entrance ramp, I’m up here… above it all. Not because I think I’m better. Not because I don’t belong down there. I am the storm they’re building the whole damn card around, they just don’t know it yet. No, I’m up here because I needed space. Space to breathe. Space to clear my head. Space to remind myself who I am before I step into that ring and make sure someone else forgets who they are.”
She shifted slightly, the wind tugging her coat back as she turned to face the camera, eyes like loaded guns.
“I’m talking about you, Mercedes.”
Her name hung in the air, heavy as thunder.
“Sin City Wrestling’s crown jewel. The so-called constant. A pillar of the Bombshell Division. You’ve lasted longer than most, and for that, I guess you deserve some credit. You’ve endured. You’ve weathered trends, roster overhauls, changing times. You’re still here. Still fighting. Still holding on.”
She stepped forward slowly, the camera tightening on her face.
“But here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud: you’re not the future. You’re the cautionary tale.”
A flash of lightning illuminated the peaks behind her—sharp and jagged as the tone in her voice.
“You’re what happens when someone refuses to let go, when someone holds on too long, thinking legacy alone makes them untouchable. You’ve turned survival into a brand. Longevity into an illusion of dominance. But this isn’t about how long you’ve been here, Mercedes. It’s about how fast I’m coming for everything you thought was safe.”
She crouched beside the overlook’s edge, picking up a rock and turning it over in her hand. It was smooth, cold, cracked through the middle. She stared at it for a long moment before letting it fall from her fingers, hearing it tumble into the abyss below.
“That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Watching the ground disappear beneath your feet. Watching the inevitable creep toward you while you cling to stats and name recognition like they’re armor. But they won’t save you. Not from me. Because I’m not the next chapter in your book, Mercedes.”
She stood.
“I’m the one who closes it.”
The camera followed her now as she walked slowly along the cliff’s edge, hands out of her pockets, voice steady but hardening.
“I’m not coming to Colorado Springs to steal your spotlight. I’m not coming to take your seat at the table. I’m coming to burn the whole table down. You’ve had your time. You’ve had your reigns, your matches, your moments. But now it’s my moment. And if the only way to get what I deserve is to tear your legacy apart brick by brick, then I’ll start swinging.”
Her eyes narrowed, ice cold.
“Because I’m done asking for opportunities. I’m done knocking on doors that were never going to open for someone like me. Hell or high water, I will get that title shot. And you? You’re the stepping stone. You’re the gatekeeper.”
She tilted her head.
“And I’m the one kicking the gate down.”
The wind picked up, howling now. It wrapped around her like something alive, her coat whipping back behind her as she stalked forward again. Her words came sharper now, like blades carving into skin.
“I’ve spent months watching the Bombshell Division pretend like I’m not a threat. I’ve heard the excuses. ‘Lilith hasn’t done enough. She hasn’t earned it. She’s not marketable enough. Not polished enough.’ Let me explain something.”
Her voice dipped low.
“I’m not here to be polished. I’m not here to smile on posters or sign deals with makeup brands. I’m not the division’s next PR win. I’m the one dragging it back to where it belongs: the fight. The blood. The grit. The war.”
She jabbed a finger at the camera.
“You want to talk about deserving a title shot? Let’s talk about what I’ve done to get here. Let’s talk about the nights I didn’t sleep. The days I trained until my knuckles bled. The battles no one recorded. The pain I didn’t post online because it wasn’t about getting sympathy—it was about building fire in my bones.”
She pressed her hand flat against her chest.
“That fire Kevin lit in me? It hasn’t dimmed. It hasn’t flickered. It’s a goddamn inferno now, and it’s spreading.”
She turned again, facing the city.
“Mercedes, you’re the match this whole company is watching. The ‘veteran showdown.’ The test. They say if I beat you, then maybe I deserve something. Maybe then, they’ll take me seriously.”
Her jaw tightened.
“But I’m not here to pass your test. I’m here to make an example out of you.”
Her breath fogged in the cold, but her eyes never lost their heat.
“When you’re lying on the mat, lungs empty, mind foggy, asking yourself what the hell just hit you—I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember that I warned you. I gave you a chance to walk away with what little pride you had left. But you stayed.”
She stepped closer again, eyes locking directly with the lens.
“So now you’ll fall.”
For a moment, the wind died. A heavy stillness settled in. All you could hear was her breathing.
Slow. Purposeful. Controlled.
And then she spoke again, the weight of the world behind her voice.
“After I take you out, there will be no more debates. No more rankings to manipulate. No more ignoring the firestorm breathing down management’s neck.”
She raised her voice, not yelling—but commanding.
“You will give me my shot. Whether it’s handed to me in the middle of that ring or pried from the unconscious hands of whoever holds it, I will get it. I will force the spotlight on me, because I am not waiting anymore. Not in the shadows. Not behind someone else’s legacy. I am the one kicking the walls down now. I am the main event.”
She took a long pause. Lightning struck again in the distance, illuminating the jagged terrain beneath the mountains. A distant rumble echoed across the valley. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, but every word as sharp as broken glass.
“I didn’t come here to be remembered, you want that go to Alexandra Calaway. I came here to make damn sure no one ever forgets.”
Another long silence.
And then—quietly, solemnly—she said: “Hell or high water… I’m coming.”
She turned away from the camera, walking toward the edge one last time. The wind screamed louder now, carrying with it a promise of violence and transformation. She stood there a final moment, silhouetted against a canvas of lightning and stone and sky, before reaching over and clicking the camera off.
Darkness swallowed everything.
“MAKE THEM FEAR YOU”
Location: Abandoned warehouse gym. Colorado Springs. Night.
The warehouse was silent but alive with ghosts. Echoes of fists on heavy bags and guttural shouts from years past still clung to the crumbling concrete walls. Overhead, the hum of fluorescent lights battled the stillness, casting pale light across a dust-laced ring sitting dead-center like an altar. Outside, the night roared with wind, but in here, the only storm was building inside her.
Lilith’s breath steamed in the frigid air. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from the strain of hours. The tape on her wrists was soaked through with sweat and streaks of red where her knuckles had split open. Her black tank top clung to her body, soaked through. Each breath tasted like iron and heat. She stood just outside the ropes, chest rising and falling like she’d been running through fire.
Inside the ring, Kevin was waiting.
He didn’t speak when she staggered back in. He didn’t have to. The set of his jaw, the calm in his eyes, the way he flexed the pads on his hands—it all said the same thing: You’re not done. Not even close.
Lilith climbed the apron and ducked between the ropes with the weight of gravity tripled. Her legs ached with each step, knees threatening to lock. Her body had already quit twice tonight, and he had made her drag it back both times.
“Combo three,” Kevin said, no inflection. “You know the drill.”
She nodded, wiped her mouth with the back of her taped hand, and took her stance. Then came the hits.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Elbow.
Again.
Harder.
Faster.
Kevin caught each strike cleanly, pushing her off-balance if she hesitated, slamming the pad against her arms when her guard dropped too slow. There were no words of encouragement. No praise. Only the sound of breath and pain and the harsh thuds echoing off the walls.
“Again.”
She fired the combo again. Her elbow landed with a wet crack, and her shoulder flared white-hot. But he didn’t stop her.
“Again.”
The numbers blurred. She didn’t know how many she’d thrown—only that her lungs were tightening, her vision was starting to narrow, and her fists felt like cinder blocks dragging her down.
Then she dropped.
Not dramatically—just a collapse of joints refusing to hold her up. She landed on one knee, her breath coming in short, gasping pulls.
Kevin didn’t move. He stared down at her with that same expressionless mask. “You finished?”
Lilith shook her head, even if every part of her body screamed otherwise.
“Then get up.”
She pushed, and it felt like trying to move a mountain. Her body didn’t want to obey. Her muscles had turned against her. But her will—the raw, bitter fire burning in her gut—had other plans.
When she stood again, she looked like hell.
Kevin didn’t flinch. He simply raised the pads.
“Combo five. Twenty reps. No breaks.”
Lilith opened her mouth to say something, maybe protest, maybe scream—but she swallowed it down. Words were useless here. The only thing that mattered was movement.
She launched into the combo—uppercut, cross, elbow, spinning backfist—and immediately stumbled.
Kevin didn’t correct her. He didn’t help. He just circled her like a vulture.
“Sloppy,” he muttered. “She’ll kill you like that.”
“I said—” she spat through clenched teeth, catching her balance.
“She’ll break you in two. Laugh while she does it. You’re not going to beat her like this. Not even close.”
Lilith’s breath turned to a snarl. She struck again. Cleaner.
He nodded. “Again.”
They went through the reps. She lost count. Somewhere after the thirteenth her legs went numb, her shoulders locked up, and still he kept counting. When she reached twenty, she fell back against the ropes and nearly slid to the mat.
Kevin didn’t stop.
“You want to know why they gave you Mercedes?” he asked, voice low but sharp. “Because they think she’ll chew you up. Because they think you’re fire with no control. Flash without burn. That she’ll humble you in front of everyone. They’re not throwing you a test, Lilith. They’re throwing you in the meat grinder to see what’s left when it spits you out.”
Lilith wiped sweat from her eyes, shaking her head.
“They’re wrong.”
“Are they?”
He stepped forward, pressing the mitts into her chest. “Prove it.”
And she did.
She came at him again, faster this time, fury in every strike. Her fists stopped being fists—they became weapons. Her elbow caught the edge of the pad and glanced off, nearly hitting his jaw. She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes—and something darker. Satisfaction.
For a moment, the air between them turned electric. Not romantic. Not even personal.
Primal.
Kevin ripped the mitts off and tossed them. “That’s it. Now we spar.”
She hesitated. Her hands were shaking, her legs leaden.
“Now.”
They didn’t circle. They collided.
Kevin didn’t hold back. His palm strikes came hard, meant to knock her senseless, to break her rhythm. He swept her legs, caught her by the hair when she staggered, threw her against the ropes to see how fast she bounced back. When she hit the mat, she had to crawl.
“Get up.”
He wasn’t yelling. His voice never rose. That was the worst part—how clinical it all was. Like he was fine-tuning a weapon.
She launched back at him—wild, unbalanced. He punished her for it. A chop to the chest sent her stumbling. She came back again, more focused, more violent. She ducked his strike and landed one across his ribs. He smiled then—not warm. Not pleased. Just the barest flicker of approval.
He pressed her again. Over and over.
Until finally—she hit him hard enough to drop him to one knee.
Kevin rose slowly, rubbing his jaw, and stared at her like he was finally seeing what he’d been trying to pull out of her all along.
She stood across from him, blood in her mouth, soaked with sweat, chest heaving. But she wasn’t broken.
She was sharpened.
“You want that title shot?” he asked, voice low.
She nodded.
“Then you don’t beat Mercedes. You end her. You send a message so loud the whole damn Bombshell Division hears it in their bones.”
Lilith stared at him, her mouth a thin, bloodied line.
“I will.”
Kevin stepped forward and tapped two fingers against her temple.
“Think like a monster.”
Then he pressed them against her heart.
“Move like a killer.”
Finally, he pointed to the ring beneath their feet.
“Take everything. Give nothing back.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Kevin stepped back through the ropes and out of the ring. His job for the night was done. He had dragged her to the edge of her own limits and made her look over. And now? Now she was ready to jump. Lilith turned and looked at herself in the mirror bolted to the wall across the ring. Her reflection didn’t look like a contender. It looked like something dangerous.
