Blog: Almighty Firesemana del 29 de junio al 7 de julio de 2025OK, let's get one thing straight from the jump: there’s a difference between being a champion and acting like one. But apparently, in Sin City Wrestling, definitions are as loose as Bella Madison’s grasp on reality—or her Twitter password.
So, I log into Twitter, minding my own business, and what do I see? Bella Madison, the perennial sidekick of her own story, chirping away about loopholes and crayons. Sweetheart, if I needed a lesson in coloring outside the lines, I’d ask a toddler, not someone who’s been coloring her career with excuses since day one.
Let’s recap for those in the cheap seats:
After Into the Void:
I had a “bad night.” Oh, the horror. Newsflash: even legends have off nights. But unlike some, I don’t need a support group and a hashtag every time I stub my toe. I move on. Winners do.
Climax Control, two weeks after that:
Suddenly, matches “don’t count.” The mental gymnastics required to keep up with Bella’s logic would put Simone Biles to shame. Apparently, if you don’t like the outcome, just say “REASONS” and hope nobody asks for specifics.
Now, Summer XXXtreme:
Bella wants another shot. Because, of course, the world revolves around her rematch clause. She’s out here acting like the only thing standing between her and greatness is a technicality. Honey, it’s called talent. Look it up.
And then, the pièce de résistance:
“IT'S CALLED A LOOPHOLE, BITCH.”
Oh, Bella. Such language. I suppose when you run out of arguments, all that’s left is to shout into the void (no pun intended) and hope someone retweets you. Maybe next time, she should try a puppet show. I hear that’s more her speed.
But let’s talk about respect. I requested Bella vs. Crystal at the go-home show. Denied. Instead, Bella has the night off, I get Kayla Richards this weekend, and then, at Summer XXXtreme, I’m defending my title in a triple threat against Bella and Lilith. Let’s pause for a moment. Triple threat. As in, I have to beat two challengers at once. Because apparently, being the best isn’t enough. Now, I have to prove it against double the competition. Outrageous doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m the champion. I should be calling the shots. But apparently, in SCW, respect is a one-way street. Bella gets handed opportunities on a silver platter, while I have to jump through hoops just to get a fair fight. Funny how that works.
Meanwhile, Bella wonders if I thought I could “get away with making that match.” Sweetheart, I don’t “get away” with anything—I earn my opportunities. Unlike some, I don’t need to dig through the rulebook for loopholes. My legacy isn’t built on technicalities; it’s built on victories.
And just when you think the circus is over, Victoria Lyons chimes in—Bombshell Roulette Champion, self-appointed voice of reason:
“Instead of complaining, why don’t you just woman up and handle your flies?”
Victoria, darling, I’d love to, but it’s hard to swat flies when you’re constantly surrounded by gnats buzzing about rematches and loopholes. Maybe if everyone spent less time whining and more time training, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
If Bella spent half as much time perfecting her craft as she does perfecting her victim complex, maybe she'd be champion by now. But hey, not everyone can be Mercedes Vargas. Thank God for that.
I don’t need loopholes. I don’t need hand puppets. I don’t need to shout in all caps to make my point. My resume speaks for itself. But if SCW management wants to stack the odds, I say bring it. Triple threat? Fine. I’ll beat two at once. Maybe then, Bella will finally get the hint: you can’t loophole your way to greatness.
That’s what separates me from the rest. I don’t just survive pressure—I thrive in it. I don’t just accept challenges—I demand them. I don’t need management’s approval, I don’t need the fans’ validation, and I sure as hell don’t need anyone’s permission to be great.
So, to all the would-be contenders, the loophole hunters, and the self-appointed keyboard warriors among you: Step up or step aside. Because while you’re busy arguing about crayons and clauses, I’ll be busy doing what I do best—winning.
And that, darlings, is the only lesson you’ll ever need.
So, here we are. Another weekend, another match, another opportunity for Mercedes Vargas to remind the world why this division revolves around me.
Now let's get one thing straight: I don’t overlook anyone. I don’t underestimate anyone. That’s why I’m still champion, and everyone else is fighting for scraps. But when it comes to Kayla Richards, the World Bombshell Champion herself, stepping up to face me, I can’t help but notice a familiar pattern—big talk, bigger ambitions, and when the lights are brightest? That’s when the real stars shine.
Let’s be clear: Kayla’s reign as World Bombshell Champion is impressive. No one can deny she’s earned her spot at the top of that division. She's a champion in every sense of the word. But this weekend, the spotlight isn’t just on Kayla’s belt, it’s on her heart, her grit, and her ability to handle the pressure that comes with facing me.
This isn’t just another match. This is a collision of legacies. The Bombshell Internet Champion versus the World Bombshell Champion. The woman who holds the division’s spotlight versus the woman who is the spotlight.
So, what can the SCW Universe expect this weekend? Simple: A show-stealer. A match that reminds everyone why the Bombshell division is the best in the business. Expect fireworks. Expect a battle that will have everyone on the edge of their seats. Expect two women who refuse to back down, who refuse to settle for second best.
And when the final bell rings? Expect Mercedes Vargas to still be standing—because I don’t just defend my title, I defend my legacy.
This weekend isn’t about loopholes, excuses, or Twitter drama. It’s about wrestling. It’s about legacy. It’s about proving, once again, that when you step into the ring with Mercedes Vargas, you step into greatness.
This weekend, it’s more than just pride on the line. It’s about proving who truly runs this division. Who deserves the spotlight. Who’s the real queen of SCW.
So to Kayla Richards, before our collision this weekend: Don't mistake my confidence for arrogance. Don't mistake my words for empty threats. What you're hearing is the voice of a woman who has been forged in fire, who has turned pain into power, who has transformed setbacks into comebacks.
You're good, Kayla. Maybe even great. But I'm legendary.
When we lock up, when we stand toe to toe, when we push each other to our limits, remember this moment. Remember that I warned you. Remember that I saw through your facade of confidence to the doubt that lingers beneath.
Because that's the difference between us. You hope you can win. I know I will.
So bring your title. Bring your best. Bring everything you've got. It won't be enough. It's never enough against Mercedes Vargas.
The spotlight doesn't find me—I command it. The crowd doesn't cheer for me—I demand it. Success doesn't come to me—I seize it.
That's not arrogance. That's not hype. That's the cold, hard truth that everyone in Sin City Wrestling has to face eventually: In a world of contenders, there's only one Mercedes Vargas.
Will Kayla’s World Bombshell title shine brighter, or will my Bombshell Internet championship—and my legacy—outshine her? The answer lies in the ring.
This is the moment. This is the match. This is Mercedes Vargas, reminding the world why I’m not just in the spotlight—I am the spotlight.
Kayla Richards. Mercedes Vargas. Two champions, two titles, one ring—and only one can walk out standing tall.
And after this weekend, after I've beaten Kayla Richards, after I've demolished both Bella Madison and Lilith Locke at Summer XXXtreme, maybe—just maybe—they'll finally understand what I've been saying all along:
This isn't just my time. This is my legacy. This is my dynasty.
And dynasties don't fall. They reign.
So come at me with your loopholes, your darkness, your titles, your threats. Throw everything you have at me. And when the dust settles, when the smoke clears, look for me.
I'll be the one still standing. Still champion. Still Mercedes Vargas.
I’m not out to prove if I still got it. I’m here to remind the world I never lost it.~~~
B O U L D E R • C O L O R A D O[The same boulder at Garden of the Gods, late afternoon. The sky is streaked with soft hues of orange and pink. Mercedes sits hunched on the boulder, elbows on her knees, her championship belt draped loosely across her lap. Her breath clouds in the cooling air. She absently rubs her thumb over the metal plate of the belt, lost in thought.]
“You ever lie awake at night, replaying every time you almost walked away? Every time you wondered if any of this was worth it—if you were worth it?”
[She pauses, her eyes fixed on the horizon, fingers tightening around the belt. A gust of wind stirs her hair. She closes her eyes for a moment, steadying herself.]
“But then I remember why I started. Every door slammed in my face, every ‘you’ll never make it.’ And the first time I held this belt—how heavy it was. How real."
[She swallows hard, voice cracking just a little. She shifts, sitting up straighter, as if bracing herself against the weight of memory.]
“I’m not just fighting Bella and Lilith soon. I’m fighting every shadow that ever tried to swallow me. And I’m still here. Still standing.”
[She exhales slowly, shoulders dropping as a quiet resolve settles over her. She runs her palm along the rough surface of the boulder, grounding herself.]
“This isn’t just about winning. It’s about proving to myself that I’m more than the doubts, more than the pain. I’m still here.”
[Suddenly, footsteps approach softly from behind. Irma appears, carrying a giant thermos and a suspiciously large sandwich.]
IRMA:
You look like you need a snack and a pep talk. Lucky for you, I brought both.
[Irma sits beside Mercedes, plopping the sandwich on the boulder and offering the thermos.]
MERCEDES:
Is that… a triple-decker? Irma, we’re supposed to be training, not eating our weight in carbs.
IRMA:
Hey, fueling up is part of the process. Besides, champions need carbs. And that belt looks better with a full stomach.
[Mercedes fiddles with the belt, pretending it’s a fashion accessory.]
MERCEDES:
I’m scared, Irma. Not just of Bella and Lilith. I’m scared of losing myself—of fighting so hard I forget who I am. What if I start talking in nothing but wrestling promos?
IRMA:
“Then you better start practicing your ‘What?’ chants. But seriously, you’re stronger than you think. You’ve faced down every doubt, every shadow, and every bad haircut. And you’re still standing."
[Mercedes shifts, tracing the edge of her championship belt with trembling fingers. She lets out a shaky breath, gaze dropping to her hands.]
MERCEDES:
Sometimes I wonder if this belt is a chain, not a crown. If it’s just another way to trap me in a fight I can’t win. What if all I am is this title? What happens when it’s gone?
[Irma leans in, voice steady and warm. She reaches over, gently turning the belt so the nameplate faces her.]
IRMA:
The belt doesn’t make you—you make the belt. It’s just proof of what you’ve survived, every scar you turned into armor. Bella and Lilith can’t take that. Even if you lost it tomorrow, you’d still be the woman who never quit.
[Mercedes breathes deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing just a moment.]
MERCEDES:
I want to believe that. I want to believe I’m more than the fear, more than the mistakes. But mostly, I want to believe this thermos has coffee in it.
IRMA:
Better. It’s hot chocolate. Because sometimes champions need a little sweetness. And you on more caffeine? No thanks.
[Mercedes laughs, then takes a big sip from the thermos.]
MERCEDES:
Okay, I take it back—hot chocolate is the real championship fuel.
IRMA:
See? I told you. Forget protein shakes. Next time, I’m bringing churros.
MERCEDES:
Churros? Now you’re talking. Think I can get a snack break written into my contract?
IRMA:
Only if you promise not to hit anyone with a baguette again.
MERCEDES:
That was one time! And technically, it was a breadstick.
[They both burst out laughing, the tension broken, as the sun dips lower behind the rocks.]
MERCEDES:
Heard The Floating Penalty Box is going all out for the Fourth of July.
IRMA:
Nothing like celebrating freedom with a side of root beer BBQ wings and a river breeze. I’m already dreaming of those bacon-wrapped poppers. Tomas keeps bragging about those sweet potato tots and his house-made fry sauce. Honestly, that sauce deserves its own trophy.
MERCEDES:
If I win Sunday, I’m claiming the biggest slice of that berry pie. No questions asked.
IRMA:
And I’ll be right there, making sure you don’t get distracted by the fireworks and forget who you’re supposed to be beating next. Kayla Richards is no joke.
MERCEDES:
Deal. But if I lose, you’re buying me a round of those “Delayed Penalty” cheeseburgers.
IRMA:
You’re on. But fair warning—those burgers are almost as dangerous as Kayla's finishing move.
MERCEDES:
Good. I like a challenge—on the plate or in the ring.
END
~~~
Present Day ♦ G R A N D J U N C T I O N • C O L O R A D O[REC•][Sidewalk Café, late morning. Mercedes Vargas sits at a sun-drenched bistro table, the bustle of Grand Junction reflected in her sunglasses. She’s dressed impeccably: crisp white blouse, tailored slacks, designer heels. Her Bombshell Internet Championship belt is draped over the back of her chair, just visible to the camera. She checks her phone, then sets it aside, crossing her legs with practiced elegance.
[She lifts her coffee cup, savoring a slow sip. Her Hall of Fame rings catch the sunlight as she sets the cup down with a soft clink. She leans back, a knowing smile playing at her lips as she looks straight into the camera.]
"You know, there’s something refreshing about Grand Junction in the summer. The air is clean, the sun is bright, and the people… well, they’re not nearly as bitter as some of the company I keep in Sin City Wrestling."
[Mercedes idly drums her fingers on the table, her Hall of Fame rings glinting. She glances at her phone, scrolling briefly before locking the screen and placing it face-down. She picks up a silver spoon, stirring her coffee with a gentle swirl, unhurried and precise.]
"I always appreciate when someone takes the time to talk about me at length. Kayla certainly has a way with words—so many of them, in fact, I almost needed a second cup of coffee to get through her little TED Talk. But don’t worry, I took notes. I always do. Some of us like to be prepared for the test."
[Mercedes casually stirs her coffee, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she glances over the rim of her cup, clearly amused.]
"First, let me say how touching it is to hear you finally admit what I’ve known all along: I’m not so easy to get rid of. I mean, you’ve practically made a hobby out of telling me to quit. You begged, you pleaded, you even tried reverse psychology. I haven’t seen that much effort since the last time you tried to convince yourself you were humble. Or the last time you tried to convince the world you’re not obsessed with me."
[She pauses, letting the words hang in the air, then leans back with a playful roll of her eyes.]
"But I get it. It must be exhausting, constantly trying to keep up with someone who refuses to fade quietly into the background. While you’re busy counting titles and talking legacy, I’m busy making moves—quietly, efficiently, without the need for a spotlight every step of the way."
[Mercedes taps her rings lightly on the table.]
"The “I’m not a bitch, I just play one on TV” routine is so you, Kayla. I have to admit, you do arrogance like nobody else—except maybe me, but I do it with better shoes."
[She glances down, shifting her foot to show off her designer heels, then looks back up with a sly smirk.]
"You’ve got a lot of opinions about who’s “over the hill” and who should retire, but let’s be honest—you talk about legends like you’re not desperate to become one. You’ve set records, collected titles like Starbucks rewards points. But for someone “untouchable,” you sure spend a lot of time talking about everyone else’s legacy."
[She leans in, lowering her sunglasses just enough to reveal a glint in her eye, her voice soft and conspiratorial.]
"But here’s the thing, Kayla. You keep asking me to walk away, but you never seem to ask yourself why I’m still here. Maybe it’s because I love this business. Or maybe it’s because every time you think you’ve got me figured out, I give you something new to worry about. Like, say, this Bombshell Internet Championship. Looks good on me, doesn’t it? Almost as good as that World Bombshell Championship looks good on you—back when you still smiled in your photos."
[Mercedes takes another sip of coffee, unbothered.]
"You say you’ve never given me your best. That’s cute. It’s easier to claim you were holding back than admit you just couldn’t put me away. But hey, if you need to tell yourself bedtime stories to sleep at night, who am I to judge? Some of us count sheep, others count excuses. Guess which one sleeps better at night?"
[She scrolls idly on her phone, then sets it down, her attention returning to the camera as she leans forward, elbows on the table.]
"You want to talk about hunger, about motivation, about legacy? Sweetheart, I built mine while you were still figuring out which side of your face photographs better. And I didn’t need to tear down every woman in the locker room to do it. See, that’s the difference between us: I don’t need to be the loudest in the room, because my actions speak for themselves. Bombshell Internet Champion, and still here. Still winning. Still making history, even when people like you pray for my downfall."
[Mercedes flashes a dazzling smile, her tone light but her words sharp. She uncrosses her legs, shifting in her chair to face the camera more directly]
"And let’s be honest, Kayla, you can’t resist coming back to this well, can you? No matter how many times you try to move on, you keep finding yourself face-to-face with me. Almost poetic, really. Remember the last time you tried to write me off? You walked out thinking you’d silenced me for good. But here I am, still standing, still winning, still the name you can’t escape."
[She picks up her phone, scrolling idly as she continues.]
"It’s adorable that you’re proud of me. I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card—maybe even a fruit basket. I hear humility pairs well with citrus. And if you’re lucky, I’ll autograph it for you. A keepsake for when you’re feeling nostalgic. But let’s not pretend this is charity, Kayla. You know as well as I do that every time I step up, I force you to step up, too. That’s why you’re finally giving me your best, right? Because you know anything less just isn’t enough anymore."
[She leans back, crossing her legs, championship gleaming.]
"So here’s what’s going to happen, Kayla. You’re going to walk into our match with all the confidence in the world, and I’m going to walk in with all the experience in it. You’ll try to make an example out of me, and I’ll remind you—gently, of course—that you can’t kill a legend. You can only hope to keep up."
[Mercedes winks at the camera, then stands, gathering her purse and slinging it over her shoulder with effortless grace. She picks up her championship belt, draping it over her arm, and saunters down Main Street. The camera follows, heels clicking confidently on the pavement]
[She passes a mural of the Colorado River, pausing to let the sun catch her hair. She gestures to the mural, voice soft but pointed.]
"There's something poetic about this town. A place where the river carves its own path through stubborn rock, where the landscape refuses to be tamed. It reminds me a lot of this business we’re in—the wrestling world. You can try to shape it, control it, dominate it, but there’s always going to be someone ready to push back, to carve out their own legacy."
[She brushes her fingers along the painted river, then turns back to the camera.]
"That river? That’s me. Flowing, relentless, and always finding a way forward, no matter the obstacles. You? You’re the rock. Solid, sure, but worn down by time and pressure. And no matter how hard you try to hold your ground, eventually, you erode."
[Mercedes smiles, a mix of kindness and challenge. She resumes her walk, passing local shops and art galleries, occasionally glancing in windows, her stride never faltering.]
"I’ve been watching you the last three years, Kayla. Watching you build your empire, stacking those titles like trophies on a shelf. But here’s the thing about empires—they’re fragile. Built on fear, on intimidation, on the illusion of perfection. And when the foundation cracks, the whole thing comes tumbling down."
[She starts walking again, passing local shops and art galleries, occasionally glancing in windows, her stride never faltering.]
"You say you’re “built different.” That you’re better than anyone who’s come before or after you. That you’re the standard by which all others are measured. That’s a bold claim. And I respect confidence—I really do. But confidence without humility is just arrogance. And arrogance? Well, that’s a dangerous game."
[Mercedes passes a jewelry store, her gaze lingering on the sparkling display before she pivots gracefully, meeting the camera’s eye.]
"You talk about me like I’m some relic, some fading star clinging to the past. But I’m not here to relive the past. I’m here to make new history. To redefine what it means to be a champion in this division. To show that experience and heart can still outshine youth and flash."
[She laughs softly, shaking her head, then adjusts her sunglasses, pushing them higher up her nose.]
"You think this is about age? About who’s “over the hill” and who’s “past their prime”? That’s a tired narrative. Wrestling isn’t a young person’s game—it’s a fighter’s game. And I’m still fighting. Still hungry. Still hungry enough to stare down someone like you and say, “Bring it.”"
[Mercedes’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing with intensity as she stops at the curb, waiting for the crosswalk signal.]
"You say you’re afraid of what would happen if I beat you. That it would be the “death of your legacy.” That’s adorable. But here’s a little secret: legacies aren’t built on avoiding defeat. They’re built on how you respond to it. On how you rise after you fall. On how you keep going when everyone else expects you to quit."
[She steps closer to the camera, voice dropping to a confident whisper.]
"And if I beat you? That won’t be the end of your legacy, Kayla. It’ll be the start of a new chapter. One where you finally learn humility. One where you finally learn what it really means to be challenged. To be pushed. To be humbled. Because that’s how champions grow. Not by talking themselves up, but by proving themselves in the ring."
[Mercedes straightens, smoothing her dress and sliding her sunglasses back up. She glances at the mountains in the distance, gesturing with her free hand.]
"I’m not here to break you. I’m here to elevate this division. To raise the bar. To inspire every woman who’s been told she’s too old, too small, too “not enough” to chase her dreams. Because I’m living proof that it’s never too late to rewrite your story."
[She gestures to the mountains in the distance, their peaks glowing in the late morning sun.]
"Look at those peaks. Majestic, unyielding. They didn’t get that way by standing still. They got there by weathering storms, by enduring the harshest conditions, by standing tall no matter what."
[Mercedes turns back to the camera, eyes shining with conviction. She rests her hand on her championship belt, thumb tracing the gold.]
"That’s what I bring to this match. Not just skill or strength, but heart. Experience. The kind of resilience that only comes from decades in this business. And that, Kayla, is something you can’t fake. Something you can’t buy. Something you have to earn."
[She smiles slyly, stepping off the curb as the crosswalk light changes.]
"They say wisdom comes with age. Lucky for me, I'm dripping in both. So, Kayla, by all means—bring your best. Bring the fire, the bravado, the monologues. I’ll bring the experience, the resilience, and the inconvenient truth that legends don’t die just because you wish they would. They evolve. They adapt. And sometimes, they remind you why you started chasing greatness in the first place."
[Mercedes walks confidently across the street, the camera pulling back to capture the vibrant life of Grand Junction around her—families, artists, the distant hum of summer. She pauses, looking back over her shoulder with a final, confident smile.]
"When we step into that ring, Kayla, don’t expect the “crusty old bitch” you think you know. Expect the champion who refuses to be written off. The woman who’s still got plenty of fight left. The one who’s going to remind you—and everyone watching—why I’m still here.
"And to everyone out there watching—get ready. Because this isn’t just a match. It’s a battle for respect. For legacy. For the future of the Bombshells division.
[Mercedes stands at the edge of the crosswalk, glancing up at the traffic light. She tightens her grip on the championship belt, draws a steadying breath, and steps forward with purpose as the signal changes, her silhouette framed by the morning sun.]
"So here’s to Climax Control 430—champion versus champion, legacy versus legacy. May the best woman win, Kayla. And if, by some chance, you find yourself needing a little pep talk after, don’t worry. I’m always happy to lend a hand. After all, I’ve made a career out of helping women like you remember who set the standard in the first place."
[Fade out as Mercedes crosses the street, the sun casting long shadows behind her, the sounds of Grand Junction fading into the background.]
[***Fade***]
