“You wore crowns of plastic,” she whispered, though her voice echoed in every fan’s skull. “You fought over rhinestones and fake tan. I am the original. The first Diva. The one you buried under steel chairs and ‘women’s evolution’ slogans. And I have come to collect.”
One by one, they fell.
Sweet Charity, the submission specialist, locked in her dreaded “Halo Hold” from behind. For a second, it worked. The Divapocalypse grunted. Then she laughed. “You hug like a sister,” she said, and Charity’s arms turned to rubber, wrapping around herself in a self-inflicted embrace that would never end. X Club Wrestling Divapocalypse
She dropped it, raised the championship belt overhead, and for the first time in X Club history, the crowd chanted not for violence, but for the woman who had just killed a ghost. “You wore crowns of plastic,” she whispered, though