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The stakes had never been higher. For some, this tournament was a crowning moment in a legacy already paved in gold.

But for Ares Alexander—this was something else entirely.

This was redemption.

“Blood // Water” by Grandson thunders through the PA system.

As the gritty, defiant rhythm rattled through the arena, the fans rose—some uncertain, some loud in support. A red hue washed over the stage like blood spilling under moonlight. The crowd knew what this meant. Violence. Intensity. Ares.

From behind the curtain emerged the man himself—Ares Alexander.

Draped in black, eyes focused, and a steel chain wrapped tightly around his fist like it had been soldered to his soul. He didn’t sprint. He didn’t pose. He stalked the ramp like a predator who knew the walls were closing in—but still chose to walk forward.


JR: "He’s had a rough go of it, no doubt. A brutal loss to Lykos. A war with GBL that ended in defeat. But here’s the thing about Ares Alexander—he’s never been one to back down from the fire."

King: "And tonight, that fire gets stoked once more—this time against Mason Black, a man who's been circling the Intercontinental title picture for months. Whos been having more success as a singles start, in comparison to that of Ares."

This wasn’t about who he’d lost to. This wasn’t about the bruises on his record.

It was about who he could still become.

“Introducing first… From Chicago, Illinois… weighing in tonight at 208 pounds… ARES ALEXANDER!”

The crowd responded—not just with cheers or jeers—but with energy. The kind of tension you feel when you know someone’s got their back to the wall and just might swing harder than ever before.

He reached ringside, glaring into the camera with eyes that didn’t blink. That chain clenched in his hand wasn’t for show—it was a symbol of the chaos he carried into every match. A reminder that he wasn’t trying to win pretty.

He was trying to survive long enough to rise.

Sliding under the bottom rope, Ares popped up to his feet with a whip of motion, pacing like a caged animal. The lights reflected off the chain on his fist, and for a moment, it wasn’t just a weapon. It was an extension of the man himself—flawed, brutal, and completely unforgiving.

He’d heard the whispers. He’d seen the doubt. While Trent, his partner and friend, was riding a wave, Ares had been swimming upstream.

But he wasn’t bitter. He was burning. And tonight, Mason Black was going to feel that heat.

The music faded, but the tension hung like a storm cloud.

Ares Alexander had something to prove. Not just to the fans. Not just to Mason Black.

But to himself.

Round One. King of the Canvas.
Failure isn’t the end. It’s the start of the fight back.
And Ares was ready to fight like hell.

It seems both men were ready to prove themselves here tonight. Ares Alexander in the shadow of Trent so far since his return, and Mason Black joining the Brad Land Strong Style and looking to prove his worth to this group tonight.

The stakes have never been higher.

Ares dropped the chain he clung on to, to the apron. Bouncing on the balls of his feet in his corner with fists raised up, waiting for the sound of the starting bell.

Both men were ready to fight. The fans, the two men, and now the official was ready for this contest to start as well. Waving his hand as the starting bell sounded off.

Ares hopped out of his corner, beginning to circle the ring and size up his opponent.

Seems like Goliath was smart enough to realize that he was a few sizes bigger than his opponent, charging in like a rhino ready to plow through anything and everything in its way.

Side stepping his opponent, Ares aimed a knee to the gut of his opponent before he would be forced into any lock or hold that would put him at a disadvantage.

Alexander delivered a nasty knee that knocked his opponent over for a moment, but he was back on his feet. Chasing his larger opponent was not ideal, but he didn;t have much other choice as it seems like Mason was going on the defensive whether he followed him or not.

Trying to stack up the damage following the knee, Arestried to sneak in some jabs to the face of his opponent where he could. Watching his footing as he pressed his opponent.

Thankfully the footing of Ares was on point, allowing him to avoid the stomp down for the most part. Just glancing his boot as he pulled it back. Retreating for a moment. One mistake could be bad for Ares. So maintaining himself while neutralizing his opponent will be a guarantee for victory.

It seems Mason had a bit of a striking background. Throwing a nasty combination. Seeing the big man had a larger wingspan and harder strikes, Ares began to retreat slightly. Trying to slip every strike he can. Getting pressed into the ropes where he would eat a left jab.