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The moment had arrived.

The challenger, a name already etched in the annals of WWFG history—the son of Nuke Fusion, a former World Heavyweight Champion in his own right, and one of the very few men to hold a victory over Omen since his terrifying re-emergence. That night may have even sparked the monster’s historic year of dominance. And now, the cycle returned to its violent beginning. The stage was set, the war rekindled.

But before the battle could begin… the champion would make his presence known.

"This song is not for the living…"

"This song is for the dead."

The metallic screech of grinding machinery filled the arena, the unsettling sound crawling through the sound system like a virus, infecting every corner of the venue. Accompanying it was the low, haunting hum of a rusted-out keyboard, dragging the audience into the darkness.

Suddenly, a portion of the stage—previously blocked from view—peeled away to reveal the ominous presence of Slipknot, stationed at a grimy industrial platform to the left of the main entrance.

But this wasn’t a concert.

This was an invocation.

The band didn’t dive into their usual chaos. Instead, they began with “XIX”, a funeral dirge turned war cry. As the opening lyrics crept from Corey Taylor’s lips, the house lights dimmed, replaced by a series of stark, unnatural white beams focused solely on the band.

"With my face against the floor…

I can't see who knocked me out of the way..."

The audience fell into a hush. Every word echoed through them, not as a song, but a warning.

So walk with me… WALK WITH ME!

Don’t let this fcking world tear you apart!*

And then—silence.

The music cut.

The moment lingered just long enough for the fans to erupt in appreciation for the performance—only to be shattered again by Corey’s raspy voice.

"Las Vegas…"

"Welcome back."

From the ash of one song came another—the creeping ambiance of “If Rain Is What You Want.” The lights died completely, and in the darkness, a single spotlight dropped center stage. Smoke began to flood around its edges like a portal had been opened to somewhere not quite natural.

Then—movement.

A massive silhouette began to emerge from the fog. Slow. Heavy. Unstoppable. A monolith in motion. Draped in tattered, black ceremonial cloth and bearing the gleam of the World Heavyweight Championship around his waist, Omen stepped into the light.

Corey’s voice resumed, but it was no longer about the song—it was about the presence.

"If Rain is What You Want

All you have to do, is close your eyes."

Omen paused, standing at the edge of the platform, locking his gaze with the man awaiting him in the ring—Avari Fusion. There was no music that could truly capture what boiled beneath Omen’s surface, but Slipknot came close.

And when the hook dropped—he moved.

"Introducing at this time…"

"Weighing in tonight at 371 pounds…"

"From Parts Unknown…"

"He is the World Heavyweight Champion… OOOOOOOMEN!"

Every thunderous step down the long ramp raised the tension, the air in the stadium thick with adrenaline. Omen didn’t flinch. His path was singular. His purpose clear. This wasn’t just WrestleMania—it was a reckoning.

This was a rivalry that had stretched across every battlefield imaginable. No stage was too small. No violence too great. And tonight—the war would be settled in the very heart of the wrestling world, with the most coveted prize in the industry on the line.

Omen reached ringside, never once breaking eye contact with Avari. He turned the corner, slow and methodical, ascended the steel steps, stalked the apron, and entered the ring by stepping clean over the top rope.

Inside the ring, the two stood.

Omen slowly removed the championship from his waist, raising it high with both hands. A message. A challenge. A sentence.

Slipknot’s final notes rang out as the crowd exploded in deafening anticipation.

Two men.
One title.
One legacy-defining match.

And the only thing louder than the fans…
was the silence between the two monsters staring each other down.

The lights were as blinding as the noise was discombobulating. Even Avari seemed to get lost for a moment.

But the son of Nuke Fusion would dial back in, beginning to take his first steps outside of his corner after the bell rang.

Omen would stand tall, taking two steps forward. His eyes unwavering. Staring directly into the eyes of Avari, almost as if he was peering into his soul.

"This is awesome!"
"This is awesome!"

Avari began to raise his hands, offering a lock up. Omen began to raise his hands, acknowledging the offered test of strength. But as Avari began to approach, Omen looked to bring his right hand forward. Searching for the throat of Avari.

Would Avari's time away hinder his reactions and let Omen grab him and possibly finish this match as earlier as it started?

Checkmate. Omen tightened his grip, falling for the feint and now he was in the clutches of the most dangerous person in WWFG.

Pulling Avari, Omen looked to hoist and drop his opponent within the first minute of the match with a nasty chokeslam!

Avari would get hoisted up, but caught the big man and delivered a nasty DDT, almost spiking the big man completely on the top of his head. Causing him to flop to the side of Avari.

The bell had just rung and already a nasty attempted move, was delivered into a nasty DDT that even Omen wasn't ready for.

Avari would push Omen and pin both shoulders, but not for long as Omen immediately pushed on the back of Avari to break the pin. Not even getting a one count.

Omen began to pull himself up to a kneel. Avari leaving his sight. Omen ignoring it for now, opted to try and get to his feet as soon as possible, then search for his opponent.