From the second the bell rang—if there even was one—I was chasing shadows. Eddie moved like smoke, slipping through my grip, bouncing off ropes, launching into feints and spins. One moment he was behind me, the next he was rolling under me and popping up with a shoulder-check to my ribs. The mirrors played tricks on me—every time I thought I had him, I caught a reflection instead. He used everything—my hesitation, my frustration, even the ring’s illusions. He pulled out a fakeout roll-up, faked a limp to bait me, and even tossed one of his boots at me when I had him cornered.
“¡Oops! Lost my shoe!” he grinned as I stumbled backward, trying not to laugh and curse at the same time.
“You are so lucky I like you,” I growled, charging back in. But I wasn’t out of tricks either. I started adapting—waiting for his rhythm, not reacting to the first move, but the second. I baited him into thinking I’d go high and then slid under, catching him with a dropkick to the knee. When he tried to cheat by pulling the ropes for leverage, I twisted mid-roll and kicked his hand off.
“That’s my girl!” he laughed, hitting the mat with a thud. It all built to a blur of reversals. He went for the Three Amigos suplexes—I blocked the second and turned it into a DDT. He ducked my clothesline and bounced off the ropes, flying for a crossbody—but I turned and caught him midair, slamming him down. Still, he climbed the ropes for a Frog Splash. He winked midair—showoff—and then—
BAM.
I got my knees up. He bounced off, clutching his stomach with a grunt, and I didn’t waste a second. I caught his arm, twisted into a crucifix pin—
One.
Two.
Three.
The crowd noise was just a phantom sound, but I could hear it anyway. Feel it. The rush of adrenaline, the pounding of my heart. I let go and sat up, breathing hard. Eddie groaned and rolled to his knees, then looked up at me with that wide, proud grin. He clapped slowly, then got to his feet and raised my hand. “Now that,” he said, “was Latina-level clever—even for you.”
I grinned through my panting. “Guess I’ve been paying attention.”
He leaned in a little closer, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Just remember something, mamacita. Being good doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being honest. With them… and with you.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “You passed the test, Angel. Viva la raza… and viva tu verdad.”
And then, like all dreams—he was gone. But that truth? That stayed with me.
I knew something had shifted the moment I stepped through the door. The air around me changed. Heavier. Warmer, like thick breath against the back of my neck. The colors of the world bled out, fading into shadow as I stood at the threshold of a decayed Firefly Funhouse. But this wasn’t the vibrant, unhinged playroom Bray Wyatt once danced through. This one was warped, rotted at the edges, like the walls themselves were dying from within.
Broken toys hung from the ceiling by frayed strings. The puppets were silent and slumped in the corners, their stitched mouths twitching ever so slightly. And in the center, beneath a flickering lightbulb, sat Bray. Rocking gently in that old wooden chair, arms resting lazily on the armrests like he’d been waiting for me all along. “Welcome home, Angel,” he murmured.
His voice was soft—too soft—and it pulled something deep in my chest, like a memory I couldn’t quite touch. My boots echoed against the cracked floor as I stepped forward, eyes scanning the space. I froze when I saw them. Versions of me. Standing in the shadows. Watching. One wore a mask streaked with red. Another held a steel chair, her knuckles bloody. A third wore my wings… except they were pitch-black, tattered and smoking. Their eyes glowed faintly—mocking, hollow, wrong. I couldn’t look away.
“Do you feel it?” Bray asked, his voice rising like smoke from a bonfire. “That deep, cold place inside you? That place you pretend isn’t there? That’s where he’s headed.”
My breath caught. “Cody,” I whispered.
Bray leaned forward, hands clasped. “Mmmhmm. You’re so desperate to save him, you might just fall chasing him. Tell me, Angel… you wear wings—but are they hiding your horns?”
“I’m not like you,” I snapped, my voice shaking. “I protect people. I don’t twist them.”
He chuckled, low and almost kind. “Ain’t no twisting here, little dove. Just truth. That’s the thing about love, sweetheart—it’s not soft. It’s a blade. And when the time comes, you’ll use it. You already have.”
“I won’t become that thing,” I said, looking toward the shadow versions of myself. Bray rose from the chair.
He walked slowly, circling me like a vulture. “What happens if you fail him, huh? What if you already have? What if the choices you made to ‘protect’ him just pushed him further away?”
I clenched my fists. “I can’t lose him.”
He smiled, eyes gleaming. “But what happens when saving him means sacrificing yourself? Not your life… your soul?”
The world cracked. Suddenly, we were in a ring. But not just any ring—this one was broken, warped like a reflection in shattered glass. The ropes twitched. The lights above flickered wildly, throwing us in and out of shadow. Every time they flashed, a different version of Cody stood on the apron—bleeding, betrayed, twisted, calling my name. My knees nearly buckled.
The bell rang. Bray came at me like a shadow with weight. He was faster than I remembered, gliding across the mat, striking with sudden bursts of chaos. He didn’t fight fair—but this wasn’t about fair. This was about fear. And he knew exactly what mine was. “You’ll do anything to save him,” Bray said between strikes, “even become someone he won’t recognize.”
I dodged, twisted, threw elbows and kicks. But it wasn’t enough. His mind games kept hitting harder than his fists. “You’ll rip the wings from your own back,” he hissed, “if it means keeping him in the light. But what if the light isn’t enough?”
A flash of light—and I saw myself, standing at Cody’s side… blood on my hands. My own voice echoed around me: “It was the only way.”
“No,” I gasped, staggering. My foot slipped. Bray caught me with a clothesline that sent me crashing to the mat. The world tilted. Cody’s voice screamed from the darkness. My voice screamed back. I was drowning in noise. Drowning in myself. Then—
A spark. Not fire. Not light. Defiance. I rolled to my feet, met Bray’s next swing with a block, and superkicked him so hard he staggered into the ropes. I didn’t let him breathe. I spun around, caught him in a DDT—Angel’s Wings—and planted him headfirst into the mat. Silence. He didn’t move.
The lights stabilized. The shadow versions of me began to fade. One by one, they looked at me—not with malice now, but with… relief. I stood there, chest heaving, sweat clinging to my skin. And then Bray sat up—slowly, like a marionette on tangled strings. His smile wasn’t cruel this time. It was… almost wistful. “You can’t banish the darkness, Angel,” he said as he rose to his feet. “But you can learn to walk through it.”
I swallowed hard. My voice trembled, but I held my ground. “I don’t have to fear the dark,” I whispered. “I’ve lived in it. And I found my way out.”
He tilted his head, eyes softening. “Then let it guide you. Even the shadows have stories to tell.”
He stepped closer. Too close. “Be careful, little angel. Sometimes the ones who walk into the darkness… never find their way back out.”
Then, just like that, he was gone. No chair. No puppets. No shadows. Just me. Standing alone in the ring. But not lost. Not this time.
The air in the old wrestling gym was thick with silence and the scent of leather and sawdust. Every step I took echoed across the worn hardwood floor. Faded banners hung above me—“Hard Times,” “The American Dream”—weathered but proud. I could feel the ghosts of matches long passed, the spirit of grit and determination lingering in every beam and turnbuckle. Polaroids were tacked up on the walls—images of Dusty in his prime, of Cody when he still smiled with his whole face, of legacy in motion. The kind of legacy you don’t just inherit—you earn.
I took a shaky breath as I stepped deeper into the ring-lit haze. My boots hit the canvas with a soft thud. It felt… familiar. Not my gym. Not my past. But somehow, it felt like home. That’s when I heard his voice.
“You’re scared, ain’t ya?”
I turned. There he was. Dusty Rhodes. Standing in the center of the ring like time hadn’t touched him. That old soul warmth in his eyes. The kind that felt like a sunrise after too many nights. My throat tightened, but I nodded slowly.
“…Yeah,” I whispered, and my voice cracked under the weight of everything I’d buried. “I don’t know how to bring him back this time. Cody… he’s slipping further every day. I keep thinking—if you were still here—maybe he wouldn’t be going through this. Maybe he wouldn’t have to fight so hard to hold onto who he is. And I’ve…” I swallowed the knot in my throat, blinking fast. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I just wish it could’ve been in real life.”
He stepped forward, slow but steady, and tapped two fingers to my chest, right above my heart. “And I keep thinkin’… I wish I coulda met you too, baby girl. But you’re meetin’ me in the place that matters most. Right here.”
I blinked as a tear slipped free. Dusty’s presence wasn’t just comforting—it was grounding. I could feel the weight of every word Cody ever said about him settle into my bones. “Cody talks about you all the time,” Dusty continued. “How you’ve picked him up more times than his own legs have. How you stand in the fire, not for the glory—but for him.”
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. My voice barely carried. “I’m not blood. I’m just… some girl who refuses to leave him behind.”
Dusty shook his head gently, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest. “You stood beside my boy when no one else could reach him. You fought for him when he forgot how to fight for himself. That makes you family in every way that matters.”
My breath hitched, and I blinked again, trying to steady myself. “I’m scared I’m losing him, Dusty,” I admitted, voice raw. “I’ve seen that look in his eyes before. That… edge. The darkness. And I can’t pull him back this time. I’ve tried everything.”
He stepped in and wrapped his arms around me—warm, strong, the way only a father figure could…a father figure that I never had. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until my arms wrapped around him tighter, clinging like I might fall apart without that support. “Oh, baby…” he murmured. “You might not be blood. But lemme tell you somethin’. Family ain’t always about who you’re born to. It’s about who chooses to stand beside you. And you? You’ve done more for the Rhodes family than most ever could.”
I sniffled into his shoulder, whispering, “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
He pulled back with a slow smile and nodded toward the center of the ring. “Then let’s find out.”
The match wasn’t about winning. It was about why we fight. Every move Dusty made had intention. Graceful, powerful, but always measured. Like he was teaching with each hold. Each strike. I blocked a few, countered others, but he never made it easy. He shouldn’t have. Because legacy isn’t given. It’s earned. “Use your heart,” he coached through gritted teeth after I dodged a bionic elbow. “Don’t fight angry. Fight true.”
I caught him with a stiff clothesline, the kind that made my arms rattle on impact. He stumbled, but smiled like a proud teacher. I climbed the top rope—something Cody taught me—and hit him clean with a diving crossbody. When we landed, I rolled off, gasping for air. I’d won. But I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt… transformed.
Dusty groaned as he sat up, then extended his hand toward me. I took it without hesitation. He pulled me into another hug, breathless laughter in his chest. “You beat me fair and square, baby girl,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But that ain’t the win that matters.”
He took both my hands in his. They were calloused, warm. Real. “The fight for Cody’s soul ain’t gonna be won with fists. But it will be won with love, patience… and truth. That’s what’ll bring him back. But you ain’t gotta carry this alone. Cody’s strong. He’s still in there. And if he forgets who he is…” He squeezed my hands. “You remind him. Remind him who he is. Remind him of you. Like you’ve always done.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small white feather—glowing faintly, like moonlight in my palm.
“Take this. It’s yours now.”
I stared down at it, breath caught in my throat. “You ain’t just someone in Cody’s corner,” Dusty said softly. “You’re not just his protector. You’re his light. When he can’t find the way, you shine. That’s what family does, baby. You are his family.”
My voice trembled. “But what if I can’t bring him back?”
Dusty’s smile didn’t waver. “Then you keep walkin’ forward. With love in your fists. And legacy in your soul. Remember, when you walk behind and you’re not a leader, the view never changes. Don’t let me down now, cause I came back for you. For that man up there that died 10 years ago that never got the opportunity to see a real world’s champion.”
He placed his hand over my heart again. “Now go wake up, Angel. He needs you. They all do.”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡctkBwktflW
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