The Fallout of War
Pain was a constant companion. It lingered in every breath Jaxon Cross took, settling deep in his bones like a winter chill that refused to leave. The match with The Beast had pushed him beyond his limits. But it wasn't the bruised ribs, the torn shoulder, or the gash above his brow that hurt the most.
It was the betrayal.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the trainer's room as Jaxon sat on the edge of the table, a towel draped over his shoulders, stained with sweat and dried blood. His knuckles were split open, his left eye swollen nearly shut, but he didn't flinch when the medical staff stitched up his brow. He barely heard them at all.
His mind wasn't in the room.
It was replaying the moment Seth Rollins turned on him.
That chair shot.
That smirk.
The coldness in Seth's eyes.
Jaxon had trusted him. They'd bled together in the ring, fought side by side against factions, monsters, legends. Seth was his brother in arms. Or so he thought.
"Same old story," Jaxon muttered to himself, the words bitter on his tongue. "You climb the mountain, and someone always tries to push you off the top."
He clenched his jaw, inhaling through his nose to steady the storm rising in his chest. The crowd may have seen a win tonight, but Jaxon knew the war had just begun. And he wasn't just fighting for a title anymore. He was fighting for his name, his honor, his soul.
---
Backstage – Shadows and Doubt
The hallway outside the trainer's room buzzed with backstage crew, talent, and producers, all whispering about what had just gone down in the ring. The betrayal. The chaos. The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly through the walls.
Jaxon limped through the corridor, ignoring the sympathetic nods and wide-eyed stares. He didn't want pity. He wanted answers.
He made his way to the locker room, where a monitor replayed the ending of the match. And there he saw it — that moment again. Seth Rollins, steel chair in hand, slamming it across Jaxon's back just as he had The Beast on the ropes. The crowd's shock. The stunned silence. And then, Seth walking away as if it meant nothing.
Jaxon paused in front of the screen.
"You looking for answers?"
The voice came from behind. Low. Calm. Familiar.
It was Randy Orton.
The Viper stepped forward, arms crossed, his eyes studying Jaxon with something close to respect — or maybe recognition. "You're not the first he's done it to," Orton said. "Won't be the last."
Jaxon didn't respond immediately. He let the silence stretch, the weight of the moment sinking in.
"Why?" Jaxon finally asked, his voice hoarse. "We fought side by side. He had my back. I had his. Why throw it all away?"
Orton gave a bitter smile. "Because Seth doesn't want brothers. He wants pawns. And when you stop playing his game, he flips the board."
Jaxon nodded slowly, the words sinking in like poison. He had been blind. But not anymore.
---
The Architect Speaks
Later that night, the lights dimmed in the arena as Seth Rollins' theme hit. The crowd erupted in a chorus of boos. Seth walked out, not in his ring gear, but in a sharp black suit, oozing arrogance.
He stood in the ring, soaking in the hatred, before raising a mic.
"You all act so surprised," he said with a smirk. "Like you didn't see this coming. Like Jaxon Cross didn't have this coming."
The crowd booed louder. Seth paced the ring.
"Let me remind you of something. I made Jaxon Cross. I gave him the spotlight. I carried him when he was floundering. And what did I get in return? Overshadowed. Ignored. Replaced."
His eyes narrowed.
"I didn't betray Jaxon. I set myself free. Free from carrying dead weight. Free from being the backup to someone pretending to be a hero."
He dropped the mic. Message delivered. The damage done.
---
A Warrior Reborn
Back in his hotel room, Jaxon sat alone. The TV was off. The lights dim. The painkillers dulled the edge, but nothing could touch the ache in his heart.
He stared at a photo on the nightstand — a candid shot of him and Seth, laughing after a house show, arms over each other's shoulders like real brothers.
He turned the frame face down.
Then he grabbed a notebook.
On the first page, in bold, angry letters, he wrote:
"RECLAIM. REDEEM. RISE."
He closed the book and looked at himself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes. Bruised face. Broken body.
But behind all of that, he saw something else:
The fire was back.
The outlaw wasn't done.
---
Final Scene – A New War Begins
As the show closed, a mysterious graphic flashed on the screen — smoky, glitchy, cryptic.
A symbol: a broken crown.
A tagline: "Legacy must be earned."
And a date: Two weeks from now.
The WWE Universe erupted online with theories. A new faction? A new challenger? Was this connected to Jaxon? To Seth?
Jaxon Cross didn't have the answers yet.
But he knew one thing.
He was done playing nice.
---
End of Chapter 31
Word count: ~1,180
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