This was it. The big night. The kind that didn’t just change titles—it changed people. I stood beside Cody in the hallway, heart pounding beneath my chest plate. I could feel the energy vibrating through the floor, the roar of the crowd bleeding through the curtain. They were ready. And so were we.
He was trying to look calm, to focus, to breathe through it—but I saw it in his eyes. That fire. That pressure. That weight on his shoulders again. I nudged his arm gently and gave him a look. “Hey, Code.” My voice was soft, but solid. “Remember what I told you last night.”
He looked at me, brow furrowed slightly. “Which part? You talked for like an hour.”
I laughed. “Okay, fair. But the important part—the real part—was this: no matter what happens out there, I’ve got your back. You just focus on Cena. You focus on the fight. I’ll handle everything else.”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Right.” He took a deep breath and I could tell he was grounding himself. “Thanks, Angel.”
I stepped in and wrapped him in a big, unfiltered hug. The kind that said: you’re not alone. The kind we used to exchange after rough nights, before and after tough losses, when the world felt like it might cave in but we refused to let it. “You’ve got this,” I whispered into his shoulder. “You always had this.”
He pulled back slightly, his hands still on my arms, and gave me that little half-smile that only showed up when he was nervous but grateful. “And you’re sure about the wings?” he asked, eyes flicking toward my back.
I grinned. “Absolutely. If there’s any night to go full tilt, it’s this one.”
Normally, I kept my wings tucked and my outfit a neutral white—a symbol of justice, neutrality, guidance. But not tonight. Tonight, I wasn’t just Guardian Angel. I was his guardian. My gear shimmered with red, white, blue, and gold, the same tones woven into Cody’s iconic jacket. My wings, wide and majestic, were dyed to match. A living banner for the man I believed in. “Wow,” he said, letting out a small chuckle as he looked me over. “You really went all out.”
I raised a brow. “Well, you’re not exactly low-key, so why should I be?”
He laughed under his breath, tension easing slightly. “You know,” he said after a moment, “when all of this started—when I came back—I didn’t think I’d have anyone standing with me like this. Especially not you.”
My expression softened. “Cody,” I said, stepping in close again, “you never had to earn my loyalty. You earned it the day you stood back up when everyone expected you to stay down. The day you decided to carry not just your legacy, but this entire company’s heart.”
His throat bobbed like he was trying not to get emotional. He looked away for a second, then back. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“That’s because I mean it.” I placed a hand on his chest right over his logo. “Out there, you’re not just fighting Cena. You’re standing up to a storm of doubt and betrayal. But you’re not doing it alone. I’ve got your six, all night. No matter what The Rock or Cena throw our way.”
He gave a firm nod. “Then let’s go remind them what this place is really about.”
The music cue was seconds away. The lights were shifting. We turned toward the curtain together, side by side, like we’d trained for this exact moment.
John Cena’s music hit like a hammer through Allegiant Stadium. The second those first notes blared, I felt my jaw clench. The crowd’s roar was split—half cheering, half booing—but all of it made my blood simmer. I didn’t even realize I’d curled my hands into fists until I felt my nails digging into my palms. My wings twitched behind me, half instinct, half restraint.
I hated that this used to be a moment I’d respect. But now? All I saw walking down that ramp was a man who turned his back on everything he used to fight for. Beside me, Cody must’ve sensed it. I didn’t say a word, but his hand reached up, warm and grounding, settling gently on my shoulder. I turned toward him, surprised—and a little embarrassed—that he’d seen through my calm façade. “Hey,” he said softly, voice low beneath the echo of Cena’s theme, “remember what we talked about. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. That never ends well.”
I looked up at him, trying to exhale the tension. Leave it behind. Focus. “You’re right,” I said with a small smile. “As usual. Guess that’s why you’re the calm and wise one.”
He chuckled under his breath, that familiar little smirk tugging at his lips. “And you’re the one with wings and fire in your blood. Balance, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah…” I rolled my eyes playfully. “Keep me from committing a felony on live TV. Got it.”
He laughed fully at that, and I felt the heat in my chest cool. The anger didn’t vanish—but it became something sharper. Controlled. Useful. And then the moment came. Cody’s theme hit—and the stadium exploded. The roar was deafening. I could feel the vibrations travel up my boots through the ramp. Cody pulled on his signature mask, his whole posture shifting like a switch flipped. Focused. Purposeful. And ready.
He glanced over at me once more. “Ready, partner?”
I grinned, already stretching my wings out wide, the red, white, gold and blue feathers shimmering beneath the lights. “After you, Captain America.”
He gave me a look. “You’re literally wearing the same colors.”
“Exactly,” I winked. “Because I believe in you.”
Without another word, he stepped through the curtain, the blinding lights bathing him in gold. The crowd screamed his name like it was a battle cry. I followed a step behind, wings fully extended. The cheers grew louder the moment I appeared, and I sang along with the crowd to every lyric of his theme song like it was gospel. Adrenaline in my soul… The words steadied me. Always had. They were a promise. A vow. Not just for him—but for every person in that stadium who still believed.
Halfway down the ramp, Cody paused. He reached up and removed his mask, lowering it with reverence, then knelt to place it gently in the center of the ramp. A symbol. A reminder of who he was beneath it all. I stopped beside him and gave the mask a glance, then looked over at him. “Let’s finish this.”
He met my eyes, determination blazing behind his. “Together.”
As the final chorus of his theme echoed through Allegiant, we stood tall side by side—guardian and warrior, best friends bound not by blood, but by purpose. And we walked into the fire.
The bell rang—and chaos began. Cody and Cena locked up in the center of the ring, the electricity in Allegiant Stadium crackling with anticipation. Every move felt like it echoed for miles. Cena powered Cody into the corner, and I could already see the strain in Cody’s muscles as he countered, twisting Cena around and launching him into the ropes.
I stood ringside, my heart thudding in my chest, wings twitching with every slam of the mat. This wasn’t just a match. This was everything. Cena gained control early—slamming Cody with that unforgiving strength of his. He hit a suplex that made the entire crowd gasp, then tossed Cody right over the top rope. “Cody!” I shouted, already moving. I was at his side before he even hit the ground. “Hey, hey, breathe, I’ve got you.”
He grunted, pushing himself up slowly as I offered my hand. “Thanks, Angel,” he muttered, trying to shake it off.
“You’ve taken worse. Remember that time in Denver when Gunther threw you halfway to Idaho?”
He cracked a faint smile, grabbing my hand and pulling himself up. “Yeah… I still have nightmares about that flight.”
I gave him a wink. “Then you’re definitely surviving this. Now get back in there, soldier.”
He nodded, slapped my shoulder, and rolled back into the ring just in time to duck a clothesline and hit Cena with a dropkick. The crowd roared as he mounted a comeback—kick to the gut, Beautiful Disaster off the ropes—but Cena wasn’t staying down. The two clashed in the center again. Fists. Elbows. Blocks. You could feel the history in every strike.
And then—
“FE!N” by Travis Scott blasted through the stadium like a warning siren. My body snapped to attention. From the top of the ramp, Travis strolled out with that cocky swagger that made my skin crawl. The crowd erupted with confusion and fury. And I didn’t wait for questions. I stepped up onto the apron, wings flaring wide as I dropped to the floor and marched straight into his path. I planted myself between him and the ring, heart pounding, every instinct screaming. “You’re not getting past me,” I warned, my voice low and lethal.
He stopped just short of me, lowering his sunglasses with a smirk. “Move, Angel. Or you’re gonna get hurt.”
I tilted my head, never blinking. “I’ve been hurt before. You don’t scare me.”
He lunged. I barely had time to brace before he grabbed me by the waist and slammed me hard into the floor outside the ramp. Pain shot through my back as I gasped, but even as I hit the ground, I heard Cody’s voice.
“Angel!”
I looked up—he was halfway through the ropes, concern etched across his face. “Don’t!” I shouted, forcing myself onto my elbows. “Stay focused, Cody! You’ve got this—I’ll handle him!”
He hesitated just a second, jaw clenched, then nodded. “Okay. Be careful.”
Then Cena grabbed him from behind, and the match roared back to life. Meanwhile, Travis had already started moving toward the ring.
Not a chance.
I launched myself from the ground, sprinted forward, and speared him from behind so hard we both crashed into the barricade. Fans nearby screamed, and security started shifting, but no one intervened. This was personal.
We traded blows right there on the floor—he caught me with a cheap elbow to the side of my head, I responded with a spinning back kick that sent him stumbling. My feathers were scattered, half of my wing bent awkwardly, but I didn’t care. I was not letting him ruin this moment. Inside the ring, Cody hit the Cody Cutter. Cena was down. The crowd chanted his name like a war cry— “CO-DY! CO-DY!”
But just as Cody climbed the ropes, Travis grabbed my arm and lifted me into a brutal spinebuster onto the edge of the apron. I choked on the scream, stars bursting behind my eyes. Through blurred vision, I saw Cody’s head snap toward me.
“Angel!”
I reached up, blood at the corner of my mouth, and shouted through clenched teeth, “I said focus! I’ve got him. Don’t you dare let him win, Cody. Not tonight.”
His eyes locked with mine. There was pain. Fury. But most of all—trust. He turned back toward Cena and yelled something I couldn’t hear. The match continued. And I pushed myself off the ground once more. Because no matter how many times Travis slammed me down, I was getting up. Because I wasn’t just fighting for me. I was fighting for Cody. And for all of us.
I forced myself to my feet again, breath shallow, vision still swimming from Travis’s last slam. My wings dragged behind me, heavy and torn, and every bone in my body screamed in protest—but I didn’t stop. Not when I saw Cody climb the turnbuckle. Not when the crowd’s cheers rose like a tidal wave. He was going for the Moonsault.
I clung to the barricade for balance as I watched him soar—poetry in motion—before crashing down across Cena’s chest. He hooked the leg, tight and desperate.
One!
Two!
I screamed with the crowd—“THREE!!”
But the ref’s hand stopped.
Kickout.
Cena kicked out.
The noise crashed into stunned silence. I saw it in Cody’s face as he sat up—shock, disbelief, heartbreak. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, staring down at Cena like maybe he had imagined the whole thing. I wanted to scream. To cry. But I had no breath left to spare. And then it happened.
Cena powered up. With that same damn grit he always had. That unrelenting, brutal force that made him the face of a generation. He scooped Cody up suddenly into the Attitude Adjustment—and slammed him straight into the mat.
No.
He didn’t pin him right away. He stood there—just stood over Cody, staring down at him, like he was giving himself a moment to consider what he was about to do. Or maybe to enjoy it. The crowd started to shift. Boos mixed with disbelief. Cries of “NO!” and “CODY!” echoed like thunder.
I tried to move—tried to climb the apron—but my legs gave out again. Then Cena dropped down and hooked the leg.
One.
Two.
I held my breath.
Three.
The bell rang. And the world fell apart. I stared in frozen silence, my mouth open but no sound coming out. Cena rose slowly as his music hit, the title now his—Cody’s—resting in his hands like a prize he never should’ve taken. Cody didn’t move. He just laid there. Broken. Exhausted. Staring up at the lights.
The crowd—tens of thousands strong—stood in stunned silence. The dream… was over. Again. And I couldn’t even stop it.
I was still kneeling near the corner of the ring, breathing hard, blood in my mouth, my ribs aching from where Travis had thrown me. But none of it hurt more than the sight of Cody—my best friend, my family—walking up the ramp alone.
He didn’t even look back. Didn’t say a word. Just kept walking, his cape dragging behind him like the pieces of a dream that had just been shattered for the second time. I stood there in silence, shaking, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. My wings drooped behind me, torn and bruised. My heart felt the same.
John Cena stood center ring, Cody's title raised high like he’d actually earned it. Like this was some kind of moral victory. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed a mic off the timekeeper’s table and stormed right up to him as he was leaving the ring. “You don’t deserve that,” I growled into the mic, voice trembling with fury as I pointed at the title. “Not after the crap you pulled these past few months. Not after tearing people down just to stroke your own damn ego.”
The crowd roared, half in shock, half in agreement. Cena lowered the title and turned, eyes narrowing. “You got somethin’ you want to say to me, Angel?” he asked coolly.
“Yeah, I do,” I snapped. “Cody gave everything. He bled for this place. He fought with honor. You—you showed up when it was convenient and took something you didn’t earn just because you could.”
Cena shook his head and stepped closer. “This is the WWE, sweetheart. You don’t earn moments—you take them. And I took mine. If your boy Cody can’t handle that, maybe he was never meant to finish the story.”
That hit like a punch to the chest. I stepped forward until we were eye to eye. “He’s more of a champion than you’ll ever be. And if you think I’m gonna let this slide—you don’t know me at all.”
Before Cena could answer, the arena darkened and then—
BOOM.
“If ya smelllll—what The Rock—is cookin’!”
I didn’t move. My fists clenched tighter as The Rock’s music hit and the stadium erupted. He walked out, mic in hand, shades on, and a smug look plastered across his face like he already owned the world. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said, grinning as he strolled down the ramp. “Now this… this is entertaining. Look at you, Angel. Fiery. Loyal. Bleeding all over the damn ring for a guy who just walked out on you.”
I didn’t flinch. I knew exactly what he was trying to do. Rock approached me slowly, circling me like a predator sizing up prey. “You know, I gotta admit, you’ve got fire. Guts. The kind of fight I respect. And it got me thinking…”
He paused right in front of me. “What if you stopped playing sidekick? What if you stepped out of Cody’s shadow—and finally stood in the spotlight where you belong? Sell that soul of yours to The Final Boss, Angel. Let me make you something bigger than just someone’s loyal best friend.”
My jaw clenched. Then I dropped the mic and punched him right in the face. The crowd exploded. He stumbled back a step—not much, but enough—and blinked at me like I’d actually surprised him. I picked up the mic again, breathing hard. “I don’t need your spotlight,” I said, voice shaking. “And I’m not in Cody’s shadow. We lift each other up. We fight side by side. That’s what friends do. So you know what, Rock?”
I looked him dead in the eye.
“Go f*** yourself.”
Before he could recover, I attacked—a flurry of punches and elbows, slamming into his ribs and stomach. It was like hitting a damn brick wall, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to feel it. I managed to knock him down—but he got right back up, laughing like this was a damn game. “Cute,” he muttered—before grabbing me by the throat and chokeslamming me so hard the ring shook.
I gasped, back arching, pain ripping through my ribs and shoulder. I tried to roll over, tried to push up—but then Cena grabbed me. “No,” I gasped. “Get your damn hands off—”
SLAM. Attitude Adjustment. The crowd booed furiously, chanting my name, but I barely heard them. Everything spun. Blood dripped from my mouth. But I still got up. Slow, shaking, eyes blazing through strands of hair and blood. I charged—and speared Cena, sending him hard to the apron. The crowd went wild.
I didn’t even have time to celebrate before The Rock snatched me up and threw me shoulder-first into the steel steps. This time I screamed—my arm was limp, broken. I knew it. Something in my ribs cracked too. I crawled, coughing up blood, vision blurry. The Rock stood over me, smug and calm. “You did this to yourself,” he said. “You could’ve walked away with your little hero. But now you’re alone. Broken.”
He and Cena walked up the ramp to a storm of boos. I stayed there. On the ground. Bleeding. Alone. The med team rushed out, yelling my name. Hands tried to steady me, tried to lift me—but I shoved them off. “I need to find Cody,” I rasped.
“You need a hospital!” one of them said, panicked.
“I need… my best friend,” I said, teeth clenched. I stumbled backstage, using the wall for support, nearly collapsing at every step. I found one of the reporters.
“Where’s Cody?” I slurred, barely upright.
“He, uh… just went into his RV—but you don’t look good. You need—”
“I said…where’s Cody?”
“RV… right there.”
I nodded and staggered toward it, vision going black at the edges. My knees gave out halfway across the parking area. The RV door opened. Brandi stood there—eyes going wide.
“Oh my—CODY!!”
I looked up, dazed, blood dripping from my brow. Then I saw him. Cody, running toward me.
“A-Angel—!”
I smiled faintly, the world spinning. “You came back…”
Then everything went dark.
ns216.73.216.121da2
and then Add to home screen.