It is often said, that among warriors there are some things that can only be understood with violence.  Some lessons that could only be taught by a pair of war torn knuckles, some grievances that only be paid in the shedding of blood, so on and so forth. It had been this way since the dawn of time itself. And for the Luchalliance, where all grievances big or small were settled in the squared circle before the audience and the gods, so it would remain.

And for this who had forgotten, this was to be a reminder.

And yet… among the Alliance, which encompassed most but not all masked wrestlers, and the Federation at large there were few bedfellows more strange than Rey de la Oscuridad II. None doubted his skill in the ring, and that was part of the problem, in a world where might made right there was no way to unseat a bloodthirsty tyrant without dancing to his tune. That he had chosen to participate in this war, this excursion into a foreign universe in order to do battle with an alien promotion, was both a blessing and a curse as far as the Alliance was concerned. For with him at their side there were few who doubted their ability to win, and yet there was no telling what the long-term cost of an alliance with El Rey would bring.

Even now, aboard the Masked Dreadnaught with its sweeping hull and gaudy prow, the other Luchador avoided him Why, even his tag team partner, Lobo Negro, only spoke to him as much as was necessary. He stood in the door, frame highlighted by the bright linoleum lights of the hallway, but could peer no more than three feet into the shadow cast locker room before him and only just make out the body of El Rey, seated on the edge of a table with his shoulders hunched and his body slouched, the faint sound of growls filling the air around him. “Do not worry, Lobos Negro, they fear what they cannot understand they mock what they fear,” His voice was a deep bass and his accent was thick. “For now, we kill the bravest among them and cripple the heard, and when the panic spreads we drive them into a corner.”

Lobos responded with a nod and a snarl, agreeing with El Rey’s logic and not liking it one bit. Just then the commissioner’s speech came to an end and with it, “The old man is as good at talking as ever, now I must take my leave.” When next Lobos blinked the locker room was empty…

Out in the sweeping plains of Fifth Barcelonia the ring and the arena were ready, there would be no audience today save for that watching at home, the only thing missing was a pair of champions. The lights winked out a moment later, the moon and the stars themselves shutting their eyes and casting the whole sector into darkness, and when they fluttered awake several times over, in the interlude El Rey appeared within the room standing tall. His theme music blared in the background with all of its edgy glory, the distorted pipe organ dominating the background before it was steadily joined by the guitars and the drums, while El Rey himself stood in the center of the ring with his arms folded. White fog drifted out from the space around him around and spilled out the ring until it the whole of the area was cast in a gloomy white blanket.