El Rey felt Xavier’s approach before he could see or hear it. When the warrior was still in space with no logical way for any one man to detect his approach, trapped inside of a vessel shaped like a metal skull with only sick beats and crimson power to see him to his destination, El Rey was watching. No one understood the virtue of patience more than the dead…

If there was one thing members of the Luchalliance appreciated, it was showmanship. Where other fighters may have turned their nose up at Xavier’s display, declared it an act of egotistical grandstanding, in the eyes of a Luchador it was both exciting and sporting. After all, to fight without showing your spirit was to disappoint the audience and the gods, and as such there was no better way to ingratiate yourself to a masked warrior than to show off. Of course, when he did reciprocate it would be with violence, but that was neither here nor there. For now, El Rey merely waited for his opponent to settle in the ring to the sound of a resounding boom. The final shockwave was enough to clear the fog and rattle the ropes, but not enough to brush away the Fifth Apocalypse.

“Xavier, is it?” Of course, El Rey knew the name of his opponent, this was a sanctioned match after all, but that was the only piece of information he knew. “Perhaps there’s some hope for this world yet.”

Though Mister Bloodbayne was an impressive specimen in his own right, six foot three inches tall and with a build like a small wall, it was nothing compared to the Fifth Apocalypse. At six feet and nine inches he towered over the other man; his weight class indeterminate beyond the words Super Heavyweight, but his build akin to something carved by the gods themselves. It was easy to see, what with the whole of his body being covered in tight black spandex that served to highlight every muscle; and though it may have looked like no protection at all, the truth was that second layer of skin was a gift from his god and it was in all probability the best suit of armor one could hope for. Enemies rarely focused on the undead perfection before them though, no, it was far more likely that Xavier zeroed in on the feral jaguar head resting between El Rey’s shoulders, with its mouth agape and fangs bared.

Without further ado, El Rey threw both of his hands out, each one hovering around his chest with the palm forward and fingers wide, an invitation for Xavier to reach out and grab his hands so that they might test their strength against one another. The Apocalypse carried no weapons on his person besides the obvious; hands and feet, claws and fangs, and that massive body of his; so, it only made sense that he would request a grappling match from the start. But what contest of strength could be fair when up against an enemy of his size and build? If Xavier did step up and scoop his hands at most he would find a moment of victory against the beast, before El Rey put his body to use and forced the man to a stalemate, and eventually his knees if he was truly found wanting. And yet even with a result as inevitable as that the man would be a coward not to accept.

The choice of course was his, and nobody said that in accepting Xavier couldn’t clever about it, but only time would tell. As they waited, one of the purple spots dotting El Rey’s costume sprang to life, bubbling outwards with a life of its own until a lidless and swollen eye had taken its place. It was the first subtle sign that El Rey was gathering power, and there would be many more to come.