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[Tytus Rost]

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Tytus sat at the edge of his hotel bed in Phoenix, Arizona, staring out the window at the vast desert landscape that stretched beyond the horizon. The fiery colors of the setting sun reflected against the tall buildings, casting an orange glow across the room. Phoenix was known for its heat, but Tytus felt an icy chill deep inside his chest. Despite the victory over Logan Sky last week, a feeling that had eluded him for so long, there was no sense of triumph in his heart.

He sighed heavily, rubbing a large hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion, both physical and emotional, settle into his bones. He had fought hard against Logan Sky, a man much like himself—past his prime, hanging on for just a little longer. That win should have reignited something inside him. It should have felt like the start of a redemption, but it didn’t. Instead, it felt hollow, like a fleeting moment of relevance that would slip through his fingers once again.

“Что я делаю?” he muttered to himself. What am I doing?

He had come to Imperial Wrestling with the hopes that it would be the crowning achievement of his career, a final run to solidify his legacy. But so far, it had felt like a string of disappointments, one after another. The losses had piled up, chipping away at his confidence, making him question if he even belonged here anymore. His victory against Logan Sky should have been a turning point, but it had only left him feeling more lost, more adrift.

Tytus stood up from the bed and walked to the window, looking out at the desert. The air outside was dry, stifling even, but the view was beautiful in its own way. The sprawling city of Phoenix looked almost alien to him. He had always been a man of the earth, of nature. He missed the open fields of his farm back in Russia, the smell of fresh hay, the sound of animals in the distance. Out here in the city, surrounded by skyscrapers and traffic, he felt like a fish out of water.

Phoenix. A city of fire. A place where people came to rise from the ashes and reinvent themselves. It was fitting, in a way, that he found himself here now. After all, that’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? Rise from the ashes of his former self and become something more. But it wasn’t that easy.

Victory had come last week, but it brought more questions than answers. What was the point of winning a match if it didn’t bring him any closer to peace? He had spent so long being a force of destruction, a man who fought to survive, but what did survival mean when you had no direction? No purpose?

This week, he was set to face Caroline Machado, a fallen star looking to rise once more in Imperial. She was a competitor with fire in her eyes and a hunger for success. Tytus had watched her matches. He knew that she was talented, that she had something to prove. She was young, driven, had been to the top of the mountain and, with her whole career ahead of her, was looking to make the journey back to the top.

She was everything he used to be.

Tytus ran a hand through his beard, contemplating the match ahead. Caroline was everything he was not—young, hopeful, full of potential. He was a man at the end of his journey, desperately trying to hang on to the last vestiges of his career. In many ways, this match felt like a cruel irony. She was climbing the mountain, while he was slowly sliding down the other side.

But he couldn’t let that deter him. He was still Tytus Rost. He had fought his way through wars, literal and figurative, and he wasn’t about to roll over just because he was up against a bright-eyed competitor. Caroline might have the energy and drive of youth, but Tytus had experience, grit, and the cold reality of knowing what it meant to survive in this business.

He turned away from the window, pacing the room slowly as he collected his thoughts. This match against Caroline was more than just another contest—it was another chance. A chance to keep proving to himself, to the world, that he still had something left in the tank. He wasn’t ready to walk away just yet, no matter how lost he felt.

Tytus sat back down on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor. He thought about Caroline and how she would approach this match. She was probably eager, and excited for the opportunity to step into the ring with a veteran like him. But did she know what she was getting herself into?

He had seen too many young stars come into this business, full of confidence and bravado, only to have it beaten out of them when they faced a man who had nothing left to lose. Tytus knew pain. He knew suffering. And he knew that once you stepped into the ring with someone like him, all the training and all the potential in the world wouldn’t prepare you for the reality of facing a man who had been through hell and back.

Tytus clenched his fists, feeling the familiar surge of anger rise within him. Not anger at Caroline, but at the world, at the situation he found himself in. He wasn’t angry that she had a bright future ahead of her. He was angry that he didn’t. This match, for her, was just another step on her journey to greatness. But for him, it was another battle in a war he wasn’t sure he could win anymore.

He shook his head, trying to push the doubt away. “Нет, это не конец,” he muttered. No, this is not the end.

Machado was a formidable opponent, but she was not unbeatable. She had her strengths, sure, but so did Tytus. He wasn’t going to let this sense of aimlessness get in the way of what he had to do. The fire in him might be flickering, but it wasn’t out yet.

He thought about what this match meant. It wasn’t just about beating Caroline. It was about finding himself again. He needed to win, not for the sake of his record or for the accolades, but to prove to himself that he still had purpose. He needed to feel that fire, that sense of belonging that had eluded him for so long.

“Little one,” Tytus said softly, as if speaking to her directly. “You are a talented fighter, and I have watched you rise in this company with determination and skill. You, with everything ahead of you, everything I once had.” He paused, his voice lowering. “But you do not know what it is like to fight for survival. To fight not for glory, but because it is all you have left.”

He stood up again, walking back to the window and staring out at the vast desert that surrounded Phoenix. The sun was almost gone now, the sky turning a deep shade of purple. The city lights began to twinkle in the distance, a reminder of the life that pulsed just beyond the horizon.

Tytus knew that Caroline would come at him with everything she had. She would want to prove herself, to show the world that she could hang with the veterans, that she could beat a man like Tytus Rost. But Tytus wasn’t going to let her have that satisfaction. Not easily.

“I know what you are thinking,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of menace. “You see me as a fossil, a stepping stone of sorts as you begin your journey towards the top of the Women’s mountain. You probably think that because I have been losing, because I have been searching for something, that I am weak. But you are wrong.”

Tytus turned away from the window, his eyes dark and focused. “I am not weak, Caroline. I am more dangerous now than I have ever been, because I have nothing left to lose. You are walking into a fight with a man who has been through more than you can imagine. A man who has fought in wars, who has seen and done things that would break most people. You want to be a champion, but do you have what it takes to face a man like me? A man who will not stop until he has destroyed everything in his path?”

He could feel the intensity building inside him, the fire that had been dim for so long starting to burn brighter. This match wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was about survival, about proving that he was still a force to be reckoned with. Caroline might be the future, but Tytus was the present, and he wasn’t going to let her take that away from him.

“I respect you, little one,” Tytus said, his voice low and dangerous. “But when we step into that ring, all the respect in the world will not save you from what is coming. I will show you what it means to fight a man who has nothing left but the will to survive. You will learn that no matter how much potential you have, no matter how bright your future may be, there are some fights you are not ready for.”

He clenched his fists again, the muscles in his arms tightening as he prepared himself mentally for what lay ahead. This match wasn’t just about her. It was about Tytus Rost finding himself again, about reclaiming the part of him that had been lost in the sea of doubt and defeat.

“I will give you everything I have, Caroline,” he said, his voice a growl now. “And when it is over, when you are lying on that mat, you will understand what it means to face a man who does not go quietly into the night. I will not fade away. This is my fight, my redemption, and I will not let you take it from me.”

Tytus stood tall in the fading light of the Phoenix sunset, his shadow

stretching across the room. The battle ahead was clear now, and he was ready. The doubt still lingered, but it was overshadowed by the determination burning in his chest. He would not let himself be forgotten. He would fight until there was nothing left to give.

“One last push,” he whispered to himself, the words heavy with meaning. “One last fight.”