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[Tytus Rost]

The sounds of Mexico City buzzed through the open window of Tytus Rost’s hotel room. The sprawling metropolis seemed alive, a cacophony of honking cars, street vendors calling out to passersby, and the occasional cheer of a crowd from the nearby Palacio de los Deportes. The air was warm, with a hint of moisture that clung to the skin, but Tytus barely noticed the heat anymore. His mind was focused entirely on one thing—Odyssey.

He had been through countless cities in his career, each one blending into the next as another stop on a seemingly endless road. But this place felt different. Maybe it was the historic arena they were set to perform in. Or maybe it was the fact that Tytus was no longer just a face in the crowd—he was the number one contender for the Invictus Championship. The thought still felt surreal, like he was grasping for something just out of reach. But this time, he was holding on.

For weeks, he had been clawing his way back from the bottom. Losing match after match had worn on him, gnawing at his confidence, making him question whether he still belonged in the ring. His best years seemed behind him, or so he had thought. But then came the victories—the fight against Logan Sky, the battle with Caroline Machado, and most recently, the triumph over Nick Danger. That win had planted him firmly on the path to Serenity Holmes and her Invictus title.

Tytus stood by the window, gazing out over the city. The late afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden glow, casting long shadows between the tall buildings. Somewhere in that sea of people, fans were eagerly awaiting Odyssey, where Tytus would team up with the very person he was set to challenge—Serenity Holmes. A strange twist of fate, but then again, this business had always been full of surprises.

He couldn't help but smirk. Serenity was good—there was no denying that. She held the Invictus title for a reason. But Tytus knew something that she likely feared. He had momentum. He had the advantage, not just in size or strength, but in the mental game. She’d seen what he could do when they faced off last week. The small army of Legion members couldn’t stop him from getting to her, and neither would RAM or Caroline Machado.

He turned away from the window and paced the room, his boots heavy on the floor. Caroline… He had already beaten her once, and nothing suggested that this time would be any different. She was talented, sure, but she lacked the killer instinct. Tytus had seen it in her eyes the last time they fought. She fought with heart, but heart wasn’t enough when you stood across from a man like him. He didn’t care about her potential. He didn’t care about her journey. He cared about winning, and when they met again, he would make sure she understood that nothing had changed.

And then there was RAM. Tytus snorted, shaking his head. That kid was more of a sideshow than a wrestler at this point. His obsession with James Gilmore had become the punchline of the IWF locker room. Instead of focusing on his own career, RAM had gotten lost in the soap opera drama surrounding Gilmore, and it was costing him dearly. Whatever potential RAM had when he burst onto the scene was buried under layers of misguided anger and foolishness. That was going to make him an easy target. RAM had no focus, no clarity, and no direction. Tytus would take advantage of that and crush him the moment he stepped into the ring.

But despite the advantages, despite the momentum, Tytus couldn’t ignore the uneasy alliance with Serenity Holmes. Teaming with the person you were destined to fight for gold was a recipe for disaster. He knew that trust was out of the question. She was going to be looking out for herself, just as he would. This match was nothing more than a prelude to the real battle that lay ahead—the Invictus title match.

Tytus stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand over the stubble on his chin. His thoughts drifted back to the days when victories came easier, when he could bulldoze through anyone in his path without hesitation or doubt. But now, even with the wins starting to stack up, there was a part of him that still felt… lost.

He’d built himself up to be an unstoppable force, but the cracks had started to show. Every loss, every setback, had chipped away at his armor. He had started to wonder if his time was truly up, if this run in Imperial was going to end in disappointment rather than glory. But then something shifted. The fight against Nick Danger had been the turning point. He had climbed that mountain and planted his flag at the top, proving to himself that he wasn’t done yet.

That victory had been his handhold—something to latch onto, something to anchor him as he tried to pull himself back up from the abyss. And now, with the Invictus title within reach, he had no choice but to keep climbing. Serenity was the next summit, and if he wanted to stand at the top, he couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now.

He stood up and grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling out his gear for tomorrow’s match. Each piece felt heavier than usual, not from the weight but from the significance of what was ahead. Every match from here on out felt like it could be his last push.

Tytus walked over to the mirror and stared at his reflection. His face was lined with years of battle scars, his body a canvas of bruises and wear. But his eyes—those were still sharp, still full of the fire that had carried him through countless wars in the ring.

“You are not done yet,” he muttered to himself, the words a reminder more than anything else. He knew what he had to do. Team with Serenity for one night, do what was necessary to put RAM and Caroline Machado down, and then turn his attention fully to the Invictus Championship. There was no room for failure. Not now. He couldn’t afford to fall back down that mountain.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft orange hue across the room, Tytus grabbed his gear and slung the bag over his shoulder. The time for reflection was over. Tomorrow, the climb continued. RAM and Caroline were just obstacles, stepping stones on the path to the real prize.

He knew Serenity would be watching his every move, just as he would be watching hers. But in the end, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the Invictus title, and Tytus had already decided that nothing was going to stop him from getting it. Not Serenity. Not RAM. Not Caroline.

This was his last push. His final chance to reclaim the glory that had once seemed so far out of reach. He had tasted victory again, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

The streets of Mexico City pulsed with energy as Tytus stepped outside the hotel, the weight of the match—and the title—pressing down on his shoulders. But instead of feeling crushed by it, he welcomed the pressure. It was the kind of pressure that forged champions. And if this was his last push, then he was going to make it count.

One final battle. One last push to the top.

And Tytus Rost would not stop until he stood victorious once again.