La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 16
"SANGREMANIA: Night Two"
Orig. Air Date: November 1, 2019La Guerra and Lucha POWER present
SANGREMANIA
NIGHT TWO: EL GRAN FINAL
Live from the World Famous HOTEL DE LA LUCHA
Ever since evil drug lord Adalberto Bonilla seized control of the lucha libre promotion La Guerra and absorbed its competitor Lucha POWER, he has ruled over his wrestling company with an iron fist, using precisely the same ruthless tactics he’s notorious for in his criminal enterprises. But lately, cracks have appeared in the foundation of Bonilla’s empire, and to make matters worse the ruler of another empire - the Independent Wrestling Empire - has returned to Mexico with every intention of taking back his throne as the head of La Guerra.
Heading into this absolutely stacked card to finish off La Guerra de Sangre’s turbulent second season, quite a bit of mystery remains. Rumor has it that Concepcion Schultz has fallen deathly ill, and as crazy as it might sound, that appears to have everything to do with the enigmatic owl statue she’s been known to make blood offerings to before matches, which was stolen by her scheduled opponent Baronesa. Will Concepcion be able to go, and if not, is there anyone who can replace her? Elsewhere on the card, the Resplendent Quetzal and U.S. Kestrel - better known as Birdemic! - bring their record-breaking 515-day streak as i.W.e. Tag Team champions to town. Will their opponents Los Arboles succeed where countless others have failed and snap the seemingly unbreakable streak?
In dual main events, we will finally see the mystical Mascara de Choque choose its rightful owner as Lucha POWER’s Lobo Muerte takes on La Guerra’s ace and former mask-holder Cicatrices. The two men are set to settle the matter of who is the world’s top luchador in the confines of a chickenwire cage, to prevent the kind of unwanted interference that plagued their previous meeting. And once that score has been settled: the final showdown. Owner of the i.W.e. David Harley has pulled together a band of heroes to take on Adalberto Bonilla, joining up with the weirdest man in wrestling, Tocapelotas, and ex-owner of Lucha POWER, El Macho. In the opposite corner, the villainous drug dealer Sal de Roca and reigning Lucha POWER champion Dungeon Dominguez - who was only released from jail this morning - are there to lick their boss Adalberto Bonilla’s pointy boots and do their damnedest to keep him in power. Is tonight the night that Bonilla’s reign of terror finally reaches its conclusion, or will the most wanted man in Mexico continue to dominate the business of lucha libre for the forseeable future?
THE RED CARPET TREATMENTThe scene was something akin to a major movie premiere. Luxury cars and limousines packed with luchadors pulled up one-by-one at the red carpet rolled out in front of the world famous Hotel de la Lucha. Throngs of rabid wrestling fans - many of whom had their faces painted for Dia de Los Muertos - enthusiastically cheered for each and every arrival.
The last limousine to roll up was by far the longest and most luxurious of all, and when the back door sprung open and David Harley slid out, the crowd completely lost their minds. Fans surged forward to pat him on the back and wish him well in the main event. Little kids rushed him, thrusting photographs and pens his way in hopes of an autograph.
In the ensuing chaos of his arrival, David did not notice the one person in that crowd who was perhaps a tiny bit too tall to be a little kid, and yet too short to be a fully grown man either. He did not notice as the little man waded through the sea of people enveloping David and produced a crowbar from beneath his coat.
David did, however, notice when the little man clubbed him squarely in the small of the back with the aforementioned crowbar. David howled in pain and crumpled to the ground. The fans surrounding him gasped and took a step back, watching in horror as the little man - his face also painted like a Dia de Los Muertos doll - struck Harley on the spine savagely a few more times.
Before anyone had time to process what had happened, the little man with the big crowbar scampered off through the crowd, leaving David rolling around on the red carpet, screaming and clutching at his back.
MEANWHILE, IN ADALBERTO BONILLA'S ROOMDrug lord Adalberto Bonilla paced restlessly around the luxurious presidential penthouse of the Hotel de la Lucha, which he’d reserved as his office for the evening. He was anxiously waiting for word. Finally, a knock at the door. Bonilla peered through the peephole.
Although it was not the person he was expecting, he unlocked the door anyway when he saw it was his niece La Luciernaga, who appeared to be carrying something extraordinarily heavy.
When he swung the door open, Bonilla saw that the heavy thing Luci was carrying was a person. Concepcion Schultz, to be precise. She appeared to be unconscious, her arm draped lazily over Luci’s shoulders and her legs limp and crumpled beneath her like a puppet with its strings cut. Her ordinarily dark-brown hair was silvery white, and her skin a pale deathly shade of green.
“Uncle Adalberto!” La Luciernaga cried with great concern. “There’s something wrong with Concepcion!”
Bonilla could see as plain as day that that was undoubtedly true, but didn’t seem particularly disturbed by it.
“But will she be able to fight tonight?” he asked callously.
Luci shrieked with anger. “Are you kidding me, Uncle? She can hardly stand upright! There’s no conceivable way she can go out there tonight! I would like to fight in her stead, dear uncle. Let me take on Baronesa again.”
Bonilla chuckled derisively. “My darling niece, I wish I could grant you that wish but alas I can not. Firstly, you’re already booked this evening in a 4-on-4 mixed tag match, which I might add is set to start in just a few minutes here. And secondly - and I mean this with all due respect, my dear - this is SANGREMANIA, and frankly you lack the starpower to carry such an important match on this card. Concepcion Schultz is arguably the most popular female wrestler in the world at this moment, and you are simply her sidekick. The only way I will consider replacing Concepcion in her match is if by some sort of magical happenstance someone with as much or more drawing power than Concepcion Schultz comes walking through that goddamn door right there, right now.”
Bonilla gestured toward the empty doorway for dramatic effect.
And right on cue, a cloaked figure stepped into it.
“It’s a good thing I came, then,” the figure said, in a feminine voice with a hint of some sort of South African accent. She lowered the hood of her cloak, and Bonilla’s eyes grew wide.
MIXED 4-on-4 TAG TEAM MATCH
ZDM
(El Descosido, Exposito y Gemelo Malvado)
with LADY CALIZ
VS
TEAM TECNICO
(Super Mohan, Alhambra y Tiburanha)
with LA LUCIERNAGA
BARONESA
VS
CONCEPCION SCHULTZ(?)
After Baronesa had arrived in the ring, a tremendous amount of time seemed to pass without anything happening. Mockingly Baronesa made a show of inspecting a wristwatch she was not actually wearing, impatiently tapping her foot all the while. Where the hell was Concepcion Schultz?
Minutes passed. Her opponent never arrived. Baronesa called for a microphone.
“I should have known Concepcion Schultz would prove to be too weak and cowardly to come down here and fight me one-on-one, woman-on-woman!”
Suddenly, the lights dimmed and Concepcion’s entrance music struck up. The crowd exploded in rapturous applause and sustained it as long as they could, but after thirty seconds had passed without anyone coming through the curtain, then a full minute, the cheering trailed off into dull, confused murmuring.
Finally the curtain was pushed aside, giving the people something to cheer about, but they didn’t cheer for long. Concepcion Schultz staggered out onto the entrance ramp, looking like she might well be at death’s door. Her usually deep brown hair had gone a strange silvery white. Her skin seemed unnaturally pale and almost translucent, tinged with an unhealthy, almost corpse-like greenish blue.
Concepcion made it maybe five steps down the ramp before she halted in her tracks, swayed like a tall tree in a stiff breeze, and then fell flat on her face, motionless. The crowd gasped. Baronesa laughed. EMTs rushed onto the ramp to attend to her.
As Concepcion was stretchered out, Baronesa got on the mic again. “Look, everybody. Just look at this pitiful sight. This is your hero, Concepcion Schultz. Nothing more than a weak, feeble little lady, unable - or perhaps just unwilling - to fight me. Pathetic. And all just because I stole her stupid little owl statue...”
Suddenly, all the lights surrounding the ring cut out, cloaking the Hotel de la Lucha’s luxurious courtyard in darkness. On the titantron over the entryway, two huge glowing yellow eyes appeared. Over the PA, a haunting sound boomed, echoing across the entire city.
HOOO-OOO. HOOO-OOO.The hooting of an owl. It continued for a full minute, intermittent bursts of that ominous sound. A cold wind whipped through the venue.
Baronesa whirled around, looking alarmed. The crowd whispered excitedly amongst themselves.
And when the music suddenly struck up, a drummer rolling wildly over tom-toms, the audience absolutely exploded in celebration. Could it be? Was
she really here in Mexico?!
BACK IN BONILLA'S ROOM“What the hell took you so long!” Bonilla was shouting into his cell phone. “I’ve been dying over here, waiting for word on whether or not the attack went as planned, damn it!”
Paco Pequeno politely explained to his boss that he’d been on the back of a motorcycle and quite unable to place any phone calls. He assured Bonilla that David Harley’s back had been thoroughly worked over by that crowbar.
Bonilla rewound the conversation a little bit. “What the hell were you doing on the back of a dirt bike, Paco? Why aren’t you here right now?”
Paco explained in very vague terms that he needed to get away for a while. As far away as he could get and as quickly as he could get there. To lay low for a little bit.
“Lay low?” Bonilla cried. “For what reason? We’ve been sitting on top of the world this whole time, haven’t we? When you work for me, you are untouchable!”
Paco respectfully disagreed. He said he’d heard things. Rumors. Seeing the disarray inside the company, the police were starting to feel emboldened, perhaps enough to finally make a move on the cartel.
“If I were you,” Paco advised in a very calm voice, “I wouldn’t go out there tonight.”
Bonilla scoffed. “Chingate, Paco. You disloyal little coward. Chingate.”
Angrily he hung up on the little man. Bonilla ordinarily considered Paco Pequeno a trusted adviser, but he was angry and made a point to not take a single thing he’d said to heart.
i.W.e. Tag Team Title Match
LOS ARBOLES
Sicomoro y Oro de Acapulco
VS
The i.W.e Record 515-Day Reigning Champions
BIRDEMIC!
Resplendent Quetzal y U.S. Kestrel
Chickenwire Cage Match for the Mascara de Choque (MDC) Title
LOBO MUERTE
VS
CICATRICES
Anyone that may have been expecting an elaborate unveiling of the most coveted relic in lucha libre was disappointed and probably perplexed when an anonymous cartel henchmen came walking down the entrance ramp, wheeling a dolly with an oak office desk on it. It was rather heavy but the gangster happened to be rather muscular, so he reached ringside without issue and unceremoniously plopped the desk down on the ground. He walked over to the ring announcer, Lingua Larga, and whispered something in his ear, then left.
Lingua Larga approached the desk with caution. He opened the bottom drawer and reached inside, producing a brown paper sack. He reached into the bag but withdrew his hand with great haste when something seemed to nip at his fingertips.
“OUCH! What the hell was that?”
He looked cautiously inside the bag, seeing nothing but a ratty, tattered old mask. The announcer reached for it again, and once again his hand came back empty after something like an electric jolt surged up his arm as his fingertips contacted the fabric. Finally, he managed to fish the mask out of the bag holding only the very end of one of its laces. He presented it to the crowd while holding it as far away from himself as humanly possible.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our next match is for the most valuable relic in all of lucha libre, the owner of which will be widely regarded as the greatest luchador in the world. I present to you… LA MASCARA DE CHOQUE!”
The crowd
oohed and
aahed. Lingua Larga let the mask slip through his fingertips and it inadvertently hit his hand, sending a painful shock coursing through his entire body like a lightning bolt. Not knowing what else to do with the damned thing, he tossed the mask back into the bottom drawer of the desk and kicked it shut.
Event staff scurried over to scoot the heavy wooden desk aside. This odd, incongruous item that would apparently be sitting at ringside for the following bout nevertheless needed to make room…
for the cage.
The crowd roared as a large construction crane rumbled into the courtyard with a giant box of chickenwire dangling from its towering arm and the two competitors made their way to the ring...
* * * MAIN EVENT * * *
Lucha de Apuestas for Ownership of La Guerra and Lucha POWER
EQUIPO BONILLA
Adalberto Bonilla
with Dungeon Dominguez and Sal de Roca
VS
TEAM HARLEY
David Harley
with El Macho and Tocapelotas
COMPLETE PANDEMONIUM ERUPTS AT THE HOTEL DE LA LUCHAFor the second time that night, David Harley was writhing around in agony, grasping at his aching back. The referee, longtime i.W.e. loyalist Terry Weldon, kneeled beside his boss and tried to determine if he’d need hospitalization. Terry had tears in his eyes; he hadn’t wanted to throw out the match, but he didn’t believe David was able to continue after that brutal assault on his back with the steel chair, only hours after having been attacked in the same area with a crowbar.
Nearby, Adalberto Bonilla celebrated with Dungeon Dominguez and Sal de Roca, taunting the booing crowd. Tecate cans flew from the audience into the ring by the hundreds, aluminum snowdrifts forming in the corners. El Macho and Tocapelotas stood by in stunned belief, and when they finally processed what had transpired they gave the referee an earful. David Harley was one of the toughest son-of-a-bitches who ever lived! He was only unable to go if he said so.
Unable to ignore that the hostile crowd was near to rioting, Bonilla and team tried to make a hasty escape back up the entrance ramp, but as they approached the curtain several men stepped out from behind it, blocking their exit.
It was ZDM! The Mascara de Choque champion Cicatrices stepped forward with a microphone in hand, wagging a scolding finger at Bonilla, while his brother El Descosido, cousin Exposito, and uncle Gemelo Malvado stood menacingly behind him, cracking their knuckles.
“Bonilla!” Cicatrices practically shouted into the microphone. “We have had it with your underhanded tactics!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“We are sick to death of you hiding behind your henchmen!” Cicatrices continued, gesturing toward Sal and Dungeon.
The crowd roared even louder.
“And Bonilla,” Cicatrices went on, “if you really think we are going to let you get away with this tonight, you have another thing coming! In Mexico, we conduct ourselves with honor. With dignity. And when we have a score to settle with someone, we settle it ourselves, not through our proxies. You have made a mockery of the sacred art of lucha libre long enough! Tonight it ends.”
The crowd cried YEEEEEAHH in perfect unison.
Sal and Dungeon stepped forward as though they had every intention to rumble with the ZDM boys right then and there, but they halted in their tracks as the curtain flew aside. Another luchador - Super Mohan - stepped out onto the stage alongside ZDM. The crowd cheered. Then another luchador arrived; El Hijo de Choque. And then another. Doctor Dorado. And another. Tiburanha.
And they just kept coming.
One by one, the entire rosters of both La Guerra and Lucha POWER - or at least all of those who weren’t in league with Bonilla - made their way out onto the stage, standing in solidarity with ZDM until Bonilla and his two henchmen were facing an army of more than two-dozen men. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy by this tense showdown.
Cicatrices raised the microphone again. “Bonilla, we demand you get back in that ring and face your adversary like a man. One on one.”
All the luchadors grimly nodded their heads in agreement. Bonilla began to protest, saying his team had won the match fair and square, when suddenly the pack of pro wrestlers swarmed and overwhelmed the three men. Before long Sal and Dungeon found themselves each beneath about a dozen pairs of violently stomping boots. Bonilla vaulted off the side of the ramp and into the crowd, desperately seeking an escape, but audience members seized him before he’d made it more than a few steps and heaved him back over the guardrail where the ZDM boys collected him and dragged him back toward the ring.
Inside the ring, some way, somehow… David Harley staggered back up to his feet, wincing and grimacing. Although clearly in severe, debilitating pain, a renewed fire burned in his eyes.
The ZDM boys tossed Bonilla into the ring.
Cicatrices once again lifted the microphone to his lips.
“To make extra-certain that your henchmen will be unable to interfere in the settling of this dispute, I humbly suggest that we…”
Cicatrices dramatically pointed skyward at the chickenwire cage, the one he’d only just finished wrestling in, suspended in the air over the ring by the large construction crane.
“LOWER THE CAGE!”
It took the crowd only moments to unite in a deafening chant. LOWER THE CAGE! LOWER THE CAGE! LOWER THE CAGE!
And with that, the cage began to descend. The crowd roared in delight. Bonilla looked nervously around as the chickenwire surrounded him, beads of sweat visibly collecting on his brow. David Harley licked his lips hungrily. Referee Terry Weldon met the men in the center of the ring and called for the bell.
It was time to finally settle things. Once and for all. One way or another.
THE AFTER-MATCH AFTERMATHOne could hardly hear the bell sound over all of the cheering, the screaming, the joyful tears and earsplitting whistles. Too weary to even stand, David Harley was on his knees in the middle of the ring when referee Terry Weldon grabbed him by the wrist and raised his hand in triumph and the roar of the crowd reached deafening levels. Unable to contain his emotion as a two-decade-long employee of Harley’s, Terry wiped tears from his eyes and embraced his boss.
The chickenwire cage ascended and the ring flooded with joyous, jubilant luchadors who came running from the Hotel de la Lucha, with El Macho leading the charge. They hoisted their hero David Harley up onto their shoulders and paraded him about and soon he was crowdsurfing across a whole sea of luchadors. A bruised, battered, and utterly humiliated Adalberto Bonilla began to slowly crawl away on his hands and knees between the legs of all the wrestlers celebrating in the ring. He had managed to reach the ramp without anyone noticing and was eager to slither the rest of the way the hell out of there.
The crowd’s raucous applause was so loud, nobody in attendance heard the helicopter approaching until they were already feeling the wind against their faces. Out of nowhere, a dark green Mexican military chopper swooped over the top of the Hotel de la Lucha and rapidly descended into the courtyard, touching down right there on the entrance ramp. Bonilla, who had been slithering along on his belly, raised up on his elbows and watched with a mixture of fear and astonishment as the helicopter landed just feet in front of him. Four men in army fatigues, helmets and bulletproof vests, brandishing enormous machine guns, rushed out of the helicopter and seized Bonilla by the arms and legs. The crowd cheered as the soldiers gave Bonilla a few extralegal punches to his pot belly before heaving him like a sack of spuds into the helicopter. Within moments they were airborne again, and the crowd spontaneously burst into a rousing rendition of the national anthem, El Himno Nacional Mexicano, until Bonilla and the helicopter were but a speck in the sky.
The entire country would party through the night, and the whole nation would heave a collective sigh of relief when the newspapers the next morning confirmed that Bonilla was indeed in the custody of the Mexican army.
For what felt like the first time in a very long time, the heroes had won the day. And for one of the only times in a long career in which he’d been on the side of evil far more often than not, David Harley was - at least for this one day - the greatest hero of all.
