Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate a little thing called “death”.

As blood drips from her mouth and the icy gaze of her soulless eyes pierces her nemesis,

That unpleasant tingle slithers its way down your greasy spine as they feel her necrotic breath –

Rip, tear, shred – such is the fate for all her victims in the ring, as they beg for the end of this.

Prithee, what drives her unquenchable and insatiable appetite, what is her means and motives?

Is it those who doubted her, who spoke against her presentation, or is it lust for blood and wins?

It is not a query easily answered, for in her gnarly, nasty world of madness and carnage she lives,

That ferryman of river Styx waits there, waiting for her supply of rivals sent to Hell for their sins.

In touch with the ground, I’m on the hunt – I’m after you

To quell her bloodthirst is to seize air with bare hands, is to escape that which is death incarnate.

One cannot cease her drive, drive to succeed and to eat – not by belittling her with body shame,

For that will increase her hunger, will drive her to chase her one true love, that which is intimate.

Who she is, why she craves victory and flesh will ever be etched in your feeble mind her name –

Abadon. The beginning and the end, the eater of competitors, the demise of many a poor soul,

She need not speak, as she makes her statement stamped in Bloodline DDT’s and Twists of Hate.

Step inside the squared circle with the undead hellion – you won’t leave that ring safe and whole.

One eye milky white, the other pitch black and crimson, they both see her prey’s untimely fate.

Smell like I sound, I’m lost in a crowd and I’m hungry like the wolf

There once was a man who had misfortune of her appalling, grisly encounters and persevered,

Live to tell the tale of Abadon’s wicked evilness; for he was a ruffian too proud, to her disgust.

Heckled Abadon for her performance and appearance, bullied fans for the way they appeared,

He woke up the very next day to something odd, something painful, as he no longer had his guts.

Another time, a young woman saw her bloody visage – what ensued next stuck with her a while –

For not too long before had a man who followed her home approached her with a cocky grin,

And as he closed in more and more, he made suggestions, demanded to her that she had to smile.

In a flash, the woman gasped as she saw Abadon – in that split second removed man from skin.

Straddle the line, in discord and rhyme – I’m on the hunt, I’m after you

Perhaps the most well-known of these tales we saw play out live on our own television sets,

For twice she came, twice she waltzed her twisted dance – Hikaru Shida she craved this lech.

Abadon hungered not just for the AEW women’s belt, she also yearned for the taste of flesh,

When the moment came, the blood poured as she sank her teeth into Shida’s delicious neck.

An acquaintance of mine claimed she was more than an act, the rest of the bar laughed at him.

Then he saw her again and died the very next day; they blamed bad luck for his untimely fate.

No more stories from him, I heard them say, but upon my first sight of her, my hope grew dim.

Crawling towards me like the monster she was, only then I felt such a gripping terror so great.

Mouth is alive, with juices like wine, and I’m hungry like the wolf

Years passed since that day; I’d not seen her, not a sight nor glance of Abadon, the zombie girl.

Never was I someone to look a gift horse in the mouth, never was I one to question providence –

When I saw her grim visage, heard her shriek, queried I, “is she here?” my blood then curdled.

Slashed and tore, ripped and teared, but she still had not caught me, lo, my scars as my evidence.

Through every effort I had become a good man and kept to myself, can’t say the same for Rich –

On a dark, tragic night walk home, no longer would he speak again; for cut were his vocal cords.

Knowing him, the impudent and callous man he was, probably made mistake to call her “bitch”,

To his chagrin and to the cheer of many, Rich lost his overused capability to utter a single word.

In touch with the ground – I’m on the hunt, I’m after you

Doubtless, if these haunting tales were not to happen, if she were not to bear this undead image,

Perhaps the world would take to her kindly; she refutes this chance for she shuns this society.

Naught any need to please the masses, the fickle, toxic kind – nil is her want for their patronage.

The hell, the wrath, the bloodshed she brings is her yearning, to spread that in her vile notoriety.

Keep it in your mind, make absolutely certain of this course, that you do not poke and prod her,

Lest she rip out your insides and shove them down her gullet – to satiate her voracious appetite.

Tread not upon her vicious, endless path, lest you be fodder for Satan’s most beloved daughter.

Stray not in her direction, or you shall face torment without any description in endless blight.

A scent and a sound, I’m lost and I’m found, and I’m hungry like the wolf

Whilst broom girls dance and Red Velvet stirs it up, whilst Anna and Tay fight for their Order –

As Britt yanks out your teeth and Swole flexes, as Miro, Kip, and Penelope harass Best Friends,

Tendons will snap, bones will break, and organs will be eaten, as she takes her belt to her border,

One that lies in the infinite, a plain that is ever-expanding, a place where the horizon never ends.

Bending nor kneeling, instead she slithers and crawls, stalking her prey for later hungry meals.

Screaming, shrieking, screeching sounds, she pounces and pounds and punches in violent song,

Run if you can, sprint if you must, but terror arrives all the same, the terror that everyone feels.

In my many stories you now know there is no escape from the dark, empty horror that is Abadon.