Black Severin vs Tia Harris — Just The Two of Us (We Can Make It If We Pry)

[Monsy]

A hell in a cell cage match won by PINFALL OR SUBMISSION. Rules?? NONE!
Welcome to part 1 of DSX and Weonna's Fight the LAW 4 Story!

[Weonna]

The roar of the crowd echoed across Għadira Bay, the open-air LAW stage built just feet from the sea. Waves crashed in the distance beneath the moonlight, the breeze carried the scent of saltwater, but no one in the crowd was breathing easy. Their eyes were fixed on the center of the platform — the towering Hell in a Cell, suspended over the ring like a hanging executioner’s blade.

There were no rules tonight.
No allies. No weapons barred.
Just Tia Harris and Black Severin in a steel cage on the edge of the world.

This wasn’t just the match Severin asked for. It was the one he earned.

All he wanted was a match — to make a name for himself, earn a spot on the card, and prove he belonged. So he issued an open challenge.

“Anyone. Any match.”

LAW gave him what he asked for — a main card spot. But no opponent was announced. Not publicly. Not even privately.

He didn’t realize who answered the challenge until it was too late.

Because she didn’t meet him in the ring. She met him in his hotel room.

Tia Harris ambushed him while he was in bed, fresh off travel, completely off guard. He fought back — and nearly turned the tables — until her partner, Akane, stepped in. What followed was a one-sided, merciless beating that ended with Severin broken, and dumped in a hotel dumpster, surrounded by onlookers and LAW staff too shocked to interfere.

The video went viral. The crowd mocked him. But Severin didn’t fold. He demanded they run it back — and this time, under his terms.

So LAW gave him a cage.

But Tia? She’s been waiting for this.

The lights dropped across the arena.

Then the screech of speed metal erupted through the PA — a violent cascade of shredding guitars and thunderous drums that ripped through the night air like a war cry.

Spoiler

The titantron exploded in silver and black:

TIA HARRIS
ENFORCER



A metallic badge logo gleamed across the screen, wrapped in steel chains, flanked by two five-point stars — shining like warnings. The crowd came unglued as smoke hissed across the ramp.

And out stepped Tia Harris.

Clad in her black cropped leather jacket, long white hair whipping in the sea breeze, she strode toward the cell with unflinching purpose. Her ring gear was black and silver, simple and savage. Her boots pounded the ramp with every step. No pyro. No posing. No crowd pandering.



Just presence. Power. Precision.

She reached the cell door and stopped.

Took one look up at the steel, cracked her neck, tossed off her jacket.



And turned to the camera with a smirk full of promise and malice.

"Right then… let’s see if the bastard rocked up with backup this time, or if he’s still dumb enough to go it alone."

She stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her.

Tia Harris had entered the cage.
And tonight, at Fight the LAW 4, she wasn’t walking out until Severin learned why you never leave your door unlocked when the Enforcer comes knockin’.

[DSX93]

That night -- along with the two that followed -- kept replaying in

Ring Gear

Entrance Jacket

's head. Nothing's changed: The beating wasn't the worst of it. It wasn't being tossed into the trash afterwards like he was nothing. It was waking up on that stretcher. Opening his eyes to see the tears in Keira's. It was that entire ride to the hospital. The two days he spent there. The first few hours, especially.

The bed felt like a damn prison, almost. Like he was withering away, just lying in it. And against the staff's orders -- against common sense -- he tried to get up and walk around. Not with any clear destination. He didn't even intend to leave. He just needed to prove -- first to Keira, then Beatriz after she got there -- that he could. That he just needed a little time. That he was strong. Built Ford tough. He just had a little dent in him; they didn't have to worry so much.

So much for that plan. Everything turned into a blur like it did at the hotel. He got weak. Then his legs gave out on him again. But they were there to catch him. Bea let him have it once he was back in that bed. And Kei? She was about ready to get out there to try to get her hands on Tia and Akane until he convinced her not to go.

It was hard on all of them. Then the doctor came in with that initial diagnosis: A concussion that would force him to miss Fight The LAW. And another week after that, actually.

The fans would know what happened as soon as the next day. It was an LAW-owned hotel that beatdown happened in, so of course the footage got out fast. And the comments from fans came in just as quickly. Some in support, others talking their shit and rooting for Tia in this thing. And the buzz grew even louder after his short "meeting" with Dana Henderson resulted in this turning from a regular Standard match into Hell In a Cell.

Management had set all of this up. They booked Severin and Tia to the same room, intending what happened next to be a lesson to him about challenging authority. And he doesn't know how they did it, but he knows that they got that doctor to overturn that original order and give him the green light instead. And they were probably going to put something like this together anyway.

Fine. It was just like he said on Twitter: He's more motivated now then he's ever been before.

It was hard to keep it together as he watched Tia make her way to the ring. This isn't going to be a match, and everybody knows it. Might as well take a page out of that bitch's book and take her by surprise. See how she likes it. But

was there, a hand on his shoulder, helping him stay focused on the bigger picture.

"Jus' a few more minutes, lad. Ye wait 'til dat door be locked, 'n dat's when ye go wild."

She was right. Going out there now to try to beat Tia's ass all the way to the ring like he wanted to? Big time invitation for Akane to come running. It was exactly what he'd picked the Cell to avoid. And the cell, specifically: She could climb over a regular cage. Could she bust through the door? Maybe. But if she can, it'll be with a lot of noise. He'll have time to prepare. Maybe enough to slide out of the ring and pull out something that'll even the odds. Hopefully a kendo stick or a bat. Something that's quick to swing.

"Thank you for being here." Honestly, he'd rather she wasn't hanging around here backstage. What if Tia and Akane weren't the only ones that management had in their pocket?

But Bea's mind was made up.

"Wouldna miss dis fer all the treasure in the world! Maybe fer all the ale, but nobody came wit' dat offer. Wit' Cap'n Bella Bonny watchin', dat white-haired strumpet's the only one ye 'ave t' worry about!"

Speaking of whom, Tia didn't waste any time getting to the ring. No flair. No pageantry. There was that fucking grin that he couldn't wait to punch off of her face, but other than, she just got her ass on down to that ring. Good.

The focus remained on her, but Severin caught the referee whispering something into the ring announcer's ear. He was on frame for only a second, but it was enough to give him the feeling that something big had been passed to him through his earpiece. And a few seconds later, the announcer would confirm those suspicions.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been brought to my attention that this Hell In a Cell match will also have a Prisoner of War stipulation!"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it will." But he wasn't all that surprised. He didn't know what was gonna be done after he'd put his hands on Mrs. Henderson, but he knew full well that he wasn't going to just walk into her office, scare her into putting the match together, and then have this go off without a hitch. That's something he wouldn't have even been able to dream of on the pipe.

"El plan inmediato no ha cambiado: voy a salir y le voy a dar una paliza. Solo asegúrate de tener protección, por si acaso." And that's just for her own protection. They know she's with him. And that's why he communicated that in Spanish: Who knows who's actually listening in? But chances are good that they don't speak it.

"And introducing her opponent, standing at five-foot-eight and weighing in at one hundred and eighty-five pounds, fighting out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Blaaaack Severiiiin!"

Which was different. It has been every time he's competed in an arena so far, and always by choice, with the exception of his match against Karen Gale in the Kings & Queens tournament. He could never decide on one single theme, and with most artists seeming to be tripping over themselves to give LAW the green light to use their music, he just decided to make it a part of his gimmick. Maybe he'll stumble upon that one song that way.

But he didn't go to the sound people with this. In fact, he hadn't given any thought to what he'd come out to. He'd just been counting down the minutes to this moment.

"Ready or Not. Here I come. You can't hide!"

As soon as he heard Lauryn Hill's voice, he knew that Bea had taken care of it.

"Gonna fiiiind you, and take it slowly!"

She's always been fond of her sound ever since Terrell's uncle Daniel introduced her to it. It all started with "That Thing", and when he saw that she was hooked, he took her to class on the old school, just like he did with Terrell.

"¡Ve a patearle el trasero a esa perra!"

That's the plan.

A mask of gold and black popped onto the

, followed by golden letters that spelled the name Black Severin. All of them gleaming brilliantly, a simple nod to his aspirations. And he had the fit to go with it: His entire outfit, from the mask to the soles of his boots, were lined with real gold. Once upon a time, he thought he'd only be wearing something like this after winning a belt. But he's been making some investments with that million he won at the Madison months ago.

He'd asked Alix about it, then she set up a meeting with an agent she has working for her. Winston Zhuge. Terrell remembered the name from their brief interaction at Landmark's. He hadn't taken him up at first because he was still at the start of his career. Getting by, but not in the best place financially. The free transportation and services in hotels and gyms were lifesavers. Getting a manager in on that just wasn't in the cards.

Then, he just forgot about him. He was seeing the world. Visiting landmarks. Exploring different cultures. And being paid mostly to have incredible, kinky combat sex with the most beautiful, athletic women the world has to offer. And swept off his feet by the kindest heart it had to offer. And all of this just months after he got out of college. Just months after he'd become old enough to drink. Legally.

Winston didn't hold that against him, though. And he gave your boy some good advice. And now he's got millions in the bank. Not hundreds of millions. Not even dozens. But it's growing. And he does a little happy dance every single time he checks his balance.

And it didn't factor into his decision to make this match what it is at all, but contests like these are the ones that pay out the most, even without a belt on the line. If things go the way he wants them to tonight...it won't quite be Packwatch level, but he'll be having some

energy the next time he takes a look.

The lights in the arena were dim, with golden spotlights illuminating the darkness. Black Severin's entrance carried much of the same energy as his opponent's: Gone was the festive atmosphere that came with his entrances. No dancing. No smiles. His every step had straight-forward purpose. His eyes were locked on the self-proclaimed "Enforcer". Cold, yet burning with ill intent born of righteous indignation.

And right there in the front row, just a few feet from the cell door was

(Ignore the tattoos.)

who was taking advantage of the free, preferential seating that LAW afforded its wrestlers. Of course she was going to be right up front to support her man. Tia had walked past her without so much as a glance, probably not even knowing who she was. It was all too tempting to jump the barrier and make the bitch recognize. With no disqualifications, it would be as legal as a wristlock.

And if the three of them hadn't come together to discuss things, she damn well might have. Terrell's plan was the right course: Take them out one at a time. And with Beatriz backstage and her right here, payback was all but assured. But that surprise POW stipulation put a bad feeling in her gut. She couldn't help but think that Mrs. Henderson had something to do with that. Hell In A Cell was all he wanted here, but the way he made it happen...

She didn't blame him for going about it the way he did. She was there while he sat on hold on the phone. She even made some calls herself. Spoke to people, only to be met with all of the same blocks and excuses the moment she told them who she was talking about. They changed their tune so quickly, being happy to assist her at first, then pulling a one-eighty with a snap of the fingers. It made her angry for him.

And on top of that, with Dana being the one who set him up like that? She would've put hands on her too. But she was the one in charge of the pay-per-view. Retaliation was a very real possibility.

But Terrell didn't look bothered. More focused and ready to kick ass. Too ready: Keira had seen that look he had in his eyes a few times. And every time, it was bad news. But not always for the person that glare was directed at.

She got on her feet. She can't let him walk into the cell like that.

"Sev!" Keira called out, waving him over with a crook of her finger. When he came her way, she raised her hands to cup his cheeks, making sure his eyes never left hers. "You nice and pissed off?"

He responded with a nod, continuously as she spoke.

"Good. I'm not saying you shouldn't be. Let everything they've done to you -- done to us -- motivate you. Don't let it drive you. Okay? You use it. You don't let it use you. You get me?"

"Yeah. I get you."

"Repeat it to me."

"I don't let it drive me. I don't let it use me. I use it."

"Good." She pulled him in for a quick kiss. For good luck, and to make sure the message got through. "Now let me have that jacket."

The two were almost the same height, with Terrell winning out by two inches. But where weight was concerned, he had fifty pounds of muscle on her. So needless to say, the jacket was a loose fit. But Keira wore it with pride, shining the moment her arms went through the sleeves and she shrugged it on.

"Now you're gonna get in that cell, and what're you gonna do?"

"Own her!"

"Damn right! Now get in there and do it!"

"Yes, my Lady!"

Ain't gotta tell him twice. He turned right around, marched through the door, and took a page out of The Undertaker's book and

standing right there in the way of escape until he heard that padlock click. As one of management's chosen attack dogs, he was sure that Tia had some layered reasons for being so confident coming into this thing. Maybe the ref is dirty or something. But still, there was a part of him that was hoping to see at least some semblance of fear in her eyes. Even if the ref won't bring her hand down for a three count or call a submission, he could still knock her ass out.

And he put in some overtime at the gym to make up for the time he was forced what he missed while he was recovering. Something he'd imply just through the way he entered the ring:

One hop, right onto the apron. No hands, just pure lower body strength. With another right after to clear the top rope. And just as he'd leapt the moment his feet first made contact with the apron, he'd waste no time stepping forward to get right in Tia's face. As close as he could get before the referee stepped in between them, staring her down.

Spanish to English Translation

"El plan inmediato no ha cambiado: voy a salir y le voy a dar una paliza. Solo asegúrate de tener protección, por si acaso." -- "The immediate plan hasn't changed: I'm going out there, and I'm going to beat the hell out of her. Just make sure you have some protection, just in case."

"¡Ve a patearle el trasero a esa perra!" -- "Go kick that bitch's ass!"

Note

Keira Robinson is being written with permission from ThurmanMermanPlx.

[Weonna]

The second that padlock clicked, the air shifted. The sound echoed across Għadira Bay like a gunshot — sharp, final, and impossible to ignore. The cell door was shut, and there was no going back now.

Tia Harris didn’t flinch.

She stood tall in her corner of the cell, eyes locked with Severin’s as the crowd leaned forward, hungry. No smoke and mirrors now. No sneak attacks. Just the two of them, exactly like he asked for.

And the Enforcer was thriving on it.

She didn’t charge. She didn’t posture. She just started walking — a slow, measured stalk across the ring, hips swaying with confidence, boots echoing with every step on the mat. Her eyes never left his. Not for a second.

“Y’look better on yer feet, I’ll give ya that,”

she started, voice low, smoky, with that unmistakable Aussie bite.

“Weren’t sure if ya’d be walkin’ by tonight, let alone standin’ here wantin’ more.”

She took another step.

“But here ya are. Brave little mongrel. S’cute.”

Another step. Her voice rose with it — her tone still casual, but cutting like a blade wrapped in denim.

“I mean, I did dump ya in a bin like the bloody garbage you were, yeah? Figured you’d stay there. Maybe roll down a hill or somethin’. Save me the walk.”

She laughed, sharp and joyless. Closer now.

“Guess not, though. Guess ol’ Sev wants to prove he’s a big strong lad. Real tough bloke. Walkin’ tall in his shiny gear and fancy mask.”

Now they were toe to toe — nothing between them but tension and breathing.

Her smirk dropped.

“Still don’t look like much to me.”

And then came the snap — her right arm swung up in a fast, brutal arc, aiming to crack him across the jaw with a heavy haymaker. No wind-up, no hesitation, but just enough tell in her shoulder for a fighter like Severin to read it — if he was looking for it.

And if not?

Well, she’d be glad to knock his head clean sideways just to start things off right.

The Enforcer had come to brawl.

[DSX93]

Nothing. Not only was this woman unafraid, she was feeling brave enough to talk shit. And her eyes never left his. Didn't do so much as blink, even when they stood face to face.

It was crazy: If you'd told him even a month before he joined LAW that he'd one day be off on a mission to beat a woman, he'd tell you that you were exactly that, crazy. But here he is. Eyes narrowing. Hands tightening into fists. Every word that came out of her mouth fueling that urge to bust her fucking lip.

But he let her talk. Let her get comfortable. Let's see if it gives him something he can use.

And surely enough, that something came. Tia had judged the distance well, having gotten real close, but not so much that it would've ruined the efficacy of that punch. Nah, the telegraph took care of that. Those boxing instincts kicked in when he saw it coming. Right hook. If he weren't standing straight, if he had a proper stance, he could've slipped to the side, maybe gotten a punch or two of his own in.

But as it was, he was still able to slip it with a backward sway, combined with a smooth shuffling of his feet that carried him back a couple steps or three. Enough to bounce into a

positioning of his body, maintaining a rhythm

He kept his hands low. An invitation -- a challenge -- to make another attempt at bombing his button. He might not have gotten a counterpunch out, but her initiative gave him some info.

He hadn't had much time to really get in depth, but Severin had watched some of Tia's work in the ring. Her and Akane's. He'd seen enough to know that Tia likes to slug it out, and he was moving accordingly.

[Weonna]

Tia clicked her tongue as Severin slipped away.

“Right… got yer eyes open, do ya?”

she muttered under her breath, already circling in again.

She wasn’t rattled. If anything, her smirk deepened.

She moved with the same fluid swagger, hands open and loose, palms twitching like she might lunge — or slap — or both. But there was calculation in it too, her stance lowering just a touch, body angled to block an incoming jab while feinting a grab.

Then, with a burst of energy, she lunged forward, her boots pounding against the mat. Her hands shot out, not for a grapple, but to snatch him by the head — fingers curling behind his neck as she attempted to drive him forward towards the turnbuckles!

[DSX93]

Was outfighting even a viable strategy in a fight where anything goes? Severin didn't know. But right now, his intention was to find out. The first step was to figure out the range; the plan was to do that with jabs. He maneuvered just outside of what he initially figured it was, purposefully lining things up so his back would be facing the turnbuckle, just in case Tia shot for that very offensive. Those hands were loose; he could smell it coming.

He threw out a quick jab. Speedy and precise, but with no real muscle behind it. Designed to test, prod, and pester when she came forward. She blocked it and kept it pushing, locking him into a collar and elbow tie-up. It was perhaps the best thing he could've hoped for: With her arms devoted to the task of driving him back, her legs were left vulnerable.

He would push back, more to gauge her strength than anything. Not enough to actually stop her momentum. Severin would dance to her tune up until they came those last couple steps away from the danger zone. Then he'd kick at her knee to bring her off balance, in time with a sharp tug and a twist to switch their places, tossing her into the corner instead.

And then he'd start letting his hands go, much to the crowd's approval. But no bombs. No salvo; this was concentrated bursts of automatic fire, aimed high and low. Nothing that required too much commitment.

[Weonna]

Tia grimaced as the first few shots landed — a sharp crack across the ribs, another clipping her jaw. Severin's fists came fast and precise, peppering her from head to hip with relentless rhythm. She didn’t block. Didn’t counter. Not yet. She stayed rooted in the corner, chest rising and falling as each blow rattled her body, jaw clenched, hands gripping the ropes at her sides to hold herself steady.

The crowd roared with every stiff hit, the rhythm of it turning the ring into a war drum. Sweat sprayed from her brow as another punch caught her flush across the cheek, but still she didn’t move. Didn’t budge an inch.

"Come on, Harris! Outta the corner!"

the referee shouted, stepping in to issue the mandatory warning.

But Tia didn’t answer. She just stared forward, eyes locked, taking the punishment — her body rocked, but her resolve never wavered. Like she was waiting. Letting him have his moment. Letting the crowd drink it in.

For now.

[DSX93]

"Hell yeah! Kick her ass, Sev!" Keira's voice would reach him from the sidelines, her support in particular making the flurry effortless. He was Supercharged, just like her theme song.

Tia's endurance, though...Severin had seen this many a time. Not even in the ring; in action flicks. And perhaps most pertinently, in just about every boss battle or other particularly hardy enemies in video games. They'd take, and take, and take, until...

It was a classic rookie trap meant to punish greed. Let the player land those first several blows, then clap back with something that'll take a good chunk of your health bar away.

Stick and move. A simple lesson. Go in with the light attacks first thing, and then...

Back off. Stay ready. Square up, keeping his feet planted this time, assuming

Chin tucked in, same for his elbows, close to his body. Fists level with his cheeks. Peek-a-Boo style, just like Iron Mike.

[Weonna]

Tia had taken the barrage like a champ, her jaw aching and ribs stinging, but her eyes glinted with something wicked. And just when Severin squared up, poised like a damn heavyweight boxer ready to tear through another round — she heard that voice, low and sharp, calling from ringside.

“ルール無いぞ、ティア！今だ！”

Akane shouted, her voice cutting through the Ghadira Bay air like a blade.

Tia didn’t need a translation. No rules in a Hell in a Cell Match. Right.

With a sly smirk and a sharp exhale, she ducked low and rolled under the bottom rope, her boots kicking up sand as she dropped to ringside. The crowd murmured with anticipation. She strutted over to the steel side panel, flipping it up with one hand and reaching underneath.

The metal clink of barbed wire echoed as she dragged out a baseball bat wrapped in thick, rusted coils. Bits of old cloth and dry blood clung to the barbs. The bat glinted beneath the Maltese sun, a twisted piece of art in her hands.

She turned to Severin and raised the weapon high, letting out a guttural laugh.

“Oi, Fake Tyson!”

she shouted,

“let’s see how far them pretty little hands get ya against this!”

Tia pointed the bat at him like a challenge, then smacked it against the steel steps with a loud metallic clang that echoed. The crowd gasped and roared at once — this just got bloody.

She motioned for him to come out and play, swinging the bat lazily over her shoulder.

“C’mon, mate. Let’s see if boxin’ can stop a beatin’.”