[This is the third cycle of the Lord of the Reign tale. For reference, you can review Volume I of the story starting here, and Volume II of the story starting here. Also, the preceding segments of Volume III might come in handy if you've missed them. Here's Part One and Part Two.]

The Lord of the Reign
The Return of the King of the Ring
Volume III, Chapter Five
“In Which Bret Hart Finally Turns for Good.... er... Evil”  
 

Dreamer: It looks much smaller on TV.
Benoit: Where’s the “Hollywood” sign, anyway?
Hitman: It’s on the other side, now come on. Only a few thousand more feet to go!
Dreamer: Thousand? This is ridiculous.

Dreamer: Come on. You didn’t think I would see that? He was trying to take your belt, Mr. Benoit. Or possibly grab your junk.
Hitman: I was not! Geez, of all the things I do for you people. Come on, Chris, let’s get going. We’ve got a long way to go to the summit.
Dreamer: Yeah, now that you mention that, I don’t remember the Hollywood hills ever having a pointed summit.
Hitman: Well, you learn something new every day, don’t you. You don’t know what it’s like to be the World Champion, Dreamer.
Dreamer: I was-
Hitman: To carry the whole company on your back.
Dreamer: In ECW-
Hitman: Chris needs somebody to look after him who knows exactly what he’s going through. I understand. And if Chris isn’t careful, he’s going to get screwed out of the title, get kicked in the head, and wander Death Valley in nothing but Hammer pants and a pink vest.
Dreamer: Death Valley?
Hitman: It’s just a figure of speech. I could just as easily have said Halifax or Pensacola.
Dreamer: But you didn’t. You said-
Hitman: Listen to him, Chris, always second guessing your decisions. He’s just hoping you die so that he can take the title and run to Vince with it.
Dreamer: What? I am-
Hitman: See? He even admits it! Think about it, what was his biggest push, huh? Jobbing to Justin Credible in sixty seconds.
Dreamer: I had just wrestled a match-
Hitman: Now he’s making excuses! How can you trust this guy? Before the Red Rooster crows three times, he will betray you, Chris!
Benoit: I like bunnies.
Hitman: I think the altitude is getting to him.
Dreamer: That and the company.
Hitman: Lose some weight.
Dreamer: Go to hell.
Hitman: Geez. So nasty. Look at this guy, would you, Chris? What an ass. I wish good health for him, and he just gets snitty.
Snitsky: Me?
Hitman: No.
Snitsky: Oh.

Gene throws himself from the cliff. Snitsky has fallen.

In Oceanside, Hogan and Rhyno talk….

Hogan: You know something brother, from the days of the almighty Bruti to the days of The Wall, brother, Vince McMahon has been gathering the Hulkamaniacs, and now I’ve got an army, dude, a legion of fans all calling out for the immortal one to rescue them from the boredom of anything but Hulkamania in the main event brother. So I’m gonna take my vitamins, say my prayers, and then I’m gonna storm No Way Out, brother, and I’m gonna drop the leg on any competition to the McMahon empire once and for all. So whatchugonna do when Hulkamania and these 24 inch pythons run wild on YOU?!
Rhyno: Actually, we had to take the pythons back.
Hogan: What? Why’s that, little dude?
Rhyno: Freaking PETA! The assholes!
Hogan: Well damn. Let’s go kill everybody anyway.
Rhyno: What if Flair comes out to protect them again?
Hogan: Don’t you worry about Ric Flair, brother. If Flair comes out again, I’m going to say to my man, Jimmy Hart, I’m going to say, “Jimmy, brother, give me Yappappi strap number one, brother!” And then I’m going to pull out Yappappi strap number one and I’m goin-
Rhyno: So, he’s not going to be a problem?
Hogan: No.

Back in San Diego, rumors are flying.

Akio: I bet Smackdown doesn’t even show up!
Spike Dudley: Dude, I didn’t know you could speak Engish!
Akio: I’m from friggin’ Georgia!
Spike Dudley: Oh no! My world is spinning out of control!
Flair: Shut up, Spike.
Spike Dudley: Geez, what a hard ass.
Flair: I heard that!
Spike Dudley: Sorry, sir.

Inside the arena, Eddie Guerrero is taking an oath.

Foley: I, Eddie Guerrero.
Eddie: I, Eddie Guerrero.
Foley: Do solemnly swear.
Eddie: Swear a lot, holmes.
Foley: To have a nice day.
Eddie: Whatever you just said.
Foley: Good! Now you’re in Mickey Scouts. Our first order of business is finding out the results of last month’s big cookie drive. Who here would like to share how many of the sweet treats they sold?
Edge: You’re obviously talking to me, Mick, since the only other one in stupid “Mickey Scouts” was Christian, and he’s dead.
Foley: How many cookies did you sell, little boy.
Edge: None. This idea was stupid. I’m not going to go door to door selling friggin’ awful cookies. I’m a wrestler for God’s sake.
Foley: What kind of attitude is that? Christian sold hundreds of cookies. You always were the weak link of that tag team, Edge, but now that Christian’s dead, you’re just plain weak. You make me sick. Eddie here is more of a son to me than you ever will be.
Edge: That’s fine with me.

Eddie kisses Mick’s sock covered hand, and reaches around to swipe his wallet.

Foley: Look at that! You’re the cutest little rascal aren’t you.
Eddie: Oh, yeeeeeah, holmes. I’m so cuuuute.
Foley: Edge, I’ve been thinking. I want you to go back and finish the house show in Oceanside.
Edge: You what?
Foley: Fans have been asking for a refund, and we can’t afford to pay them back and still run this PPV. So go finish it.
Edge: That’s totally heinous, Mick. That place is crawling with McMahon’s men, and the fans have long since gone home.
Foley: Come on. Do this one little thing for the Mickster.
Edge: No!
Foley: Just one little teensy-weensy little thing?
Edge: You sit here and tell me how much you think I suck, and then want me to go off and probably die? What do you think I am? Crazy?
Foley: Yep.
Edge: (rolling his eyes) Who’s coming with me?
Foley: Take the cruiserweights.
Eddie: Oh man, esse, you’re gonna get killed.
Edge: You stay out of this. I’m going to do this one last favor for you Mick. One last job. I just hope it makes a difference.
Foley: Let’s see what the Magic 8 Ball has for us. “Very Doubtful.” Well, good luck anyway. BANG BANG!

Edge wanders off while Mick dives into a catering table, devouring all the candy. Meanwhile, somewhere that doesn’t seem quite so much like the Hollywood Hills anymore, Bret Hart is jamming a stale old, Kane Ice Cream sandwich into Tommy Dreamer’s face.

Hitman: Silly, stupid youngsters. You don’t even realize that I hired Duke “The Dumpster” Droese to drive us all to Mount Whitney while you slept. You’re no closer to WrestleMania now than you were a weak ago, stupid fat wrestler.
Meltzer: What? Why wasn’t that in the story.
Alvarez: Droese’s pay per appearance rate is just off the charts.
Meltzer: But they can get away with mentioning him?
Alvarez: Still own the rights to the character name.
Meltzer: Oh, yeahyeahyeahyeah.
Alvarez: I think I’ve regained sensation in my legs, I’m going to make a trip to the bathroom. You want anything?
Meltzer: But you’re going to miss this next exciting section!
Alvarez: Damn. I wish we could just pause the goddamn thing.
Meltzer: We could have if I wouldn’t have used those parts to make you.
Alvarez: Say what now?
Meltzer: Nothing, nothing.

Dreamer awakens.

Dreamer: What the hell are you up to?
Hitman: I was just…uh…Trying to go over HBearK.
Dreamer: We’re not in Canada, moron.
Hitman: Yeah well, we’re not in “ECW” either, so that means that you don’t call the shots around here, ok? I’m showing you a way through Hollywood, and all you can do is cry and whine about my little fantasy of finally beating Michaels. Geez.
Dreamer: Fine, fine. Sorry. Here, have the stupid bear.
Tommy throws HBearK at Bret. It hits Bret in the eye, causing Bret to fall over and HBearK gets the pinfall.
Hitman: GODDAMMIT!
Benoit: Can’t we get through one night without commotion?
Dreamer: Night? It’s like, noon, dude.
Benoit: Oh…right. How about lunch?
Dreamer: Let me just open a box of…the WWE Ice Cream. It’s all gone!
Benoit: What?
Dreamer: Bret! Bret must have eaten them all!
Hitman: Don’t be ridiculous! I’m lactose intolerant! I can’t believe you would insinuate that I would eat an entire box of melted ice cream!
Benoit: He’s right, Tommy. Remember after he ate that cheesy burrito? The screams? The horror? It wasn’t Bret.
Hitman: It was probably your fat ass that ate them, Dreamer. Look at that Ice Cream smeared all over your face. It IS! Can’t you control your eating habits for a few months, Mr. Dreamer?
Dreamer: Yes, I can. I haven’t eaten anything in weeks!
Hitman: See? He was starving! Of course he over ate!

Dreamer picks Bret up and sets up the Spicolli Driver.

Hitman: NO!
Dreamer: That’s it, it’s time to finish you off for good.
Benoit: Put him down, Tommy!

Benoit rips Bret off of Dreamer’s shoulders, Bret huddles behind Benoit.

Dreamer: Let me finish his pathetic existence, Mr. Benoit.
Benoit: Don’t make me put you in a rest hold!

Benoit goes to put Tommy in a chinlock, but he falls over. Dreamer lifts him up.

Dreamer: Oh no! You’re over worked, Mr. Benoit. This whole thing is worse than an Iron Man Match.
Benoit: I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.
Dreamer: Fine? You can hardly walk anymore. Bret is infecting you with lies. Plus, it must be getting hard to carry that belt with you wherever you go. Looks heavy.
Benoit: (brow furrowed) What? What was that, Tommy?
Dreamer: I said the belt, it looks heavy. I could carry it for a few miles. Just ‘til we get to the top of the hill.

The words echo in Benoit’s mind. He chops Tommy.

Benoit: You’re a liar and a thief!
Dreamer: Am not!
Hitman: You are too, you little bum. We Canadians, we have to stick together. We understand.
Dreamer: I don’t want to be champion. Just to carry the belt for him. Like a manager or something.
Benoit: Bret is right, Tommy. You’re no good to me anymore. You just don’t understand.
Dreamer: Listen to yourself, Mr. Benoit! I’m the face! Not Bret! Don’t you turn heel on me!
Benoit: I don’t need another tag partner, Tommy. Don’t need another manager. Your time is over.
Dreamer: Certainly you could use a towel boy or a valet!
Benoit: Go back to Smackdown, Tommy. Go Home.

Benoit and Bret continue their assent, while Tommy sits perched on the edge of the cliff, crying.
 

The Lord of the Reign
The Return of the King of the Ring
Volume III, Chapter Five
“In Which Chris Jericho gets both the Lamest Gift and Advice Ever”

Edge is in the front seat of his rented station wagon. As he drives out of town, producers and stagehands cry, knowing his fate. Ric Flair runs up alongside him.

Flair: Edge! Edge! Don’t listen to Foley! That guy’s a nut! Do you really want to break your neck again, or worse, listening to a fat guy who loves Christmas and Winnie the Pooh a little too much for a guy his age?
Edge: He’s my booker. I do what he asks. Now he asks me for one final job.
Flair: Fine! Just so I don’t have to say it later, “I told you so.”

Edge rides off. Mick is still eating.

Foley: Hey, Eddie. Do you know any Christmas tunes?
Eddie: Uh…no. Sorry, holmes.
Foley: Well sing me something, dammit!
Eddie: Oh, there’s a monkey in my pocket-

Vince’s army begins chucking things at Edge and the Cruiserweights’ cars. Several of them go careening out of control, including Edge’s.

Eddie: And he’s stealing all my change-

Rhyno lowers his head and Gores through Edge’s car, throwing Edge across the street.

Eddie: His stare is blank and glassy-

Ric Flair slumps down into a chair and shakes his head.

Eddie: I suspect he is deranged!
Foley: Good one!
Eddie: Man, this is messed up, right here, holmes. Your top draw just died out there!
Foley: That means his spot just opened on my card!
Eddie: Really? I mean, I-
Foley: Go find out if Scotty 2 Hotty survived and see if he’ll do it.
Eddie: Sigh. Yes, sir.

Paul Heyman is at the Smackdown campsite, taking attendance.

Heyman: So how many more guys were you able to bring in?
Dupree: I got…uh…Steve Corino?
Heyman: Ok. That sucks, but I’ll take it.
Long: Playa, we just got in another busload of crappy Hollywood writers.
Heyman: Excellent. That’ll show McMahon that we mean business. What about Dudleys?
Long: I haven’t seen no Dudleys, buhleedat.

Chris Jericho saunters up.

Jericho: ECW rejects and lame Hollywood writers. What is this? XPW?
Heyman: Don’t make me nail you with this cellphone. Of course I’m not happy with this, but you take what you can get when you‘re a promoter, ok? Besides, we don’t have near enough porn stars to be XPW.
Dupree: That bus of porn stars you ordered just showed up.
Heyman: Well…we still don’t have half-
Dupree: The second one too.
Heyman: Shut up, Rene! I’m sure more wrestlers will come. People loved working for me back in ECW.
Jericho: We’re running out of time.
Cole: No Way Out is only 3 Days Away, Live and on Pay Per View! Call your cable or satellite provider now to order!
Heyman: Then we will have to hurry, won’t we?

Stacy, Orton and Tazz are sitting around. The cruiserweights are getting fidgety.

Orton: What’s their problem? Are they trembling in fear of my awesome helmet? Don’t tremble little men!
Cena: I don’t think it’s the cap they’re afraid of, my man, it’s that building down there.
Tazz: Down where?
Cena: DOWN THERE!
Tazz: AHAHAHAHAHA! Way to point at your crotch.
Orton: That’s the Caulifloly Club. My dad goes there some times to yell at old people.
Cena: Orton’s right, man. That place is for crotchety old wrestlers. Older than old school. Just bein’ around ‘em gives me the willies. Like they’re gonna come out and nail me with their walkers, you know?
Tazz: Oh, I know the feeling. Trust me. I used ta hang out with Missy Hyatte.
Cena: Hey, Thesz, suck on DEEZ NUTS!

Cena runs and hides behind one of the tents, seeing if he’s drawn a reaction. Chris Jericho stares at the Cauliflower Alley Club.

Tazz: Chris, you’re not near old enough yet. Let’s go throw things on top of their roof. We’ll start with Orton.

Later that night, Stacy Keibler is helping Chavo Guerrero prepare for the Pay Per View.

Stacy: And we’ll add a dash of color there. There. You look great!
Chavo: Stacy, I’m wearing a dress.
Stacy: Yes you are! You’ll be the belle of the ball!
Chavo: Uh…I’m supposed to wrestle, mamacita, not a prance around.
Stacy: Now try some moves!

Chavo tries to throw a dropkick, but he can’t in the heels.

Chavo: Ok. This sucks.
Stacy: Keep on trying! I know you’ll do it eventually.

Chavo stumbles off. John Cena comes in.

Cena: What was that about?
Stacy: I was just helping Chavo try on a dress.
Cena: What? Why?
Stacy: I’m making my own women’s division!
Cena: Stacy, don’t be stupid. Women shouldn’t wrestle.
Stacy: I should too wrestle! We should all wrestle! Women love to wrestle!
Cena: Whatever. Go back to your lingerie pillow fights. I’m out.

Cena storms out. Chris Jericho, meanwhile, snoozes on. White clouds and Trish Stratus fill his dreams.

Trish: I hate it when you grow that goofy looking beard.
Jericho: In my defense, it’s been months since I had a chance to shave.
Trish: I’m just saying, I totally won’t make out with you now. Not even in this dream.
Jericho: Then why am I having it? I mean, this has to be important somehow, right?

Trish grabs the cleavage pendant and throws it in the imaginary trash.

Trish: You don’t need this any more. You’ll get the real things soon enough.
Jericho: Oh, awesome! Boobies!
Trish: Yes, boobies. Now wake up.

Jericho awakes with a start, nearly crashing into Paul London.

London: Aieee! Paul Heyman is here to see you!
Heyman: I just came in to steal a bagel. See ya.
Shane McMahon: Hi, Chris.
Jericho: Shane?
Shane McMahon: Trish Stratus is dying.
Jericho: What?
Shane McMahon: Dying to tell you that she’s staying in the U.S. But she couldn’t come here to tell you herself because she’s packing all her stuff. Also, her implants are leaking, and she’s got to find her own money to pay for that. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore.
Jericho: So the cleavage is going into the garbage.
Shane McMahon: Uh…sure. Whatever you say. Listen, Chris. Armageddon is almost upon us.
Jericho: No it’s not. Armageddon isn’t until December.
Shane McMahon: Not that Armageddon. The one where everybody dies. Wrestlemania, the Undisputed title, it’s all coming to a head.
Jericho: And we’ll beat your father. We‘ll beat Vince.
Shane McMahon: Yo, yo, yo. Not so fast, Chris. If I know my dad, and I think I do, he’s not just going to attack No Way Out from the house show. He’s going to flank you all by sailing in on novelty restored pirate ships.
Jericho: Furnas and LaFon!
Shane McMahon: Of course. Loaded with rudos and TNA rejects.
Jericho: TNA has rejects?
Shane McMahon: A sad state of affairs, I know. You need a bigger draw than what you have, even now.
Jericho: We’re all the hell out of wrestlers, Shane. Everybody’s already picked a side or dead.
Shane McMahon: Maybe, then, you need to start looking into the past for wrestling help.
Jericho: Time travel?
Shane McMahon: Old retirees.
Jericho: You mean those old windbags? They’ll never help this generation. They hate us.
Shane McMahon: They hate my dad more. And they will answer to the heir of Sting.

Shane pulls out Sting’s glued together bat, which he hands to Jericho.

Jericho: Sting’s bat. Great.
Shane McMahon: Sting’s bat, which struck down the nWo the first time, and struck my father down. I spent hours trying to glue the damned thing together, now go hit somebody with it!
Jericho: I think Vince will remember being hit with this thing.
Shane McMahon: Doubtful. My dad can hardly be relied on to remember what happened last week.
Jericho: Then I will go to No Way Out.
Shane McMahon: Bring the elders with you. You’re sure to sell out then, even to the most jaded fans. You’re not just Chris Jericho anymore, you’re Chris Jericho, Living Legend.
Jericho: Might want to tone that down a little bit, or Larry Zbyszko will never join us.
Shane McMahon: So?
Jericho: Good point.
Shane McMahon: Well, I’m off. Hopefully, looking back, this will have meant something.
Jericho: Or else it will have no point whatsoever. Either way, I’m gonna put this on E-Bay when this is all over.

Shane leaves. Stacy Keibler enters.

Stacy: So you’re going to the old folk’s home rather than to the Pay Per View. You’re our top guy! You can’t, like, leave me!
Jericho: You can’t possibly understand. I really mean that. You can’t possibly understand.
Stacy: Can too!
Jericho: Do you love me, Stacy?
Stacy: Ew! No! I mean, kind of. Yes.
Jericho: Honey, you’ve got a great ass, but I’m a boobs man. You cannot give me what I seek.

Stacy storms off in tears. Jericho heads off in the direction of the Cauliflower Alley Club. Tazz and Orton run up.

Tazz: Brotha, I’m comin’ with you.
Jericho: I really don’t need anybody tagging along with me. They’re likely to stretch you out.
Tazz: I’ll choke ‘em out, then. They’re doomed, brotha.
Orton: Plus, I’ll give any of them that mess with you an RKO!
Tazz: If you can see them.
Orton: Of course I can see them.

Orton walks into a tree.

Orton: Big Show! I thought I finished you back in Mississippi.

Orton flails around, trying to set the tree up for an RKO. Finally, he’s dragged off by Jericho and Tazz. The wrestlers are confused.

Haas: Where the hell is he going? The PPV is over this way!
Miss Jackie: Come on, Charlie. It’s obvious that he hates us.
Theodore Long: It’s obvious to me that he doesn’t believe in Smackdown, buhleedat.
Heyman: He’s leaving because we need something bigger than Chris Jericho headlining our Pay Per View.
Theodore Long: We’re in trouble, playa. No way we can beat McMahon with this crap.
Heyman: Nope. But I’ll be damned if we don’t try to put on the best show we can, and make No Way Out the biggest show of the year!

To Be Continued…