The door slowly pushed open and Ben limped into the FedExForum locker room. It was eerily silent, far away from the pulsing energy of the Blood And Bling experience that Memphis had just witnessed.

As he made his way across the room to the bench and locker stall, blood dropped off of his chest and fell to the floor from the hundreds of tacks stuck across his chest and abdomen. Sweat dripped from his long blonde hair and stung against the numerous tiny wounds that had been inflicted.

Blood And Bling wasn’t just supposed to be about sacrifice; it was supposed to be about victory.

It was supposed to be about ascension.

Ben was supposed to be the Pure Gold Champion, once and for all. Instead, he could only sit down onto the bench and began to pluck the metal tacks out of his skin, which stung terribly with each removal.

A knock at the entrance to the locker room was followed by a cautious opening of the door, and Corbin Fiscal poked his head through and ascertained the situation.

“Ben, just checking in on you, man.”

The Golden Warhorse simply looked down at the floor, unable to face his friend’s stare.

“Hell of an effort you put out there…” said Corbin before trailing off and considering his words more wisely. “Once you get cleaned up, I’ll give you a lift back to your house.”

Ben could hear the door to the locker room close, and he was again left with his own thoughts as showers of pain, shame and frustration washed over him.

The loss to Shotcaller was more than just defeat.