Categories > Books > Harry Potter > A Perfect Ten
The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric. The crowd roared in anticipation as Percy Weasley, under the alias Ryker Black, faced off against Vader in a match that would make or break his career. This was it—the final test, the culmination of all the pain, sacrifice, and relentless determination that had defined his journey.
Winning all ten FMW championships simultaneously was a goal so lofty, so absurd, that no one had ever seriously considered it possible. But now, after everything Percy had endured, he stood on the brink of achieving the impossible.
As the match began, Percy employed a strategy few expected: the rope-a-dope. He spent most of the bout covering up, allowing Vader to land powerful blows that, while brutal, served to tire the larger man out. Each punch, each slam, each punishing move was met with strategic resilience. Percy took the hits, absorbed the pain, and waited.
Vader, a mountain of a man with a reputation for overwhelming his opponents with sheer force, was relentless in his assault. But as the match wore on, it became clear that Vader was expending far more energy than Percy. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, Vader began to show signs of fatigue. His movements became sluggish, his breathing labored. This was what Percy had been waiting for.
As Vader’s breath came in ragged gasps, Percy saw his opening. The crowd, sensing the shift, began to buzz with excitement. Percy, who had been playing defense for so long, suddenly exploded into action. He knocked Vader down repeatedly, each time with more force, more conviction. The once-dominant Vader was now struggling to keep up, his strength waning with each passing moment.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Percy managed to get the behemoth up for a tombstone piledriver—a move that required both skill and immense power. The crowd held its breath as Percy drove Vader’s head into the mat, going for the cover. But to his shock, Vader kicked out at two.
Undeterred, Percy hauled Vader up again. The strain was evident on his face, but his resolve never wavered. He executed a second tombstone, only for Vader to kick out once more. The disbelief in the arena was palpable. Percy was running on fumes, but he wasn’t done yet. With a roar of determination, he got Vader up for a third and final tombstone. This time, when he slammed Vader down, he held his breath, knowing that this had to be it.
The referee’s hand hit the mat for the third time, and the bell rang. Percy had done it. The impossible goal of winning all ten championships had been achieved.
The stadium erupted into deafening cheers as the titles were ceremoniously draped over Percy’s exhausted frame. Two belts were wrapped around his waist, two more slung over his shoulders. Four championships hung off his arms, and in each hand, Percy held the final two titles high above his head. The sight was nothing short of awe-inspiring—a visual representation of everything he had fought for.
An interviewer rushed into the ring, microphone in hand, as the crowd continued to chant Percy’s name. The interviewer’s voice trembled with excitement as he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history! The greatest champion we’ve ever seen! Winning all ten championships in FMW—this is something that will never, never be duplicated!”
The crowd's roar intensified, and for a moment, Percy was lost in the sheer magnitude of it all. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, he felt a sense of fulfillment unlike anything he had ever experienced. This was his moment.
In the stands, his family—Arthur, Molly, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie—watched with a mixture of pride and relief. They had feared for Percy, worried that his relentless pursuit of this impossible goal would consume him. But now, seeing him standing victorious, they couldn’t help but feel immense pride. He had done it. He had reached the pinnacle of his career, and they were there to witness it.
Penelope, watching from a private box with baby Ember in her arms, had tears in her eyes. She had worried about Percy, about the toll this life was taking on him. But now, seeing him triumph, she couldn’t help but feel proud of the man she loved. He had fought for this moment, and he had won.
Even Lucius Malfoy, standing near the entrance ramp, allowed himself a rare smile. Percy had proven himself beyond all expectations. Lucius had always believed in Percy’s potential, but even he hadn’t anticipated this level of success. Percy was not just a champion; he was a legend.
As Percy stood in the center of the ring, surrounded by the adulation of the crowd, he allowed himself a moment to savor it all. This was the pinnacle of everything he had worked for. Despite all the sacrifices, despite the pain and the struggle, it had all been worth it.
In this moment, Percy Weasley was more than just a man. He was a symbol of determination, of grit, of the relentless pursuit of greatness. And as he held those ten championship belts high, he knew that he had earned every single one of them.
Winning all ten FMW championships simultaneously was a goal so lofty, so absurd, that no one had ever seriously considered it possible. But now, after everything Percy had endured, he stood on the brink of achieving the impossible.
As the match began, Percy employed a strategy few expected: the rope-a-dope. He spent most of the bout covering up, allowing Vader to land powerful blows that, while brutal, served to tire the larger man out. Each punch, each slam, each punishing move was met with strategic resilience. Percy took the hits, absorbed the pain, and waited.
Vader, a mountain of a man with a reputation for overwhelming his opponents with sheer force, was relentless in his assault. But as the match wore on, it became clear that Vader was expending far more energy than Percy. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, Vader began to show signs of fatigue. His movements became sluggish, his breathing labored. This was what Percy had been waiting for.
As Vader’s breath came in ragged gasps, Percy saw his opening. The crowd, sensing the shift, began to buzz with excitement. Percy, who had been playing defense for so long, suddenly exploded into action. He knocked Vader down repeatedly, each time with more force, more conviction. The once-dominant Vader was now struggling to keep up, his strength waning with each passing moment.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Percy managed to get the behemoth up for a tombstone piledriver—a move that required both skill and immense power. The crowd held its breath as Percy drove Vader’s head into the mat, going for the cover. But to his shock, Vader kicked out at two.
Undeterred, Percy hauled Vader up again. The strain was evident on his face, but his resolve never wavered. He executed a second tombstone, only for Vader to kick out once more. The disbelief in the arena was palpable. Percy was running on fumes, but he wasn’t done yet. With a roar of determination, he got Vader up for a third and final tombstone. This time, when he slammed Vader down, he held his breath, knowing that this had to be it.
The referee’s hand hit the mat for the third time, and the bell rang. Percy had done it. The impossible goal of winning all ten championships had been achieved.
The stadium erupted into deafening cheers as the titles were ceremoniously draped over Percy’s exhausted frame. Two belts were wrapped around his waist, two more slung over his shoulders. Four championships hung off his arms, and in each hand, Percy held the final two titles high above his head. The sight was nothing short of awe-inspiring—a visual representation of everything he had fought for.
An interviewer rushed into the ring, microphone in hand, as the crowd continued to chant Percy’s name. The interviewer’s voice trembled with excitement as he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history! The greatest champion we’ve ever seen! Winning all ten championships in FMW—this is something that will never, never be duplicated!”
The crowd's roar intensified, and for a moment, Percy was lost in the sheer magnitude of it all. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, he felt a sense of fulfillment unlike anything he had ever experienced. This was his moment.
In the stands, his family—Arthur, Molly, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie—watched with a mixture of pride and relief. They had feared for Percy, worried that his relentless pursuit of this impossible goal would consume him. But now, seeing him standing victorious, they couldn’t help but feel immense pride. He had done it. He had reached the pinnacle of his career, and they were there to witness it.
Penelope, watching from a private box with baby Ember in her arms, had tears in her eyes. She had worried about Percy, about the toll this life was taking on him. But now, seeing him triumph, she couldn’t help but feel proud of the man she loved. He had fought for this moment, and he had won.
Even Lucius Malfoy, standing near the entrance ramp, allowed himself a rare smile. Percy had proven himself beyond all expectations. Lucius had always believed in Percy’s potential, but even he hadn’t anticipated this level of success. Percy was not just a champion; he was a legend.
As Percy stood in the center of the ring, surrounded by the adulation of the crowd, he allowed himself a moment to savor it all. This was the pinnacle of everything he had worked for. Despite all the sacrifices, despite the pain and the struggle, it had all been worth it.
In this moment, Percy Weasley was more than just a man. He was a symbol of determination, of grit, of the relentless pursuit of greatness. And as he held those ten championship belts high, he knew that he had earned every single one of them.
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