ONE! TWO! THREE!

"The winner, and STILL Intercontinental Champion: THE MIIIIZ!"

As if his ass had been set on fire, Miz hastily rolled out of the ring and into the waiting arms of his lovely, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy wife Maryse. Together with paid bodyguard Curtis Axel, she quickly dragged Miz away from the ring and up the ramp to safety.

As she did so, Bo Dallas and Curtis Axel - the Miztourage - collected their benefactor's Intercontinental Championship belt from the referee before carrying it back to the champ and raising his hands in victory.

"While Miz might've retained the title tonight," dim-witted commentator Michael Cole said with mild disdain, "if he thinks winning with a low blow like that is going to restore glory and prestige to the Intercontinental Championship, he's sorely mistaken!"

Corey Graves - the slightly less dumb commentator, but still possessed of the second most atrocious hair you'd ever seen on a man in WWE - groaned. "Oh, what are you complaining about?! The ref can't call what he can't see, The Miz brilliantly took advantage of an opening his ever-loyal and beautiful wife provided for him, and he hit his finisher for a three count!"

From the center of the ring, a furious Bray Wyatt glared menacingly...

Several minutes later...

Miz, now properly dressed in a $500,000 suit and looking like five times that much, was hurriedly strolling through the backstage corridors of the arena with all the grace and dignity demanded of the Intercontinental Champion, carrying his luggage along behind him.

Of course Miz didn't fear the surely-brewing vengeance of the sadistic and petty Eater of Worlds; the simple fact was that he had much better and more important things to do than continue dealing with the braggadocious and delusional redneck loser. Ergo, since Miz had successfully defended HIS Intercontinental Championship yet again, he saw no further reason to remain on-site.

Bo's got the car heating up, Curtis and Maryse already have everything else packed for the road, now I just need to get out of here before I run into...

No sooner was Miz about to think of his name, than the glory-seeking has-been and General Manager of RAW appeared before him: Kurt Angle.

"I know Stephanie told you that you could leave as soon as you finished your match," Kurt said with a kind of defensive condescension that was doubtless crafted in a shoddy attempt to hide his inferiority complex, "but as General Manager there's something I should tell you before you go off partying with your lackeys."

Though Angle was clearly determined to make a nuisance of himself, Miz effortlessly saw through his ploy and calmly turned to look at him, not willing to give the GM the satisfaction of knowing that he had succeeded in being annoying. "And what would that be, Kurt?"

Angle sneered in response, folding his arms over his chest in an ill-timed attempt to make himself look like a badass. "Since you seem to think the rules don't apply to you, I've given Bray Wyatt a rematch for your title this Sunday at Armageddon. There will be two referees in the match, and I'm stripping you of the Champion's Advantage - if you should be counted out or disqualified for any reason, then you will forfeit the Intercontinental Championship."

Though rightfully furious and outright indignant at the distastefully smug General Manager's obvious abuse of his power, Miz maintained an outward façade of calm. His only visible reaction was to remove his sunglasses, and metaphorically glare a hole right through the center of Angle's head.

Angle, for his part, was evidently too oblivious to be affected, and only smirked harder. "Oh it's true," he promised. "It's damn true."

As the ever-despotic GM departed to go try and ruin someone else's career, Miz just let out a sigh of frustration.

Later...

Miz, Maryse, and the Miztourage sat comfortably in the back of their limo, though the IC Champion was visibly ill at ease. "Come on boss," said Bo Dallas with a grin, "don't let Angle get you down! Sure, he might've completely unfairly stacked the deck against you on Sunday, and we might be banned from ringside, but you're The Miz! You'll come out on top for sure!"

The second member of the Miztourage, Curtis Axel, nodded in vehement agreement. "Bo is right. There isn't a single superstar in history as brilliant or resourceful as you are. Why else would Ric Flair have bequeathed to you his Figure-Four Leglock?"

Clapping Miz on the shoulder, Bo added, "On top of that, you're the only man in history to ever successfully defend the WWE Championship from John Cena one-on-one at WrestleMania! And as for Bray Wyatt, well, what's he ever done aside from let Randy Orton play him like the world's cheapest and ugliest violin?"

Miz pondered the question seriously for a moment, even as he smiled, thankful to have paid bodyguards as supportive as these two. "No-showed a pay-per-view match against Finn Balor because of the hiccups, perhaps?"

The four shared a laugh, before Maryse gave her husband a kiss more passionate and awe-inspiring than any that had ever been captured on the silver screen.

After several seconds of indirectly showcasing their lung capacity, the married couple finally broke apart... only for a series of distorted images to display on the windows.

On all of the windows, the group could see a deeply, deeply amused Bray Wyatt. "You know, son, we're more alike than you realize. Both of us actively feed upon the negativity of the ignorant masses. But where you are only a man, desperate to cloak himself in a shell of their hate even as he hides behind his woman..."

Bray grinned. "I, who bask in their fear, am a God."

Miz, ever the pillar of strength for his companions, scoffed. "Yeah, a God of losers who'll never amount to anything in their pathetic little lives, that's what you are. You've never accomplished anything without riding on Randy Orton's coattails, Bray, while I am not only the reigning Intercontinental Champion, but The Most Must See Champion In WWE History! You are a loser, and I am a winner!"

Narrowing his eyes at Bray, Miz's tone grew cold. "And don't you ever presume to put yourself on my level again."

Bray stopped laughing, before meeting The Miz's gaze head-on. He smiled, but there was no trace of mirth or amusement in it. "Speak like that to me again, boy. See where it gets you."

Miz smirked. "You call yourself a God because you're not man enough to do anything but make excuses and whine to Kurt Angle. Your mind games won't work on me!"

All the images of Bray leaned in close, until it almost seemed like he'd pop out of the windows and into the car. "No," he eventually decided. "I have a different kind of game in mind for you."

And then all hell broke loose.

Miz awoke to find himself alone in a forest, his expensive custom-tailored suit utterly ruined. The limousine was nearby, completely and utterly totaled. Seeing that, Miz's distaste could only double. "I swear, if we have to hitch a ride with Titus Worldwide again..."

Pulling out his bleeding-edge phone, Miz found that there was no signal in this God-forsaken place, because of course there wasn't.

After a moment, he heard a demented, high-pitched giggle from behind him. Turning around, Miz saw a young Lord of the Rings cosplayer that appeared to have been fatally mugged by...

In morbid fascination, Miz could only describe the creature as a hideously deformed midget, wearing some kind of garish carnival mask.

In one hand, the creature held a shiny blue ocarina, while a pair of... winged lights... hovered in his vicinity; one a soft yellow that bordered on white, and the other purple. "She was kind of cute," the little midget demon said casually, "so I thought we'd go play together. But then she was really stupid, so I tossed her out of my way somewhere."

Miz stopped cold, before clenching his fists in righteous and manly anger. "You put your filthy disgusting hands on my beautiful, gorgeous, sexy wife and did WHAT?!"

The midget demon had the audacity to laugh at the Miz, even as it floated up into the air and started drifting away like a shameless coward! "If you're upset, then come do something about it."

Posture as relaxed as could be, smugness positively oozed from every malformed pore of the creature's horrible, horrible skin. "...if you're not a coward."

The light balls even started making a chime-like noise that sounded much too like giggling to The Miz's ears, and that did it. Though Miz was patient in the extreme, and possessed of a disposition that lesser individuals might understate by calling 'saintly', even he had limits to what he was willing to endure.

Anger coursing through his A-List veins, Miz recklessly chased after the midget and his pixie entourage, intent only on learning the truth of what had happened to his beautiful, gorgeous, sexy wife and their unborn daughter...