AEW Five Fingers of Death (and Friends) 1/5 - 1/11/26 (Part 2)

AEW Collision 1/10/26

Mark Briscoe vs Hechicero

There's nothing quite like pro wrestling.

Look at what we have here, two of the greatest, most stylized and over the top characters you'll find in any medium in 2026. 

There's Mark Briscoe, bearded, teeth missing, zany practitioner of redneck kung fu who likes to dive off of chairs and thirsts for violence, a wildman chicken farmer with a bombastic vocabulary and a canny glint in his eyes that you'd find in any folk hero out of the Americana canon. But he also carries with him the weight of fatherhood, the weight of carrying his late brother's legacy, of being a staunch and loyal friend, of never giving up even in the face of injustice and hardship, and he carries it all with a sort of humble, accepting spiritual grace that, in turn, humbles us all.

And then there's Hechicero, the alchemist of the ring, a fire-bending, dynamic, larger than life luchador, looking like something out of a medieval horrorshow, a mask over his face, a hood over his mask, and contacts over his eyes so as to be unknowable, yet so capable of making his reactions known to the world as he reaches out and grasps the attention of the very last row. He's possibly the most creative wrestler of his generation, able to add twists and contortions to every hold and construct elaborate technique-driven entry points for every move, the ultimate middle ground between style and substance, and isn't that the true ideal for what pro wrestling can and should be? 

Here they are then, on a random Saturday in a Texas residency, anchoring the changeover from 8 pm to 9 pm EST on TNT, fighting over Briscoe's TNT title. 

So it is that styles make fights, and contrast makes the world go round, and characters draw the eye, pulling us away from our phones, from social media, from the responsibilities of the day. With these two, with the styles they bring to the table and the contrast between them, how could anyone possibly look away?

To begin, Hechicero, well versed in the most arcane arts of llave and lucha, raised every possible question for Briscoe, locking in holds, putting painful torque on limbs, invoking the Conjuro backbreaker. But Briscoe's wisdom is the sort that you wouldn't find in dusty old spellbooks but by living life, and he had answers, landing on his feet on a mare, on a back body drop, putting his hands up in exultation even as Hechicero recoiled in surprise and disdain. This was the wizard's world but Briscoe could walk through it, head high.

He walked all the way into a world of his own, maneuvering Hechicero out between the ropes deftly and laying in the redneck kung-fu, ridiculous but effective karate chops, on the floor. He set up the chair to leap, but Hechicero disrupted it, making sure to punctuate his clever act to the crowd (as he punctuates all things, a living, breathing exclamation point), only to turn around and eat Briscoe's flying feet.

But just as Briscoe could walk through Hechicero's world, Hechicero could slink about in Briscoe's. As Mark went for the Cactus Elbow (his punctuation an opening parenthesis of "bang, bang"), Hechicero laid in wait on the floor, capturing him in an unlikely and impressive cross armbreaker on the floor. He followed it up by grapevining the arms and charging Briscoe into the post, and the blink of an eye, the alchemist had turned led to gold once more.

Over the next many minutes, Hechicero plied his trade, locking in all manner of unique submission. Briscoe made it to the ropes, surviving again and again as the wizard seethed and scowled (with his head, his arms, his torso, using his whole body to emote and accentuate the mask). The fans, perhaps given the locale, perhaps given that Don Callis was conveniently abroad, remained split, unable to deny the skill and flair they were witnessing but never about to abandon Briscoe and his struggle.

When Briscoe did start to fight back it was with one arm (and his whole body, and especially, at a key moment, his teeth). Hechicero invited punches but made sure to turn his body so Briscoe would fire off with the bad arm. He liked to play with his food. Briscoe was able to get the better of him and get him back to the floor and this time, he did leap off the chair, even if it was an awkward, desperate leap, even if the simple act of opening the chair was a pained labor given his arm.

Perhaps Hechicero was too eager to play with his food, too confident. After Briscoe couldn't lock in the Jay Driller, as that relies on a butterflying double underhook and both arms, Hechicero lifted him into the position himself. Instead of dropping him straight onto his head, he dropped him to the side as well so as to lock in one more submission.

When that failed, he showed his frustration again and charged in wildly. Briscoe, just like brer rabbit before him, moved off to the side and dodged, causing Hechicero to crash into the ropes. That was all the opening Mark needed for a second attempt at the Jay Driller. This time, with fate and momentum on his side, he found the strength and the grit to heft Hechicero up and drop him down. 

He very much stole out this win. If Hechicero had went for the Jay Driller instead, this might have been different. If Callis had there, maybe this would have been different. If he'd locked in even one more submission, maybe even Mark Briscoe would have had to quit. 

But he didn't, and he wasn't, and he hadn't. Maybe next time he would. Pro wrestling is a never ending story, and next week might be different. For now though, Mark Briscoe survived to defend his title another day. And we were left watching two styles that did make a fight, and two characters that made the fight into a folk tale for modern times, one full of skill and spirit and sensation, one that we were fortunate to get to bear witness to on one random Saturday in Texas.