In a sport where gimmicks come and go like tides under a full moon, few monikers have lingered with the surreal gravity of Rainman. For Kory Chavis, the man behind the name, Rainman wasn’t just a handle—it was a forecast. Dark skies. Thunder in his fists. Lightning in his kicks. And when the bell rang, it was rarely a drizzle—it was a damn downpour.
But to reduce Chavis to just another independent journeyman would be as foolish as trying to outbrawl him in a back alley or a bingo hall. This is a man who’s carved his legacy into the jagged geography of the American wrestling underground. Rainman, later Kory Chavis, and perhaps best known to modern fans as one half of the Dark City Fight Club, is a walking, spinebuster-throwing testament to what indie wrestling used to be before hashtags and streaming deals.
FROM ATLANTA GRIT TO WILDSTYLE GLORY
Trained in the lawless proving grounds of Atlanta by none other than New Jack and Murder One (and yes, that’s every bit as violent as it sounds), Chavis debuted in 1998 and quickly found himself at home in the rowdy NWA Wildside circuit. Under the name Rainman, he didn’t just punch the clock—he punched opponents into next week.
Teaming with Murder One under the team name Blackout, the duo became two-time NWA Wildside Tag Team Champions. But tag gold was just a detour; Rainman had singles glory on the radar, and in 2002 he claimed the NWA Wildside Television Championship. By 2005, he added the Wildside Heavyweight Championship to his trophy case. Call it a trifecta of beatdowns.
SOUL ASSASSIN, NAME CHANGED BUT THE BEATINGS CONTINUED
By 2005, the Rainman had a new name—Kory Chavis—and a new reputation as the Soul Assassin. In Full Impact Pro (FIP), he wasn’t a nostalgia act or a mid-card pit stop—he was an institution. Chavis tangled with everyone from Samoa Joe to CM Punk, and while he didn’t always walk away with the win, he never walked away without leaving a scar.
CZW fans will remember the chaos of Cage of Death 8 in 2006, where Chavis and Onyx captured the CZW World Tag Team Championships from BLK-OUT. Blood, steel, and shattered dreams were standard fare. You couldn’t script the kind of violence Chavis brought—because no writer would have the guts.
DARK CITY RISING
Then came Jon Davis. And then came the Dark City Fight Club. If the Road Warriors had a younger, more sadistic cousin from the deep south, it was DCFC. Debuting in 2008, they plowed through FIP like a sledgehammer through drywall. Their feud with Black Market reached such a fever pitch it required weapons matches, gasoline threats, and the kind of backyard brutality outlaw wrestling thrives on.
And they won gold—a lot of it.
From the FIP Tag Team Championships to the NWA Florida Tag Team titles, and ultimately, the NWA World Tag Team Championships, DCFC’s trophy shelf started to look like Fort Knox. The fights were nasty, the promos were fire, and the legacy undeniable.
And when they weren’t busy bullying regional tag divisions, they were testing their metal in Ring of Honor, taking on teams like the Briscoes, the American Wolves, and the Kings of Wrestling. ROH’s “Tag Wars 2010” was a proving ground, and DCFC showed they could hang with the best—clobbering bodies and making you believe tag team wrestling wasn’t just alive—it was violent.
EVOLVE, DRAGON GATE, AND THE ROGUE ERA
By 2010, the indie world was transforming. New brands like EVOLVE and Dragon Gate USA were catching fire, and guess who was there when it mattered? DCFC rolled into EVOLVE’s debut show like they owned the place, and notched a win over Aeroform. In Dragon Gate USA, they faced Arik Cannon and Sami Callihan in a bout that screamed “slobberknocker” to the heavens.
These weren’t vanity appearances. They were statements: the rainman hadn’t dried up—he’d evolved.
THE VETERAN’S STAGE: BLOOD, STONE & WARFARE
Chavis’s late-stage run in promotions like Ring Warriors, alongside Frank Stone and under the management of New Jack(because everything comes full circle when you’re baptized in the blood of hardcore), showcased a man who wasn’t slowing down. He wasn’t looking for legacy. He was looking for fights.
He wasn’t waiting for a call from Stamford. He was too busy showing kids with flips and TikTok gimmicks what a real spinebuster looks like.
A LEGACY OF GRIME AND GOLD
Rainman, Kory Chavis, the Soul Assassin, DCFC—call him what you want. But put some damn respect on the name.
He didn’t need a WWE run. He didn’t need a Lucha Underground cameo. He didn’t need cinematic matches or spooky cult angles. All he needed was a squared circle, a willing opponent, and enough time to make the crowd gasp. And maybe a steel chair.
He wore the bruises like medals and carried the legacy of Southern brawling like a badge. When you faced Chavis, you weren’t in a wrestling match—you were in a fight, and buddy, you were probably going to lose it.
FINAL BELL
Kory Chavis may not be a household name. But among the faithful fans of independent wrestling—real wrestling—he’s a cult hero. A bruiser. A workhorse. A storm on two legs.
He didn’t just walk through the indies. He flooded them. One spine-shattering match at a time.
And in case you forgot: rain always comes before the thunder.
