There’s a certain kind of beauty in breaking things. Some wrestlers swing steel chairs, others swing for the fences of history. Zaria, born Daria Hodder, did both—sometimes in the same match. She didn’t just kick in the doors of opportunity, she knocked the hinges loose and left the frame smoldering.
Born on a hard patch of earth in Australia and raised with a front-row seat to the chaos of independent wrestling, Zaria didn’t start her journey with a golden ticket or a viral moment. She started with a front-row seat to her older brother Dean Brady getting suplexed through plywood and sweat. That was her hook—watching her blood take the bumps and keep smiling. Some kids get bedtime stories. She got Irish whips and canvas burns.
She debuted under the name Delta on New Year’s Eve 2020. While everyone else was drunk on champagne and regret, she was lacing her boots and tagging with her brother, kicking off what would become a legacy wrapped in barbed wire and family ties. Together they were Brady LTD. Think Bonnie and Clyde, if Bonnie had a lariat and Clyde carried the hot tag. They didn’t just win gold—they burned down the tag division in Riot City Wrestling and turned the wreckage into confetti.
But Delta didn’t want to be just the sister in the tag team. She wanted to climb the ladder, and then suplex someone off it.
She became the first woman to hold the MCW Intercommonwealth Championship. Then the RCW Championship. Then the RCW Grand Championship. She didn’t just break barriers—she erased the chalk lines and drew a new blueprint in blood and eyeliner.
By 2024, she was the final boss of Australian wrestling—an end-of-level menace with a ponytail and a chip on her shoulder the size of Perth. She challenged Jordynne Grace for the TNA Knockouts Championship at Oceania Pro Wrestling’s H.E.R. event. It was like watching two sledgehammers kiss. She lost, sure. But the match was a statement: she belonged in the conversation, even if she had to break someone’s jaw to get a word in.
Then came her farewell—a final war against her brother at RCW’s Heavy Is the Crown. A match soaked in history, pride, and the kind of bruises only family can leave behind. She didn’t walk out of Australia—she vanished like a cigarette puff in the rain, bound for America, where dreams either come true or chew you up into something bitter and permanent.
Enter WWE. Exit Delta. Enter Zaria.
Her arrival was teased like a horror movie villain—vignettes, eerie road signs, and a countdown to impact. By the time she finally appeared, emerging from the shadows at Halloween Havoc, the vibe was clear: this wasn’t a debut. This was a declaration. Daria Hodder was done auditioning.
Her first official act? Attacking Fatal Influence like she’d been planning it for months in her sleep. She left Fallon Henley and her stablemates laid out like broken mannequins in a department store brawl. Then she stared down Roxanne Perez and Cora Jade like they owed her money and time. And just like that, the pecking order in NXT got a new bird of prey.
Zaria’s in-ring debut on October 29, 2024, was a surgical beatdown of Brinley Reece. Quick. Cold. Surgical. It was a warning, not a match. When the wolves of NXT tried to surround her, out came reinforcements: Giulia, Stephanie Vaquer, Kelani Jordan, and Jordynne Grace. Suddenly, the women’s division looked like a chess board soaked in gasoline. Zaria lit the match.
At NXT 2300, she pinned Roxanne Perez clean in a ten-woman war. Pinned her like she was stamping her passport to legitimacy. She may have been new to Florida, but Zaria brought the Outback with her—the kind of blunt-force trauma that turns contenders into cautionary tales.
The Iron Survivor Challenge came next. She didn’t win, but she didn’t need to. It was like watching someone hurl herself into a wall just to prove the wall wasn’t so tough. And after that, she started tagging with Sol Ruca, a pairing that felt like thunder shaking hands with lightning. Their synergy was chaos in stereo—fluid and fatal.
She qualified for the six-woman ladder match at Stand & Deliver by defeating Lash Legend with the kind of finish that made you wince in sympathy. Zaria didn’t win the ladder match—Ruca did—but just being in the conversation was enough to raise eyebrows and heart rates.
And then came her first trip to the main roster—a guest spot on SmackDown where she stood ringside for Ruca’s match and looked more dangerous outside the ropes than most do inside them. It was the beginning of something… something sharp.
At Evolution, she and Ruca failed to snag the tag titles, but Zaria walked out with more eyes on her than any rookie in recent memory. That’s the thing about her—she doesn’t need the belt to look like the final boss. She’s not trying to be your champion. She’s trying to be your problem.
But under the glam and glitter of it all, there’s still the girl who watched her brother get cheered by 200 diehards at an RCW show and whispered, “That’s gonna be me.” There’s still the punk who trained in the shadows and paid her dues in gas money and bruises. There’s still the fighter who knew she had to leave home to find her name—even if it meant burying the one she started with.
Zaria is a throwback to when wrestlers looked like they could break your nose in the ring and your heart backstage. She’s not a gimmick. She’s a storm in wrestling boots, a whirlwind of raw hunger wrapped in sleek confidence. She came from the land down under and rose through the floorboards like a ghost with a grudge.
She doesn’t smile for the camera. She doesn’t pose for the crowd. She just walks forward, fists up, eyes locked. And every opponent between her and greatness should know:
She’s not looking for a moment.
She’s coming for an era.