Storm losing matches

[Guest Thoth]

Here's mine. I think this deserved to win, but Stubby must've jobbed me for being late. Whatever. I got it in before he could have even seen it.

---

“SWF Genesis. 2003. The best. Story. Line. S. Ever. Period. Now available for. Playstation 2. XBox. GameCube. And Neo-Geo.”

 

Yes, that ad was fairly cheesy. But! The game’s coming for all the systems! And there’s a Dreamcast port rumored. At least, that’s what 411Games says. But the point is moot, as television screens across the nation flicker back onto SWF programming. The camera seems to be floating in the air, pointing at a downward angle at the ring, thousands of screaming fans jam-jam-jam packed into the arena.

 

“I’m sitting here at ringside, Bobby Riley, and I marvel at all the blessings that we’ve had... we went from having no TV deal after IGN canceled our contract, to the next day, when we had an instant contracts with the Smarks network, which later changed it’s name to the SmartMarks network...”

 

“We’ve had more name changes than Prince! God, I love Prince...”

 

“We’ve seen the talent roster grow, get more diverse, and just overall improve with each passing day. It’s also good to see the Junior League doing so well... but most of all, do you know what I’m thankful for?”

 

“PIE!” blurts Bobby Riley. “No,” comes the slow and expected reproach, “I’m thankful for job here. To be announcing. Even though I’m retired, I’m still able to sit here at the desk, and be closer to the action than is possible without becoming a competitor. And... as much as it pains me sometimes... I’m happy to have you as my broadcast partner, Bobby.”

 

Bobby’s face contorts as thoughts are processed, and his mouth opens to output the result. “So... what? Do you wanna nail me or something?”

 

Stevens shakes his head, muttering softly to himself before reaching out towards the stack of papers in front of him and starts talking towards the fans.

 

“The man formerly known as Thoth, Orochi, has been on a good streak as of late, culminating with a win over his longtime nemesis, the leader of the Magnificent Seven, Tom Flesher to win his third ICTV championship. However, tonight, he has to face a foe from his recent past. Mak Francis joined up with the Bemani Cross Wizards only to be knocked down in the ring during that fateful night. Now, Mak, who has two solo victories over the former so-called Balancer, is going to do like the Lakers and three-peat. Though the match is non-title, a win here could set Mak up for a shot at the title later down the road.

 

“Well, I don’t know. Mak’s never fought a living God before!” exclaims Riley, as “Down With the Sickness,” Disturbed’s anthem, plays as the arena turns bright shades of blue and white, flickering shamelessly. Mak Francis enters alone to a good smattering of cheers and appraisal.

 

“The following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall!” announces Funyon. Coming down the ramp, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 225 pounds, he is a member of the Magnificent Seven... MAAAAAK FRANNNCIS!!”

 

Mak steps through the ropes with grace and aplomb, pumping his fists and releasing a trickle of adrenaline that will surely surge to a flood when the match gets heated. The lights continue to flash blue and white... but suddenly they stop flashing, and the white dominates the blue, and all the other colors in the arena, until it is only the color that the eye can see... and with that, “Hikari” by Hikaru Utada starts to play, a strangely upbeat R&B-ish Pop-ish tune which disturbingly, does not suit Orochi in the least. The white-haired demon, markings all over his chest and arms, enters to a blazing chorus of boos, his body burning with the light from the arena. He holds his arms out wide, smiling that disturbing smile, and a new addition: The ICTV belt around his waist.

 

“And, his opponent, from Aechiba, Japan, weighing in at 245 pounds, he is the S-W-F Intercontinental Television Champion... OROOOOCHIII!”

 

Orochi walks with his head craned to focus on the Franchise as he climbs the steps, his hand caressing the steel ringpost just a bit. He climbs through the ropes, holding his wrist and the flexing the fingers attached to it. Mak stands slightly hunched in the corner, highly anticipating the moment when the bell will ring... and he can take off like a rocket, charging towards Orochi... I mean, what’s so big about him? New hair, new pants. He’s still the same guy that Mak’s beaten twice already...

 

*DING DING DING*

 

And then he takes off, using his momentum to increase the potency of a lock-up situation. Mak grabs the collar and the elbow, and pushes, shoving Orochi this way and that. He grabs a quick hammerlock which he cinches in tight. Orochi moves to and fro, trying to shake it off, but Mak’s amateur no-how will not be beat at this opening juncture. Since Orochi can’t technical his way out of it, he brawls out, slamming Mak’s nose with an open palm that forces him to break the hammerlock. Orochi wheels around, and tries to level Mak with a quick clothesline, but the Franchise says “NO POBO” to that, grabbing the arm and locking on an armbar, also taking the white-haired demon to the mat. He wrenches back on the arm, and Orochi has no choice but to go to the rope and force the ref to break. He quickly gets to his feet, rubbing the offending shoulder and glaring at Mak.

 

“Mak Francis wrestles a similar style to that of Tom Flesher, so on the one hand, one would think that Orochi has the definite and immediately advantage. However, if you look at the numbers, it’s clear that Orochi has a very difficult time against those with technical skill.”

 

“When I look at the numbers, I see numbers, you know? I don’t really ‘get it.’”

 

“You wouldn’t ‘get it’ if it were right in front of your face, Riley!”

 

“Get what?”

 

“You just proved my point!” Stevens nearly jumps out of his seat, but manages to compose himself and continue observing the match. Both men start to lock up again, but Thoth jams a knee into the midsection of his foe, doubling him over. He rears back and starts ramming elbow after elbow into the back of Francis’s head, or at least until the Franchise fights his way back up to a standing position and starts wailing away at the Lightbringer. Orochi manages to fight back, though, in the midst of being buffeted by blows; he grabs the arm, and wrenches it, trying to hold Mak in place. It won’t last for but a second, though, as Mak starts flip-flopping around, eventually causing Orochi to lose his grip. Mak stands back up, ready to bring the fight, feeling the trickle of adrenaline increase to a steady stream-

 

And Orochi stiffs that shit down with a clothesline. Mak falls down head over heels, but manages to straighten himself out after he’s fallen. Orochi reaches out with an arm, pulling the Franchise onto his back and forcing the first pinfall.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! - And a kickout from the Franchise. Undaunted, Thoth starts dropping short range knees on the face of the Franchise; he starts quickly standing up and then kneeling back down very quickly.

 

“Orochi’s offense... is just so unorthodox! It doesn’t seem like there’s a counter, because all the seems to do is pick a random body part on his person, and slam it into some other random body part on the opponent until he gives up!”

 

“Huh, sounds like my Saturday nights,” replies Bobby Riley. Orochi yanks Mak up to his feet, and whips him into the ropes. He leaps up and sticks a leg out, which gets nothing as Mak is barely able to duck it and continue running to the far side. The former Thoth crashes back down to the mat, but gets up in time to throw a poorly aimed roundhouse kick that catches Mak on the side of the face. He doesn’t go down, but reels, falling into the ropes, which barely seem to be able to hold his momentum. They stretch and bounce rapidly, but they hold. Mak tries to right himself, but the Lightbringer is charging with a clothesline of his own, Mak bends back at the last possible moment, greatly lessening the amount of impact, and sending them both over the top rope, tumbling to the outside. Orochi is first up on his feet, but Mak is up just a half a second sooner, and blocks the incoming overhead punch with his forearm, and strikes Orochi across the cheek, knocking him back a step. He strikes again, bending him up against the steel guardrail, mindful of the referee’s ten count behind him. He raises his palm and strikes Orochi right in the center of one of the ritualistic circles painted on his chest. The area turns red in a hurry, looking like he has a painted target on his chest. He then grabs Orochi around the waist, and with a heave-ho, lifts him overhead, and away from the protective black mat surrounding the ring, leaving his spine to make a sick, dull thud against the concrete below. Mak gets up, dusts himself off, and rolls back under the ropes, as the referee’s count breaks five... and gets to six, then seven.

 

“Seven” is Orochi’s cue to get up off the ground, painful as that reality may be. His spine hurts to bend, but even so, Orochi grits his teeth, trying to hide any visible signs of weakness, and manages to get an arm under the bottom rope at eight and a half, throwing his whole back into the ring at nine. “Close one for Orochi,” quips Mark Stevens, as the Franchise, using the ropes for leverage and balance, starts landing vicious stomps on the Lightbringer’s back. He drops an elbow, aiming the point right in the the center of Orochi’s neck, and gets it. Orochi starts to yell out, but the elbow has messed up his throat quite a tad, and so it just comes out as a sort of gurgling noise, accompanied by some spittle that collects in a pool in the corner. Mak rolls him over, pulling him away from the corner, and forces his weight on top in a lateral press. The pinfall...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- And Orochi gets the shoulder up. Mak frowns, getting back to his feet and readying another elbow, this one aimed for the front of the neck. Orochi, staring up at the arena lights and Francis’s chin, and reacts without thinking, snatching Mak in a drop toe hold, entangling him and sending him hurtling towards the mat, his fall saved painfully by the bottom rome, which he is hung over. Orochi gets up, sliding out from under Mak, and examines his foe like a warrior who is trying to figure out how to disembowel his fallen adversary. He careens into the ropes, braying and squealing like an animal, and then runs back. He slows himself down, as if calculating, then charges forward with mere feet to go, aiming for a trajectory that puts him between the second and third ropes. He makes it, passing through them... and SLAMMING Mak Francis with a renegade knee on the way out. The entire front row who got a close-up view of it shudders in revolt, especially the way Mak’s head bent... but no sooner than that do they have to react to an out-of-control Orochi, who falls too far, slamming face first into the guardrail. He backs off, and blinks, touching a few fingers to his forehead. They are speckled with a bit of blood, and Orochi realizes he’s been busted open just a bit, due to his own volition. He smiles strangely, wickedly... like he’s just figured something out.

 

“Man oh man... Orochi is certifiably insane,” remarks the Heavy Hitter. “He was willing to hurt himself more than Mak Francis... and he seems happy about it!”

 

“That’s my man, Orochi! Give ‘em hell!” screams Bobby Riley. Orochi rolls back into the ring, gathers some more of his blood, and slings it down onto Mak Francis in a sickeningly gratuitous display that draws a shower of boos. Orochi grins out to the crowd, holding his arms out wide as if to accept their jeers... the tips of his fingers stained crimson red. Mak begins to stir, but Orochi is too enamored with the possibility, in his mind at least, of converting all the masses, all the sheep, to the light. Meanwhile, back in reality, Mak Francis uses the deal-breaker, the move that is one of the most powerful moves of all, one that can shatter a simple man’s train of thought.

 

The low blow. Mak Francis’s wrist connects with the soft juicy underparts dangling from between Orochi’s legs. Asexual demon that he may be, he cannot ignore the sudden and forceful rush of pain that runs up through his torso, up his spine, and right through his brain. He grabs at his crotch reflexively. It doesn’t take a lot for the referee to figure out what has just happened, but he uses his discretion, and also his general hatred for lowlifes like Yuuichiro Kaesame, and decides to let the incident slide. Orochi falls down to his knees, clutching at his injured bits. Mak stands right in front of him, jaw-jacks him for just a second, then plants his kisser into the canvas with a vicious DDT! Thoth/Orochi/Flava Flave rolls over onto his back after a satisfying bounce-away, and Mak Francis makes another cover...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- And no, Thoth gets the shoulder. Excuse me, Orochi. The Franchise pulls him up, who obviously seems to be carrying some weight, dead weight if you will. Whip to the ropes... Mak bends down, a tad too early, as Orochi gets the leg, and slams it into Mak’s face... but he’s in too much pain to do much of anything except be in pain. Mak recovers, and locks up with Orochi. The Lightbringer doesn’t put up too much resistance, and Mak goes into the next phase of his plan of attack. With another surge of energy, he takes down his foe with a Japanese armbar, and cinches in a quick crossface, but one that actually forces Orochi to take his mind of his aching balls and put it on his aching shoulder. Blood drips in rivulets down Orochi’s face as Mak pulls, cinching an arm in between his legs to get even more stretching power. Orochi reaches out with an arm, just inches away from the rope... The Franchise can’t afford to let go and try to pull him back towards the center of the ring, or else Orochi will swiftly escape. So he holds him there, yanking as hard as he can, hoping to wrench a submission, right there... but Orochi, with all his might, stretches, stretches... and gets a single, bloodstained finger on the bottom rope. The ref, grudgingly, breaks the hold.

 

“One... one finger?! What kind of bureaucratic crap is that! In my day, you, at the very LEAST, had to drape a hand over. Grr... this boils my blood, I tell you what.”

 

Mak Francis, the Franchise, in a fit of frustration, stomps blindly on the face of Orochi, opening the wound further. Blood starts to form on his boot, but it only spurs him on to smash this, stupid, boy pretending to be a man pretending to be a god, under his bloody feet. He brings him back up to his feet, gets behind him, and locks in a cobra clutch... suplex... but Orochi flips through it, and lands on his feet. For the moment, the moment frozen in time, Orochi stares at Mak... not with cockiness, or angst, but pure warrior’s spirit. Mak returns the look as they charge at each other. One man throws a clothesline, the other ducks. The names, the faces do not matter. Just two people, who just happen to really hate each other. They lock up, struggling against each other. Mak with an arm wrench. Orochi with a counter arm wrench. Mak with a go behind into a hammerlock. Orochi with a drop-toe hold to front chancery combination. They trade move for move, traveling around the four corners of the ring. Mak tries a dropkick, textbook as can be... but it’s not to be. Orochi, staying one step ahead and not letting his fiery emotions get in the way at this important juncture in the match. Mak falls down onto his back. He tries to get up as quickly as he can, but it’s in vain; Orochi is all over him like a tiger to a deer. He gets behind him, and starts moving his limbs this way and that. It’s a front, as in one quick motion, he grabs an arm, and hooks the shoulder, wham bam thank you ma’am and it’s a pump handle back suplex to take Mak down. He crashes to the mat, flip-flopping around. Orochi flexes his shoulders and flares his nostrils.

 

Perhaps the kill will come soon.

 

Orochi lifts Mak up, and in an intimidating show of power, scores a snap suplex that is loud. Very loud. On top of that, he goes into a float-over, going for the pin.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE- And another kickout from the Franchise. Orochi crinkles his nose. He kicked out sooner than he planned. Another couple of stomps, then a pull up via the hair. Whip to the corner. It’s really beginning to annoy him now. He remembers back to when he made his glorious transformation into the Lightbringer, and the two words he spoke to him as he kicked him mercilessly in the head. “STAY DOWN!” Mak sits hunched in the corner. Orochi charges, leaping up with inches to go and sticking a knee out...

 

That Mak Francis catches.

 

“The Franchise still has life left in him!” squeals Mark Stevens as Mak clutches the leg and starts to step over into a half crab, but Orochi rolls through and pushes with his free leg, sending Mak back into the corner. Orochi goes to the turnbuckle and climbs it, standing on top of Mak. He suddenly gets on his shoulders, looking for a Victory Roll, but Francis steps into it... leaving Orochi in a vary precarious position. He reaches up, grabbing Orochi around the neck... and... it’s... a... DEATH VALLEY BOMB! The crowd recoils with the impact as Mak leans over and hooks the leg.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE- No! No! No! Orochi kicked out at 2 and nine tenths! Mak rises up, and yells, “That’s enough!” calling for the Franchise Tag. He hooks Orochi, and cradles the leg.

 

“The Franchise Tag fisherman’s buster, coming up...”

 

“Mmm... busting fisherman... what fun.”

 

He lifts, but Orochi jams a knee into Mak’s gut! He escapes his clutches, and then scoops him up, cradling the leg, and delivers a Riot of the Blood into the canvas! The crowd dies just then, as the match is all but over. Orochi makes the obligatory cover, and the ref counts:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE- NO! MAK GETS THE SHOULDER UP! THE CROWD IS NUTS!

 

“WHAT? Holy... MAK FRANCIS KICKED OUT OF THOTH’S FORMER FINISHING MOVE!”

 

Orochi gets up immediately. His eyes are wide. Wider than dinner plates.

 

Defiant souls will be punished long before they get to hell. He lifts him up again, but this time, drapes him over his shoulders, and cradles the leg once again.

 

Piercing Light.

 

Bam.

 

Pinfall. Ref counts.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Each movement was like a staccato beat, but now the match is over. “Hikari” starts to play as the arena is bathed in white.

 

“Here is your winner... OROOOCHIII!”

 

He is handed his ICTV title belt, and drapes it over his shoulder, frowning and rubbing his forehead as he stumbles out of the ring. He pushed himself too hard, and is now disoriented. He has trouble walking up the ramp, but he manages to do it under his own power.

 

“And finally, in their third one on one matchup, Yuuichiro Kaesame scores a victory,” says Mark Stevens, with a tone of finality. “But, give much due credit to the man in the ring. Mak Francis took Orochi to his limit. As dominant as he just seemed... you can see know that Orochi is having troubles, and may have to be seen my one of our physicians in the backstage area.”

 

Mak Francis starts to sit up, prematurely, but lies back down again, his head pulsing from two variations on the tombstone piledriver. He finds that rolling is a better form of locomotion. With the referee’s aid, he manages to roll out of the ring and start to walk too. He catches a glimpse of Orochi heading through the curtain, and flashes back on when he ended their short-lived partnership. He shakes his head, as thinking hurts a lot at the moment. So he starts heading up the ramp himself.

 

“What a contest... and up next, tag belts on the line!” The camera fades slowly to back as it focuses on Mak’s head, held high in a semblance of victory.

[Guest realitycheck]

Oo, very nice.

 

Thoth, I'll be honest. I haven't read a whole lot of your matches... I really like your descriptive style. The passage right after the crossface was tingly good. I also liked the lines of the prose that took the character perspective. Neat. I've noticed your continuing trend about bleeding your own blood, and then wiping it on your opponent. I'll keep that in mind whenever I cash in on the ICTV title shot.

 

All in all, a good, solid match. I can't really speculate why you lost... probably because I haven't read Mak's match... but I do think you underutilized commentary, and you didn't play up your own psychology well enough. But outside of that, great effort.

 

-Z