SJL CRIMSON!!!!!! (3/13)

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

SJL Crimson for March 13th!

Venue: The Rose Garden, Portland, OR.

 

 

ELIMINATION TAG

TELEVISION TITLE #1 CONTENDERSHIP

"The Dark Rebel" Terry Wayne and John Duran vs David Blazenwing and Geddion

All four of these relative new guys are set to be fixtures in the Television Title division, with Omega Storm in their sights. Knowing this, CC has pulled out one of their more interesting match stipulations, hoping to get some relationships either sparking or to vein out. Mua'hahahahaha.

Rules: Standard tag rules, with DQ, countout, pinfall and submission applying. If you're pinned/submit, you're eliminated. Last two men remaining, be they partners or opponents, will be the no.1 contenders to the TV title. All four of you should write your own matches.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Quiet Death vs Tryst

One half of the Drunk Off Your Ass match last show are cordened off and pitted against each other, one on one. Except, you know, not drunk this time. Both Death and the Sherwood Fable have encountered some recent setbacks, but the winner of this match could find themselves slingshotted into the thick of the TV title race... or perhaps even the Euro?

Rules: Standard singles match, you know the rest.

 

SINGLES MATCH

TELEVISION TITLE

"Picture Perfect" Aaron Carpenter vs Omega Storm©

After over 8 months in a spider web covered box somewhere in the boiler room of the Gund Arena, the SJL TV title was (re)inagurated, with Omega Storm emerging victorious in a short tournament to decide the new champion. Meanwhile, the very first graduate of Mark Stevens "Bases Loaded" training center, Aaron Carpenter, has taken a string of hard losses recently, highlighting his green nature. Can "Picture Perfect" make a huge rebound by taking the TV title off of Omega Storm? Or will Storm, just wrapping up a big losing streak of his own, prove he's only getting started?

Rules: Standard singles match, you know the rest.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Christian Blackwell vs Manson

After a long hiatus, Manson returned on Wrath! Unsuccessful in his re-debut, however, Manson looks to into the win column, and re-gain the status he once had in the SJL, by getting the 'W' over the WHITE HOT Christian Blackwell. A matchup with possible future ramifications for the European and World divisions.

Rules: Standard singles match, you know the rest.

 

SUBMISSION MATCH

EUROPEAN TITLE

"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs Sean Atlas©

Spike Jenkins has been in a place that was very familiar to him, not long ago: The ice cave. On a relative cold streak the past few while, one of Spike's recent wins came against Atlas, making him the only person to defeat Sean, insofar. Knowing this, JLCC has given Spike another oppertunity to beat Atlas... and this time reap, ahem, golden benefits. Of course, given Atlas's new status as a Magnificent 7 member, only one match stipulation seemed appropriate...

Rules: The first person to get their opponent to submit in any fashion will be declared victorious. There are no rules otherwise.

 

MAIN EVENT

WORLD TITLE MATCH

FATAL FOUR WAY, SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE

Janus vs Va'aiga vs Dace Night vs Mike Van Siclen©

GUEST REFEREE: Crow

And lo, on Wrath, MVS and Janus continued their in-ring feud, trading another win... as well as the world title, making Van Siclen the fourth(? Help me out on this, Pete.) man to become a two time! two time! SJL world champion! Of course, now he faces his toughest defense ever... not only against Janus once more, but Dace and Va'aiga, two men very hungry for SJL gold. What's more, to make things even MORE interesting, Crow has been added as the special guest referee! Bon appatite, fellas. As a note, considering their impending bumpage, I don't think either Janus or Mike want to win this match. But what do I know? I'm just the boss. Crow can write a match if he wishes.

Rules: Regular DQ, countout, and pinfall/submission rules apply. First pin wins.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Axis: "Welcome back to SJL Crimson from the Rose Garden in Portland, Oregon. King, we have an interesting opening match tonight! The number one conte---"

 

King: "That's right, you stupid Aussie, we do have a big match already off the bat here on Crimson tonight. After this next matchup, we will not only have one number one contender for the Television Title, but two, two, two contenders for one title! Our potential contenders tonight will be wrestling in an elimination tag match! The only way to be eliminated is to either be pinned or submit! The final two men standing will become #1 contenders for the Television title, currently held by The Omega Storm, though that could also all change tonight. Let's go to Funyon for the introductions for this interesting #1 contenders match!"

 

We head over to the ring where Funyon is ready to make his introductions.

 

Funyon: "LLLLLLLLLADIES AND GENTLEMEN, this opening match is a tag team eeelimination match to decide two #1 contenders for the SJL Television Title!"

 

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash plays, and the crowd begins to boo as "The Dark Rebel" Terry Wayne comes down to the ring. Terry slowly walks down to the ring, looking side to side in a disgusted look towards some of the fans, which makes the fans respond by showing Terry that he's #1 in their books.

 

Funyon: "Introducing first, from Norfolk, Virginia, weighing in at 230 pounds, TERRY WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNE!"

 

King: "This guy does NOT look happy."

 

Axis: "Certainly understandable, since we've learned in the past that Wayne was raised as a child in a broken home. Terry has certainly not received many breaks in life, he has definitely earned his way here tonight in this match."

 

Terry enters the ring, preparing for his match and waiting for the other competitors.

 

Drowning Pool's "Sinner" blares over the speakers, as the crowd explodes into boos for John Duran as he comes down the entranceway, staring at the crowd as well in contempt for them, frowning as he looks around the ringside area.

 

Funyon: "And his tag team partner, from Champaign, Illinois, weighing in at 265 pounds, JOHN DURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

 

Axis: "On Wrath, we were treated to what John Duran is all about, as he defeated Aaron Carpenter in a well-fought match, but afterwards, Duran would not release the Break Point that he had locked on Carpenter to win the match!"

 

King: "John Duran is a fine specimen of a wrestler in the SJL, because he exercises one important component: Showing no mercy for his opponents. If you've got that, Axis, you can go straight to the top, if you've got the right stuff."

 

Duran enters the ring and decides to talk strategy with Terry Wayne while their opponents make their entrance. Suddenly, the lights dim, and then go completely out in the arena. Red spotlights begin to move through the arena, which means only one thing...P.O.D.'s "Set It Off" hits and the lights go back on as Geddion makes his way down to the ring.

 

Funyon: "And their opponents...introducing first, weighing in at 235 pounds, GEDDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIION!"

 

Axis: "Geddion is certainly not off to a blazing start in the SJL so far, but with a record of 1-1 and a chance to get a rematch for the Television Title, things are certainly looking up for Geddion!"

 

Geddion enters the ring, glaring at his two opponents, who are still talking over things. He does not have to wait for his partner for long, because Funyon's voice has barely begun to fade from the arena before the lights go out in the arena and a voice booms out over the speakers...

 

Blazenwing: "Stand Back! Blazenwing's Comin' At Ya!"

 

With that, "Eye of the Hurricane" plays as David Blazenwing and his superhero sidekick Jen McGarry come out to a huge pop. David tosses his hands into the Blazenwing superhero pose, and then drops them, igniting the stage in a shower of pyro.

 

Funyon: "And his partner, hailing from Oak Creek, Wisconsin and weighing in at 240 pounds, BLAYYYYYYZENWINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"

 

King: "...This guy is truly a clown."

 

Axis: "Come on, King, he's helping out the ranks of the SJL by fighting evil!"

 

King: "Whatever you say, I still think this guy's a MAJOR geek."

 

Axis: "Well, the crowd seems to like him!"

 

King: "Have you looked at the crowd lately? Geeks, all geeks!"

 

Blazenwing slides into the ring on his stomach, and goes to each turnbuckle, getting a substantial pop from each section of the crowd. David then hops down from the last turnbuckle and moves over to his corner with Geddion to prepare for the match. There's some talking among the teams, and it is eventually agreed that Terry Wayne and Geddion will start things off.

 

**DING DING DING**

 

Axis: "...And we're underway with the first match of the night on SJL Crimson!"

 

Terry Wayne and Geddion circle each other slowly, both men looking each other over, planning a method of attack. Wayne tries to make a sudden move, but Geddion hops away, making Terry jump back a little. Geddion gets close enough to Wayne and locks up with him. Wayne goes to whip Geddion into the ropes, but Geddion reverses and sends Terry into the ropes. As Terry comes back, Geddion kicks Wayne in the midsection and grabs him, lifting him up towards the lights and bringing him back down with a textbook vertical suplex. Terry sits up, the move apparently hitting a sensitive spot in his back, and Geddion takes advantage, bouncing off the ropes and flipping over Wayne, grabbing his head and snapping it down, sending Terry backwards. Geddion goes for the early cover, as Anthony Michael Hall gets in position and counts:

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-KICKOUT!

 

Axis: “Geddion is definitely off to a good start in this match, showing off some fairly quick-paced offense, catching ‘The Dark Rebel’ off guard.”

 

King: “Geddion is certainly setting the tone in this match, mixing a simple kick and suplex with a neck snap.”

 

Axis: “However, he couldn’t even get Terry down for a full two count, so Geddion obviously has some work to do.”

 

Geddion brings Terry to his feet and whips him to the turnbuckle, and as Wayne comes stumbling back out, Geddion runs up and hits a spinning wheel kick, sending Wayne crashing to the canvas. Geddion quickly gets up, and begins to drag Terry to his feet by his brown hair. Geddion swiftly brings Terry back down with a snapmare, and then gets to his feet, aiming and letting loose a Martial Arts kick to the back of Wayne, to which the crowd lets out an “Ooh”. Geddion picks up Terry again, and takes him to the corner, bashing Wayne's head into the turnbuckle. As Terry reels back from the impact of that blow, Geddion tags out to David Blazenwing, the crowd cheering for the entrance of the SJL’s resident superhero. Blazenwing quickly goes to work on Wayne himself, going into the ring and hitting “The Dark Rebel” with a clothesline.

 

Axis: “It seems that Geddion and David Blazenwing have no problem working together, even though Geddion isn’t exactly a fan favorite in the SJL.”

 

King: “I think they’re working together just to get rid of Terry Wayne. That’s one less person to worry about, after all.”

 

Once again, Wayne is brought to his feet, this time by Blazenwing, as Blazenwing gives Terry a kick to the midsection and puts Wayne in between his legs. Blazenwing lifts Terry up, and drops him right back down with a standard piledriver. Blazenwing then takes Terry’s right leg and locks on a leg lock.

 

Axis: “Blazenwing might be going for the W right now.”

 

King: “No way, Terry Wayne is too tough to go down at this point in the match.”

 

Wayne is close to the ropes, and inches a little bit closer. Blazenwing attempts to pull Wayne back to the center of the ring, but Wayne resists and pushes towards the ropes.

 

Axis: “He’s almost there...”

 

With one last ditch effort, Wayne extends his left arm, a grimace on his face as he grips the bottom rope. Hall tells Blazenwing he has to let go, which Blazenwing does.

 

Axis: “Terry Wayne certainly dodged a bullet there.”

 

King: “I had faith that he would prevail.”

 

David walks up to Terry, and once again, begins to drag him to his feet. However, Wayne comes out of nowhere and pokes Blazenwing in the eyes. Blazenwing falls to one knee, as the crowd doesn’t see this coming at all, but when they see it, they boo both Terry Wayne and ref Anthony Michael Hall for missing that move.

 

Axis: “Well, Terry Wayne has finally turned the tables in his favor, albeit in a cheap manner.”

 

King: “You have to do what you have to do.”

 

As David slowly gets to his feet, Wayne bounces off the ropes and grabs Blazenwing’s head, swinging it around and hitting a swinging neck breaker on David. Blazenwing holds his head gingerly, and Wayne takes advantage of this, locking on a sleeperhold as Jen McGarry, Blazenwing’s sidekick, looks on with concern.

 

Axis: “Terry Wayne slowing down the pace a little bit with the sleeperhold on Blazenwing.”

 

King: “Good tactic here. He wants to slow things down a little bit, try to make Blazenwing fight on his level. Wayne is certainly a very intelligent man when it comes to the ring.”

 

Wayne tries to tighten up the sleeperhold, but the crowd is slowly beginning to get behind the superhero. Blazenwing begins to rise up to his feet, as Wayne tries to keep that sleeperhold locked on. Blazenwing gives Wayne a few elbows to the midsection, loosening Wayne’s arms. Blazenwing sends Wayne into the ropes, but Wayne ducks a clothesline attempt from David, and the next time around, David jumps up to hit a Lou Thesz Press on Wayne, but Terry dodges out of the way. Blazenwing manages to land on his feet, but Wayne grabs Blazenwing’s shoulder, swings him around, kicks him in the midsection and hits him with a hangman’s neckbreaker. “The Dark Rebel” then covers Blazenwing, as Hall goes to count the pinfall...

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-KICKOUT! HE ALMOST GOT HIM!

 

The crowd cheers when Blazenwing kicks out, as Terry is showing signs of frustration. Terry drags Blazenwing to his feet again, but Wayne isn’t paying attention, as Blazenwing hits Terry with a left hook, sending “The Dark Rebel” back. David then bounces off the ropes, and just as Wayne regains his senses, Terry gets a face full of boot from Blazenwing. Terry hits the ground, but Blazenwing quickly picks up Terry and puts him in between his legs, as Blazenwing calls for the Blazen Bomb! The crowd is ready, but as David goes to pick up Terry, Terry somehow finds a way to reverse the move, as Wayne lifts David up and over his shoulders, sending Blazenwing crashing to the canvas as the crowd explodes into boos.

 

Axis: “That reversal came out of nowhere, King!”

 

Terry picks up David and creates a role reversal by putting Blazenwing in between his legs. Terry then lifts up David and as David becomes perpendicular to the ground, Terry drops to his knees, sending David’s head bouncing off the mat, as the crowd lets out a collective “Ooh”, which then turn into boos, Jen is even cringing on the outside, trying to encourage David to get to his feet.

 

Axis: “Oh my! The Fatal Flaw! I don’t know if Blazenwing can kick out of that maneuver.”

 

King: “I seriously doubt it, Axis.”

 

Wayne goes to cover Blazenwing, as Hall swings around for the pinfall, the crowd continuing to boo...

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

The crowd explodes into a harmony of boos, as Jen looks on, discouraged.

 

Funyon: “David Blazenwing has been eeeeliminated!”

 

The boos continue as Blazenwing rolls out of the ring, Jen going to his side as they walk to the backstage area. Meanwhile, Geddion has entered the ring to take on Wayne.

 

King: “Geddion has been put into a tough spot, Axis.”

 

Axis: “Yes, he certainly has. He must eliminate either Terry Wayne or John Duran to become one half of the #1 contenders for the Television Title, and that’s a tall order for the doomsayer.”

 

Wayne backs away from this situation, and tags out to Duran. Well, it’s not exactly a tag, more of a slap on the shoulder, but Hall accepts it, and tells Duran to enter the ring. Duran glares at Wayne, and Wayne glares right back as Duran enters the ring.

 

Axis: “It looks like John Duran will finally make his entrance into this match against Geddion.”

 

Geddion keeps his eye on Duran as he enters the ring. Duran approaches Geddion, and the two opponents lock up. Duran gets the advantage this time around, kicking Geddion in the midsection. Duran then grabs Geddion’s head and swings his knee up, nailing Geddion in the skull and sending Geddion down to the mat as the crowd boos. Duran quickly takes advantage, bouncing off the ropes and bringing his leg down on Geddion’s face, quickly moving around to cover Geddion.

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

Duran keeps his cool, taking a timeout and waiting for Geddion to rise to his feet. As Geddion does, John kicks Geddion in the midsection and whips him into the turnbuckle, quickly following it up with a clothesline. Duran then gets some advantage with the ropes and lifts up his leg, using his boot to choke out Geddion as the crowd boos, unhappy with the current pace of the match. Hall uses the 5 count on Duran, and Duran lets go of the choke at the count of 4. Geddion attempts to catch his breath, but that isn’t going to be happening, as Duran grabs Geddion and whips him into the opposite turnbuckle, charging at Geddion shortly after and driving his shoulder right into the abdomen of Geddion, drawing an “Ooh” from the crowd. Duran quickly follows it up with a series of punches to Geddion’s prone body, before ending it with a headbutt that drops Geddion to the mat.

 

Axis: “What a wicked series of moves from Duran, as he is certainly putting a number on Geddion right now.”

 

King: “And there’s nowhere for Geddion to run, either. He’s got to win to become the #1 contender.”

 

Duran goes to pick up Geddion off the mat, but about halfway up, Geddion strikes quickly, wrapping his arms around Duran’s legs and tripping Duran up, putting John down on the mat. John gets to his feet rather quickly, but is dropped by a swift kick to the head from Geddion, which gets another “Ooh” from the crowd. Terry Wayne looks on from the apron, likely having no interest in getting back in this match after a few narrow escapes. Geddion moves Duran closer to the turnbuckle, Duran barely moving after that swift kick, as Geddion scales the ropes, going to the top rope, doing the splits and hitting the top rope, flipping and hitting a split-legged moonsault on Duran, going for the cover at the same time.

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-KICKOUT!

 

The crowd lets out an “OHH” in disbelief as Duran manages to kick out.

 

Axis: “Geddion was so close to winning this match!”

 

King: “Not close enough, Axis.”

 

Geddion decides not to bring Duran to his feet, instead catching his breath, waiting to make his next move. John eventually gets to his feet, but his back is to Geddion, and Geddion quickly capitalizes, grabbing Duran’s hair and pulling him backwards, locking his arm under Duran’s head for a reverse DDT setup. However, Duran is instead lifted up in the air...and then dropped right back down with a Michinoku Driver. However, Geddion decides not to go for the pin, but call for the Doomsday Driver.

 

Axis: “Geddion might be going to wrap this up!”

 

The crowd is neutral about Geddion, half-boos and half-cheers as Geddion picks up Duran, and it seems that Geddion is ready to finish Duran off. Terry remains on the apron, seemingly pleased with these events, knowing he only has to watch the action to become the co-#1 contender.

 

Axis: “This could spell the end for Duran!”

 

Geddion locks Duran’s face under his left arm, and hoists Duran’s left arm over his head. Geddion goes to hook Duran’s left leg for the Doomsday Driver...but Duran counters with a couple of punches to the ribs of Geddion! Geddion is dazed for a brief moment, but that moment is enough for Duran to get free of the front face lock and wrap his arms around the waist of Geddion, hoisting him up and driving Geddion’s back into the turnbuckle.

 

Axis: “Counter move from Duran!”

 

King: “And a beauty of a counter at that!”

 

Duran lets go of Geddion as Geddion stumbles out, but he doesn’t get far, as Duran traps him in a full nelson. Geddion quickly realizes that he is in trouble, but Geddion doesn’t get the chance to act as Duran picks him and brings him down hard with a full nelson bomb.

 

Axis: “This is it, King! He’s going to go for the Break Point!”

 

Duran leans back, keeping Geddion locked up in the full nelson, and applying a body scissors, Duran careful to make sure his legs wrap tightly around Geddion, putting a lot of pressure on his lower torso. Geddion squirms around, attempting to get out of the move. Anthony Michael Hall checks on Geddion repeatedly, asking him if he gives up, to which Geddion repeatedly answers “No!” However, after a few screams of “No” from Geddion, Duran becomes impatient waiting for Geddion to tap and locks the move on tighter. Anthony asks again, and this time Geddion clearly says “Yes!” at which point Hall jumps to his feet and calls for the bell.

 

**DING DING DING**

 

The crowd erupts into a chorus of boos as Duran releases the Break Point.

 

Funyon: “Your winners, and number one contenders for the SJL Television Title, ‘The Dark Rebel’ Terry Wayne and John Durannnnnnnnnn!”

 

Axis: “How about that? Wayne stays on the apron for the closing moments in the match, and he’s got a title shot!”

 

King: “Simple, yet very effective.”

 

Duran looks over at Wayne, who is dropping off the apron and making his way back to the backstage area as the crowd continues to boo. However, Duran goes out of the ring and follows Wayne, and as Terry turns around, John charges and clotheslines Terry, knocking “The Dark Rebel” down to the ground. The crowd is stunned into a silence, and some actually begin cheering as Duran starts punching away at Wayne. Wayne turns the tables on Duran and starts fighting back, but a slew of zebras come out from the backstage area and break up the scuffle as it begins to go in the favor of Duran again. As Duran is being picked up and taken back by Eddy Long and Sexton Hardcastle, Duran yells something barely in the range of the camera.

 

Duran: “NOTHING COMES FREE WHEN YOU’RE IN THE RING WITH ME! THAT TITLE WILL BE MINE!”

 

The crowd is still stunned as Wayne gets to his feet, looking as pissed off as ever, Duran already up and gone into the backstage area, however.

 

Axis: “What’s going on here, King?”

 

King: “I don’t know, Axis, but I think I like it! It makes me want to shed my clothes and go running stark naked!”

 

Axis: “...You go do that, King.”

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

“AAAAHH!!!”

 

As we fade back in from the latest commercial for Mr. Galatea’s pimpin’ good ale, we quickly cut to ringside, where Axis has taken a kung-fu stance against his arch nemesis, The Suicide King. King has a cocky smirk upon his face, and Axis is completely spooked.

 

“Get that thing the hell away from me!”

 

“Uh...it’s only a temporary tattoo, Axis. What’s your deal?”

 

“I swore on my mum’s grave that I would never get a tattoo!”

 

“...”

 

There is a moment of silence, as King merely stares at Axis in disbelief.

 

“Axis...your mother isn’t dead.”

 

“I didn’t say she was.”

 

“...but...you just...nevermind.”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen! We’ve got a really obscure match up next for you, with a guy who claims to be Robin Hood taking on a guy who thinks he’s actually Death. You know, I was thinking...if “Death” loses to Tryst, doesn’t that mean that Tryst will never die?”

 

“...I just...don’t know. Oh, what’s this? I’m getting a message from the back...uh huh...right. I DON’T CARE.”

 

Axis reaches back and smacks King across the face, creating a loud “SMARK!” sound upon contact. King slowly turns to face Axis, and upon his face he wears the lovely glow of bewilderment! Eyes wide, mouth open, he is speechless.

 

“AND SO WE BEGIN!”

 

A voice screams over the loudspeaker as “Forest” by System of a Down begins to blast over the Public Announce system, and the lights begin to black out...not conventionally, however; they begin to black out in sections, causing a bit of confusion in the crowd as they begin to rumble, getting louder with every passing moment. The Smarktron flashes to live as we enter into the forest...run...running through. Dodging the branches and leaves. Leaping over the fallen old trees. The Darkness begins to take hold as clouds cover the sky in the night...but in one place, they begin to part. The moon makes an appearance, and it shines down upon the forest. As a solitary figure emerges from the trees, the moon catches hold of his eyes and lights them up like a blue flame, supernatural. Staring forward, he lets no distraction take hold of him; and so he reaches over his back and grabs an arrow from his quiver...pulls it back...and lets it fly. The crowd EXPLODES! The entryway raises a white hot light that stretches across itself and draws attention to the shadow emerging from the tunnel. He makes one step. Then another...and then he stops, staring out into the sea of his admirers as they welcome him into their hearts as a hero.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen....you know him as the Sherwood Fable...he stands at six feet, one inch tall...and he weighs in at two hundred and eighteen pounds...hailing from Bairnsdale, Britain...he is TRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTT!!!!!!!!!”

 

He bolts down the ramp, heading straight for the ring as the crowd continues to cheer. Diving in, he quickly gets back to his feet and tosses his bow and quiver to the timekeeper as he leaps to the second rope at the turnbuckle, lifting his arms up to the crowd as they continue to cheer some more. As “Forest” fades out, he jumps back down off of the turnbuckle and turns around, awaiting Quiet Death.

 

A cloud of smoke emerges around the area coming from the smoke starters by the side of the entryway. The illumination from the top changes colors from black to dark blue as two lightning bolts come from the ceiling and hit the bottom part of the Tron, causing it to start as a figure emerges on the screen. No face, just a black hooded canvas material covering the figures head. Now the smoke is covering the entranceway, not letting any camera angle take view of anything around that area. The Tron shows ‘Death’, but it slowly dissolves into a two words. “Quiet Death”. All of a sudden, a beat starts hitting the amps, slowly hitting people’s ears as the smoke slowly dissolves from the area.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen...he stands at five feet, ten inches tall...weighing in at two hundred and twenty one pounds...hailing from parts unknown...he is QUIIIIIIET DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEATH!!!!”

 

“Thou shall not fall……”

 

“Thou shall not fly……”

 

“Thou shall not fear……”

 

“Thou shall not live……”

 

The chorus of “Thou shall not cry” by Bauhaus hits the loudspeakers as the cloud clears up, showing an image of a male’s body, head tilted down to the floor. Drips of water mixed with sweat coming off of his bald head. This man...this being known as ‘Quiet Death’ slowly lifts his head up as he breathes hard. He slowly makes his way down the ramp, the ramp lighting up with black and red sparks. Every step that ‘Quiet Death’ takes, the Tron shows an image of a rope formatted in a way of a hanging, a lethal injection, and a gun. Another deadly object. He reaches the ring and slides in, ‘Death’ makes his way to the middle of the ring and stands there, by this time, the Tron images changes back to the person with the black hooded clothing over his head and faceless. ‘Quiet Death’ has his head down in the ring, and when he raised it, the image of ‘Death’ in the Tron removes the hood from his head displaying the face of……’Quiet Death’. The lights slowly turn back to the way they were as ‘Quiet Death’ goes towards the corner and crouches as he stares over to Tryst, who squints his eyes as he stares back.

 

“Wow, King. Would you look at the intensity in the ring? I think these men are about to blow the roof off of this joint.”

 

“Axis, are you trying to sound cool? It’s not working, you’re just a shed loving bastard.”

 

“...you...son...of...a...bitch...”

 

And so the bell rings, and Quiet Death gets up from his corner and heads towards Tryst. Tryst springs into action, diving at his opponent and nearly taking his head off with a quick lariat. He motions for Quiet Death to get back to his feet, and he does, and he is quickly whipped into the corner by the Sherwood Fable. As he connects with the ring ropes, they send him back towards Tryst, who leaps over him and spins into a kick, catching Quiet Death in the face and dropping him to the mat again. Tryst lands on one knee and brings his fist down into Quiet Death’s chest, who stifles a moan of pain as the force pushes him down hard into the mat. Tryst begins to take it to him, rifling right hand after right hand at him, non-stop for about ten seconds. As he stops, he pulls back, and in his heavy breathing, he manages to get out a solitary word;

 

“...fiend...”

 

“Wow, Tryst is really fighting with a passion tonight! Whatever could Quiet Death have done to bring on this sudden ferocity from Tristan Whitt?”

 

“Maybe he just fears Death?”

 

“I don’t think so, King.”

 

“Don’t think so, ey? Well, no matter. Tryst is lifting Quiet Death up...oh man! DDT! He’s really going to work on the head! Maybe he’s trying to give him a concussion, Aussie boy?”

 

“He very well may be trying to knock his marbles around a bit, I’ll give you that much.”

 

As Quiet Death lies there on the mat, Tryst pulls him up again, and lifts him up into the air...dropping him to the mat with an implant ddt! He rolls him over, and goes for the quick pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

And the hand drops down.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Is the end so quick?

 

TH-

 

It isn’t. And Quiet Death kicks out. And the crowd is left waiting for a little while longer. They sigh in disdain, but this battle will rage on. Tryst pulls Quiet Death to his feet again, and tosses him into the far corner. Springboarding off of the bottom rope, he connects a kick to the face of Quiet Death, who is already showing signs of fatigue, and he slumps down into the corner as Tristan lands back on his feet on the mat. He begins to stomp away at Quiet Death, really putting a hurt on him. Kick after kick after kick...the referee pulls Tryst away and gives him a warning to calm down, which Tryst seems to take to heart...but then he turns around and rushes towards Quiet Death, kicking him in the face again!

 

“Dear God! This is insane! We haven’t seen Tryst this pumped up since he’s been in the league!”

 

“Maybe he’s turning heel? That would kick ass!”

 

“Maybe he just doesn’t like this guy?”

 

“Eh. Hopefully he’s seen the coolness of being evil, as shown off so brilliantly by me, the GREATEST HEEL OF ALL TIME!”

 

Tryst pulls Quiet Death out of the corner and proceeds to drop him to the mat, rolling him over and applying an STF in the center of the ring. He wrenches away as Quiet Death tries to get out of the hold, but so far it is to no avail. After fighting tooth and nail for a little while, Quiet Death manages to get a hold of the ropes, and the hold is broken. But as Tryst goes to pull him up to his feet, he starts to come to life. A quick punch under the ribs catches Tryst off-guard, and sends him to a knee...and a quick knee to the face has him reeling. He awaits his opponent getting back to his feet, and then unleashes a furious combo of attacks. A jab to the throat followed by a roundhouse kick sends Tryst falling into the ropes, and a quick spin kick to the back of the knee has him falling back to the ground. Leaping into the air, Quiet Death connects with a Standing Death Star Press! He quickly goes for the pin...but before the ref can make the first count, he decides better of it. Pulling Tristan to his feet, he whips him to the corner and decides to put him up onto the turnbuckle. Quiet Death puts him on the turnbuckle and then climbs up them himself, pulling Tryst up with him so that they are both standing on the top of them. The crowd falls to a hush as the drops of sweat run down the faces of both men after that fast and furious beginning. All signs point to bad things for Tryst here, as Quiet Death leaps up and into the air. He wraps his legs around Tryst’s neck and starts to pull backwards, but Tryst awakens from his daze...

 

“...this could be bad. Very bad.”

 

“Whoa! Tryst is turning towards us! I think we’d better get out of our seats, King.”

 

“For once, you’re right. You stupid monkey boy.”

 

As the announcers leave their posts, Tryst turns toward the announce table as he leaps into the air, and the two men head straight for the table. As the crowd mark out for the high spot, Quiet Death goes crashing straight through the table as the force of the fall brings about a makeshift powerbomb from the top rope! The table shatters with a loud crack as the crowd pops big time, and the announcers go nuts!

 

“Oh my God!!!”

 

“They crushed my damn sandwich, Axis! Those sons of bitches!”

 

“Get over you sandwich, you stupid, stupid man!”

 

“...you take it back or I’ll slit your throat.”

 

“...”

 

Both men lie in the wreckage that used to be a table, not moving. The crowd begins to chant for Tryst, but he is slow to respond. As they begin to move ever so slowly, a chant of “Sherwood” begins somewhere in the crowd, and it slowly gets louder and louder. As Tryst reaches a knee, they peak, and he manages to get to his feet, and rolls into the ring. Meanwhile, Quiet Death is holding the back of his head, the impact from the powerbomb being another harsh blow to his head. The referee begins to administer the customary ten count.

 

 

ONE!

 

Tryst leans against the ropes to try and get a second wind as he stares blankly towards the blinding lights shining down from the ceiling of the arena.

 

 

TWO!

 

Quiet Death rolls around a bit as he faintly hears the referee begin counting, and he instinctively begins to try and get to his feet. It isn’t easy, however; he is having trouble seeing after being hit in the head so many times.

 

 

THREE!

 

As the referee brings forth the third finger, it seems as if everything is moving in slow motion. The crowd cheers for Tristan as he leans half-heartedly upon the ropes, desperately holding on.

 

 

FOUR!

 

The crowd begins to count along with the referee.

 

 

FIVE!

 

Quiet Death gets to a knee, staggering as he tries to get fully upright once again.

 

 

SIX!

 

Tryst gains his second wind. No longer needing the assistance of the ropes to keep on his feet, he lets go of them and walks slowly to the center of the ring, never once taking his eyes off of Quiet Death.

 

 

SEVEN!

 

Quiet Death gets to his feet, barely. He stares in the general direction of Tristan, but has trouble pin-pointing his exact location as per the blur in his vision...

 

 

EIGHT!

 

He stumbles towards the ring, and tries to get up in under the ropes....

 

 

NINE!

 

And just after the nine count, he manages to get back into the ring, and this bout will continue. He gets to his feet, but Tryst is waiting for him every step of the way. They lock up, but Tristan quickly emerges on top with a hammerlock. Quiet Death tries to fight out of it, but he is unsuccessful, as kicks him in the back of the knee and forces him down onto his knees. As Tryst spins in preparation for the final blow to Quiet Death’s head, his instinct once again comes into play. He ducks under the kick and rolls onto his back on the mat, catching Tryst off-guard with a cheap Mr. Galatea Special!

 

“Oh no!”

 

“Oh yes! Mr. Galatea Special, beautifully executed by Quiet Death. This kid may have some potential after all, Axis!”

 

“Potential or not, that was a cheap shot...and he’s going to get away with it, cause the ref didn’t see it!”

 

Tryst drops to a knee in groin-grabbingly painful fashion, and Quiet Death kicks him directly in the chest, sending him back into the ropes. Getting to his feet quickly, Quiet Death runs towards the ropes and springboards off of them, kicking Tryst in the face and sending him flailing to the other ropes, and then towards the mat. Quickly locking on a crossface armbar, he attempts to get Tryst to tap out, but he isn’t having it. Struggling to get away, he squirms and twists in every which way to get out of the hold, and finally he gets a foot on the ropes, but Quiet Death doesn’t release the hold right away. It is until the referee comes over and forces him to break the hold, he keeps it on. But as he releases, he pulls Tryst up and throws him into the corner to try and continue the damage. As Quiet Death runs in, Tryst kicks up his leg and catches his opponent in the face, stunning him momentarily. Springboarding off of the second rope, he locks his legs around the neck of Quiet Death and sends him to the mat with a spectacular springboard head scissors! And as they lie there on the mat, it is clear that the end is near. It won’t be long now until one of them will be the victor...the only question now that remains...is who? Tryst pulls Quiet Death up to his feet and irish whips him towards the ring ropes...and as he ricochets and follows back towards the Sherwood Fable, he attempts a thrust kick....Quiet Death dodges and tries for a quick punch to the face, but Tryst ducks it, catches him around the neck from behind, and drops him to the mat with a neckbreaker drop! Quiet Death can hold back his pain no longer...he screams out in pain as his connects with the mat, and he grabs hold of his head and his neck as he tries to make the pain go away. But it will not go away. And as Tryst brings him to his feet, he cannot hardly stand; and as Tryst kicks him in the chest, he can to nothing to fight it. He falls back into the ropes and as they carry him back to his enemy, Tryst lifts him up into the air, spins him halfway, and drives his head into the mat. Not a yelp of pain can be heard as he hits, and he doesn’t move a muscle.

 

“The Crusade! The Crusade! King, with all the punishment he’s dished out at Quiet Death’s head tonight, I think he might be out cold!”

 

“He very well might be, Axis. He’s taken a lot of punishment...he’s as tough as he says he is, I’ll give him that much. But Tryst may be too much for him.”

 

Tristan rolls Quiet Death onto his back and pins his shoulders to the mat as the referee dives in for the count.

 

ONE!

 

He isn’t moving. He can’t move. He’s taken too much damage...

 

TWO!

 

The crowd drops to a dead silence awaiting the three count, on the edge of their seats...ready to explode at any moment.

 

THREE!

 

The crowd explodes as Tryst is announced as the winner. “Forest” by System of a Down blasts over the speaker as Tryst lies on the mat next to has fallen enemy, exhausted from the battle.

 

“Wow, what a hell of a match! Quiet Death is tough as nails, King.”

 

“But it wasn’t enough to put him over the Sherwood Fable...not on this night. We’ll be right back, folks.”

 

And so...we fade to black.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Backstage Mike Van Siclen is lacing up his boots in the dressing room. A shadow is cast over the body of the champion as Va'aiga approaches the champion and stands over one shoulder. Mike turns.

 

MVS: Hey yo, big man. What's happening?

 

Va'aiga: Saw the revenge on Spike?

 

MVS: Yeah, nice job showing that punk up.

 

Va'aiga: Got that all clearerd up. But tonight, no favours, no mercy.

 

MVS: Have no fears, Va'aiga... when I'm in the ring, kicking your ass, you better believe there won't be any mercy.

 

Va'aiga: You kick my ass?

 

MVS: That's what I said!

 

Va'aiga looks MVS right in the eyes and gives him his coldest, hardest Maori glare. Mike averts his gaze.

 

Va'aiga: We do this later man. We do this in the ring.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

As we come back from commercial to Crimson (live, and in stereo surround!), the Rose Garden lights drop out, leaving the 19,000+ Portland fans in the dark… But that only lasts for a few moments as the lights start their ‘seizure strobe’, in the neon green / light blue / white spasms that are associated with one man… And by the crowd’s slowly building heat and razzing, they know who that one man is.

 

“Welcome back to Crimson, everyone!” Axis shouts over the throng, and the growing rumble of thunder emanating from the house speakers. “And it seems like our champion is joining us a little early tonight, King… I wonder what’s on his mind?” The Suicide King’s answer is delayed slightly as the trademark thunderclap and burst of entranceway pyros goes off, sending the crowd into more ugly of a mode than before.

 

“As a champion,” King states, “he’s entitled to do basically whatever he wants. If he wants to come out first for a title defense match, or speak to his fans, or serenade the world in song… He’s entitled.” As he speaks, the man with the TV title, Omega Storm, stalks out from behind the curtain to a higher level of anti-love than before. He holds the title high and proudly, sneering and mouthing off at the fans that are giving him the worst trouble.

 

“He’s only the TV Champ, King!” Axis mutters, smirking. “It’s not like he’s God or anything.”

 

“He’s better than you, Shed Man.” King snickers as the camera follows Storm to the ring. The man with the fashion sense of a millionaire, Funyon, cues up his mike for the introduction.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice thundering through the crowd, “This match is scheduled for one fall, and is for the Smarks Junior League Television Title! Entering first, from New Haven, Connecticut… Weighing in at 245 pounds… He is, the SJL TV Champion… Omega… STORM!!!” The crowd reacts like the TrailBlazers released Scottie Pippen and signed sumo forward Shawn Kemp. Storm slides into the ring, relieving Funyon of his microphone, and starts to pace, looking at the crowd on occasion. Slowly but surely, the crowd’s chant of “Ass-Hole! Ass-Hole!” rises in volume, like a tsunami, threatening to sweep through the ring.

 

“Storm looks genuinely surprised that these Oregon idiots hate him so much,” King states calmly as Storm continues to pace.

 

“Gee,” Axis responds sarcastically. “I wonder why that is…”

 

-----

 

I knew people hated me, but this is ridiculous… I’m a -champion-, for crying out loud! I pace the ring, slowly… Trying to gather myself. The crowd is acidic, the loud, booming chant of “Ass… Hole!” is grating on my ears. Every time I bring the mike towards my lips to speak, the crowd rises above anything I’ve ever heard before. But, after a moment, my manager… Correction, my mentor’s advice catches hold, and I smile slowly. I bring the mike to my lips, letting the crowd’s venom flow… It gives me a reason, a purpose tonight.

 

“I’m gathering,” I say calm and slow, “That you folks don’t want to hear me speak tonight.” The crowd’s response… Typical. A definite heel heat-laced affirmative. I laugh, shaking my head. Let the mind games begin. “Alright then… Let’s just bring out the victim then.” I cut the mike, and let the Joe Schmoes in the back do their work…

 

“Pictures in the mi-i-ir-or…”

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

****BOOM!!!!**** I watch as green pyros rain down from the rafters to the ramp… The song that plays sounds familiar… The Living End, I think. The crowd…

 

Damn! The crowd loves this guy! I heard he came into the league with a lot of hype. First grad of the “Bases Loaded” Training Center. My mentor told me that “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens was a major player in the big leagues when he was in the juniors… So this kid’s had good training… And a built-in fan base. As I watch, the pyros fade slowly, and out from the back sprints… Damn… This kid’s really a kid! All fresh-faced and excited… But the fans… Dear God, the fans are just eating it up as he slaps their hands. Funyon asks for the mike back to make his intro. I respond by taking Funyon’s info card, grinning. I bring the mike to my lips, chuckling.

 

“And now,” I intone, and the fans get a little testy. Carpenter, for his credit, just slows his stride, watching me. “Introducing, tonight’s victim!” The crowd gets a little heated, and I grin more at Carpenter, motioning him into the ring. “Hailing from the home of many a snake in the grass… Including you, my friend…” I motion to Carpenter, as he gets to the ring apron, hesitant. “Washington, D.C… Weighing in at an -easily- suplexable 228 pounds… He is tonight’s challenger for an unclaimable prize… -My- TV Title… He is… Aaron… “The Jobber”… Carpenter!!!” The crowd launches into a chorus of boos and hisses as Carpenter is just getting into the ring, eyeing me skeptically then glancing for the corner. I smile, chuckling.

 

“Go ahead, kid,” I reassure him. “Mug for the crowd.” He’s smart… He keeps his eyes on me for a moment as he heads for the turnbuckle closest to him. But then, needing reassurance I guess, he climbs it, raising both hands high over his head, and the crowd launches into an absolute frenzy! They love this kid, and I can see his demeanor change slowly as he takes it all in. I hand Funyon his card and mike, and walk slowly over to the corner where he’s at as he’s coming down, TV Title in hand.

 

“Hey kid,” I say, loud enough for him to hear over the crowd… Their energy changed… They know what’s coming up… But he must not notice it. He jumps a little, and turns around to face me…

 

*****CLANG!!!!!***** I rear back, and throw everything I have into a solid left hook… But somehow, someway… The title belt got between his face and my fist! Now how’d that happen? The kid goes down like a house of cards as the crowd goes full-bore, “Fuck you, evil man!” Hitler-reserved heat. I toss the title out of the ring onto the timekeeper’s table as he rings the bell… I grab the kid’s arms, dragging him out to the center of the ring.

 

“I hope you liked that look at the title kid,” I scream down at him, “because that’s as close as you get while it’s around my waist!” I let go of his arms, and the match’s ref slides into the ring as I go down for the cover…

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE! The crowd’s incredulous! They’re trying to will the kid awake!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO! Sorry, kid… Guess you just couldn’t hang.

 

.

..

… And on the “2-1/2”, the kid kicks out. The crowd’s in love with his guts, but I personally want to punch a hole in his stomach and chew them out. I guess I shouldn’t have expected -that- easy of a win. Oh well. Now’s the time to work. I pull the kid up by his hair, and look at him for a moment. He’s still pretty out of it. I rear back, and…

 

*****SMACK!!!!!***** I lay a massive chop against the kid’s chest. The crowd plays the sympathy card, and the kid wobbles on his legs before staggering back a step. I follow, leveling back…

 

*****SMACK!!!!!***** Another chop strikes home, and the kid sags back again. The crowd’s trying to get this kid motivated, boost his spirits… But I’ll have none of it. I grab his arm, and sling him towards the far ropes… But suddenly -I’m- the one heading away! The kid’s got some speed despite the early blow to the head. I come off the ropes, looking to connect with the clothesline, but the kid ducks it, and the crowd loves him for it! Sheesh! What are they on??? So I hit this set of ropes, and as I turn, I grab the ropes to stop my momentum. I noticed the kid telegraphing a move in the instant I turned around, and sure enough… The kid’s leg lariat hits nothing but air! As he lands, I slide in, grab his arm, and tug him… WHAM! Connecting with a short arm clothesline! I drop down once more, hooking the leg...

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO! And the kid brings the shoulder up. I sigh... He’s just a kid! He shouldn’t be this able to take punishment! But the crowd is -solidly- behind him. I haul him up again, and sling him towards the ropes. But I sense a change as he goes... He’s planning something... And as he comes back at me, I throw a fake right hand, just to test him. He ducks it, then suddenly; I feel a set of arms around my waist! He pokes his head under my arm, and I chuckle as he attempts to power me up. The crowd explodes as they try to rally around him, and he tries against to leverage me up. I put all my weight down, and deny him the chance again. I shake my head, then squeeze my arm against his head. The kid struggles suddenly, realizing his mistake, but is unable to break away. I break into a run, bringing the kid with me, and with a quick sit-out... WHAM!!! I drive his head into the mat with a wicked bulldog... Niiiiice. I flip the guy over, and hook the leg...

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO! And again the crowd roars with approval as he kicks out! Now this is bordering on frustrating. I haul him up, and sling him into the corner, letting the frustration take a focus... Like my mentor said. I follow him in a bare moment after I sling him into the corner, and I lower my shoulder, connecting with...

 

-----

 

The crowd launches into an absolute thunder as Aaron Carpenter leaps -straight up- onto the top turnbuckle, and Storm’s shoulder impacts with nothing but the unforgiving metal of the ring post!

 

"What a vertical this young phenom has!" Axis blurts out as Carpenter watches Storm stagger out of the corner.

 

"We'd better check this guy for banned substances after the match," King mutters. "That, or strange spider bites." Meanwhile, the crowd's urgin Carpenter to take action... And take action he does! With a crisp leap forward, he dives at Storm... Wrapping his legs around Storm's neck, he spins and wrenches backwards, and sends Storm flying with a slick-looking huracanrana! Carpenter had the legs held as they came down, and the crowd peels into a new definition of "pop" as Carpenter goes for the pin!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

… Storm kicks out at one-and-a-half, much to the crowd's dismay.

 

"A near two count garnered by the 'Bases Loaded' grad," Axis states as Carpenter gets Storm in an inverted facelock and puts the pressure on to make it a Dragon Sleeper! The crowd cheers and claps, chanting "Put him out! Make him tap!"

 

"He seems to be wisening up as we go," Axis continues on, "as he's trying to keep Storm out of his element... Fast reversals and a ground assault are his keys."

 

"Aha," King replies. "But even those won't be enough to power down pure, brute strength... As we can see now!" And indeed, Storm is slowly pulling to his feet. Carpenter is trying to keep the sleeper locked in, the crowd desperately trying to pile on the karma and energy... But Storm slams one elbow... Another elbow... And another into the youngster's gut. But, much to his credit, Carpenter stays tenacious, lacing his arms around Storm's waist again! The crowd rallies back up, hopeful for a completed suplex... Storm tenses, shifting his weight in a preventive measure... Carpenter, however, surprises everyone by throwing his weight -forward-, sending the unsuspecting Storm and himself towards the ropes! The purpose seems unclear as Storm careens into the ropes, but then Carpenter pulls back hard. Storm comes off the ropes... And -over- Carpenter's backwards-arching body! The crowd is in awe and disbelief as the young star completes the assisted suplex and holds as Storm's body crashes to the mat... It's a pinning predicament! Carpenter's body strains to hold the pin and the ref drops, the crowd echoes the count:

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO!

 

.

..

... Storm finally rattles himself out of the held position, but the crowd gives Carpenter all the love he can handle as he climbs up to his feet.

 

"An absolutely -amazing- maneuver by Carpenter!" Axis screams as Carpenter pulls Storm up by the hair. "Knowing he couldn't suplex Storm before, he used the ropes and some 'mo' for an assist on the Northern Lights suplex, and damn near got the upset win!"

 

“Admittedly it was a good maneuver,” King grumbles, “but Storm’s smart, cunning… He’ll figure a way to regain momentum.”

 

-----

 

All I can really say is, “Wow.” I would’ve never thought the kid would’ve gotten me over, but… Damnit, he did. Smart move using the ropes for an assist. Now, he’s got me careening towards the ropes again, and I try to get myself mentally and physically prepared for anything. But as I come off the rope, I find myself on the receiving end of a spinning leg! The crowd is in an uproar, screaming and clapping for this kid… They want nothing more than to see the ultimate upset… And so far, their chances for seeing it are pretty good… More than I’d like, anyway. I’m laid flat out on the mat… Man, I’m tired. I want to rest, and the fact that the kid’s holding me down doesn’t help much:

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO!

 

.

..

... Alright, that’s enough rest I decide as I manage to kick out before that fateful three count. The kid hauls me up, and… I can tell I’m on wobbly legs. The kid slides under the ropes, and stands on the apron. He plays to the crowd, whipping them up even harder as he prepares something big. He climbs the turnbuckles then, and looks out at me… I know what he’s doing, and I already have a plan of action to combat it… But I have to convince him that he can pull it off. So, I wobble a little more, trying to keep the focus from my eyes, but keeping him in view on my periphery. The crowd’s chanting for him to finish me off, and after what seems like forever, he finally decides to pull off an aerial: A drop kick. Suddenly, I spring to life, slipping to the side of his falling body, and catching him in mid-air! The fans heave a collective gasp as I use a little of the elusive momentum for my own, and sling him over my shoulder… The crowd’s thinking body slam, and starting to boo hardcore. The kid’s just thinking of escape… I can feel him struggling in my grasp… What am I thinking? I’m thinking of going for a spin… So that’s what I do. Around and around I go, where he drops… Only I know! After about 3 or 4 revolutions, I shrug the kid off, and watch in satisfaction as he goes sailing up… Then down with a crash to the mat, face first! The crowd is in absolute shock and rage as I just man-handled this kid… This little man that thinks he can beat me. I drop down, hooking the leg and garnering more hate from the fans:

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

ONE!

 

.

..

…

..

.

 

TWO!

 

.

..

... And… DAMNIT! He kicks out again! What is this kid on, novocaine??? The crowd is up in volume as I haul the kid up, and launch him into the ropes… And he rebounds, looking to want to put a shoulder charge into me. I chuckle and let my guard down for the little push of wind that would bring… But at the last second, I realize that this isn’t going to be his plan of attack! He dives at me, but kind of high… A flying headbutt into the chest? That proves wrong as well as he pushes me hard, sending me staggering… But then he grabs the top of my head, tucking the back of his head under my chin, and I just catch sight of him bringing his knees down as…

 

*****CRACK!!!!!***** The stars explode in my eyes as I feel my jaw put through the ceiling of the Rose Garden! I wind up flat on my back… Again… The kid risked it all with some sort of weird, bizarre, flying Spear-slash-jawbreaker routine… And beyond the static that seems pretty prevalent in my ears, I can hear the fans absolutely –lit- in passion for this kid! I blink a few times, and manage to turn my aching head in time to see the kid going up top once more! My brain’s quite addled, and I don’t know if I can move this time… He looks to be doing something different from a drop kick this time, as he leaps off of the top buckle… I’m reading moonsault for a moment, but then I see the one leg come out.

 

And that’s when I roll… I hear the BOOM! of the kid striking the mat no more than 6 inches from my face. The corwd is aghast as I struggle to my feet to find the kid unmoving on the canvas. This is my chance to end it, right here… I haul the kid up, I bring him down onto my shoulder, then push him back up after moving my arms to the right spot. With a mighty push, he's off and away, but I add the facelock as he goes, and WHAM!!! I come down with him and pull off that lovely little thing I call that Omega Cloudburst! The fans are in utter disbelief as, just that quickly, their hero has gone to zero. I roll him over, with a hook of the leg…

 

.

..

...

..

.

 

ONE! No movement from the kid...

 

 

.

..

...

..

.

 

TWO!! Suddenly, he stirs... The fans rise... Will it be enough?

 

.

..

...

..

.

 

THREE!!! The bell rings… The fans go south on me as I stand slowly, letting the ref raise my hand in victory… A moment later, I feel the weight of the TV title in my other hand. Aaaaah, life is back to normal.

 

“Your winner,” Funyon announces over the nasty crowd reaction, “And … STILL … the SJL Television Champion… The OMEGA STORM!!!” I look a moment at the kid lying prone on the mat, and shake my head. I slide out of the ring. Mission accomplished. Good night now.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

We cut away to the back, being presented with a view of a normal, closed door. Suddenly, the door wildly swings open, and out storms one Sean Atlas, in his masked form as always. He walks down the corridor, European Championship belt in hand, apparently looking for something.

 

"Hardy!" he calls out. "Ben! Where the hell are you?"

 

Or rather, someone. He opens random doors on his way, trying to find the one and only interviewer employed by the SJL.

 

"Ben! Dammit, where are you when you're needed?" he bellows.

 

Finally, as the rounded hallway of The Rose Garden comes to an end at an open area, Atlas sees Hardy looking over some production notes with referee Matthew Kivell. As Sean gets near the two, Kivell quickly says goodbye and runs off, while Ben stands there, microphone in hand, confused as to why Sean Atlas would be looking for him.

 

"We don't have an interview scheduled for tonight" says Ben, with doubt in his voice. "At least I wasn't infor..."

 

"Well I'm informing you right now", Sean tells him as he snatches the microphone away. Learning his lesson from previous interviews, Ben has a handy second mic ready. "See, Ben, I'm a little mad tonight. Actually, no, I'm furious. This past Sunday, I defended my title against Manson, some guy coming back from a neck injury who's about to go out there and face Blackwell. Now, I'm forced to defend my title against Spike Jenkins, the man who, unfortunately, ended my winning streak. Apparently, he's not good enough to hang with the big boys fighting for World Title contendership, losing to Va'... Vaig... Va'nay... oh, Viagra, whatever his name is. Does that somehow make him the number one contender to MY title? Don't think so."

 

"But that's not even why I'm complaining. You see, on Sunday, I told you and everyone else that I'm now the newest member of the Magnificent Seven. Janus, World Champion at the time, recruited me. Things were starting off great. But the same people that find it necessary to reward Jenkins with a shot at my title have decided to send Janus to the SWF. Now, I wish Janus all the best and hope he storms through the Federation just like he did in the League. But his promotion leaves me with a problem. Do you know what that is, Ben?"

 

Looking bewildered, Hardy simply shrugs in a way that makes Josh Matthews seem charismatic.

 

"It means that I am now the only Magnificent Seven member that's still in the Junior League."

 

"Oh", says Ben. "But that isn't a bad place to be. Janus was in the same shoes just a month ago, and look where he's headed now."

 

"I know that, Hardy. But I'm not Janus. What I can promise you though, is that the Magnificent Seven will grow again and I won't remain the sole Junior League member for long. Maybe my words echo those of Janus from last week, but they hold just as much meaning. All I can tell you, Ben, is to keep watching. Keep..."

 

:: WHHOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH ::

 

"What the?!", Sean asks, as a sharp arrow with a silver head and green tail flies past him, missing his head by mere inches and crashes into the wall behind him. "Was that... an arrow?"

 

Even more confused, Ben replies "Yes. Yes i think it was." The two men give each other a disconcerting look and continue with their affairs.

 

"Yes, well", Sean says. "In any case, tonight's matchup. I've got Spike Jenkins, a different Spike Jenkins than two weeks ago. A more motivated, more focused Spike, in a submission match, no less. Appropriate, all things considered."

 

"But what about...", starts Hardy.

 

"No questions, Ben. I need to get ready." says the masked champion as he walks away, still thrown off a bit. Ben tries to get a word in, but it's no use as Atlas pays him no mind. Shrugging his shoulders, Hardy turns away as the camera pans down at the fallen arrow, then turns towards Atlas, zooming in, showing his chiseled back as he strides down another corridor.

 

Suddenly, from an open door in that same hallway, a medium sized man with blue eyes and a light beard peers out, glancing at the area where the arrow was shot.

 

"Curses!" he says. "I miscalculated the fiend’s position. He shall not escape twice... I swear it!"

 

The man, dressed in black and dark green peers to his right, then his left, and swiftly dashes out of the room.

 

Soon after, the view fades away.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Highlights of Blackwell’s SJL career so far, and Manson history in this federation play as Crimson returns from the break, Axis greeting us right off the bat.

 

“Manson was unsuccessful on Wrath, but he plans to regain his former glory, taking on the very mysterious and often drunk Christian Blackwell, bragging rights and maybe more on the line.”

 

“Yeah… should be an all right match.”

 

“Could you please show a little more enthusiasm?”

 

The petty bickering between the two announcers is soon stopped by the lights to near complete darkness, “Three Libras” by a Perfect Circle begins to play. Christian Blackwell, as always, wasting no time in walking out from behind the black curtain, flames rising up from either side of the rampway as he strides past, head down, in deep focus as the crowd reaction is mixed…

 

Blackwell climbs the steps and enters the ring, Funyon doing his job as he always does, yelling in his booming voice, “The following match is a singles match, and it will be scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Rosslare Ireland, standing six foot four inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and thirty seven pounds, cunning even when drunk, please welcome… CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL!”

 

“This man is on a good streak of wins at the moment, and with the world title losing two great contenders being bumped up to wrestle the big boys, the ranks will need to be filled, and Christian Blackwell may be one of those men,” Axis explains.

 

“Both these men would make fine additions, both have the talent and the drive to make it anywhere, and like me, are rather handsome, which can take you far,” King replies with a smirk.

 

“Really, it’s like talking to Bobby Riley sometimes.”

 

“You’ll notice the absence of a pink scarf and mascara, Axis.”

 

Blackwell begins his pre-match warm up as The house lights drop to pitch black and multi-coloured strobes begin to flash on and off rapidly, as "Hate Song" by The Haunted hits. The violent and seemingly uncaring Manson is booed by some fans who shout taunts, but he pays no attention, instead looking at his opponent, summing him up before sliding into the ring, Funyon getting on the mic once more.

 

“… And his opponent, from Denver, Colorado. Standing six-foot even and weighing in at two hundred and five pounds, he’s back bitches, he is… MANSON!”

 

“Someone tell Funyon he is not from the ghetto,” King says with a shake of the head.

 

“Whatever makes him happy King. These two men are similar in styles, although Manson favours a more high flying, high impact offence, striking quickly and effectively, while Blackwell often takes his time, wearing his opponent down with his vast array of technical moves.”

 

“It’s hard to tell who has more experience,” Axis replies. “Christian Blackwell is an old hand in the wrestling business, but until a few months ago, he was out of wrestling for nearly five years, while Manson is no stranger to an SJL ring, and would know these surroundings well.”

 

Manson stretches with aid from the ropes, Blackwell looking down at the canvas, eyes closed, preparing himself for the contest while Funyon exits the ring, the referee stepping forward to see if both men are ready. He nods and motions to the crew at ringside, and the bell is rung to start the match!

 

“Ding, ding, ding!”

 

“And here we go!” Axis exclaims. “You have to wonder what each man’s strategy is coming into this match, both of these men known for having a strict game plan before entering a match.”

 

Blackwell hears the bell ring and doesn’t bother with an opening tie-up or test of strength, attacking Manson immediately, striking him in the face with sore stiff forearm shots. This draws a few boos from the crowd, but as Manson is pushed back into the turnbuckles, he counters, his knee driving into Blackwell’s stomach. Even Manson is surprised to hear a few cheers as he puts Blackwell in his place, but the crowd soon turns on him and hisses at the unstable old schooler as he hits a furious kicking combo on Blackwell. Manson strikes with each leg, aiming for the legs, the stomach, and finishing with a roundhouse kick to the head which sends Blackwell flying! The Irishman is already hurting, Manson already aggravating his injured ribs from the brutal three-way contest. As Blackwell is distracted, Manson make his way over to the Irishman, jumping onto the top rope beside Blackwell, and turning his body in mid-air, hitting Blackwell across the chin with a springboard dropkick! Blackwell stumbles out of the corner, in a slight daze. Manson takes advantage of this, wrapping his arms around Blackwell stomach for an early German Suplex! But Blackwell almost laughs out loud as he counters effortlessly, grabbing hold on one of Manson’s arms and turning quickly, pushing Manson to the mat face first, sitting on top of Manson’s shoulder and pulling back on his arm!

 

“Manson has really impressed me early on in this match,” Axis admits. “It seems he’s not affected by ring rust at all, knowing to strike at Blackwell’s injured ribs.”

 

“But,” King disputes, “Manson made an obvious mistake, trying to German Suplex Christian Blackwell, Ha! That’s like trying to low blow you Axis.”

 

“… That comparison makes no sense.”

 

“I know, I just wanted make fun of your man hood,” King replies with a big, big stupid grin.

 

Before Blackwell can fully sink in the hold, Manson reaches out and grabs the bottom rope with his free arm, Blackwell taking the full three seconds allowed before letting go of the hold. Blackwell climbs to his feet, but Manson strikes back quickly and effectively, spearing Blackwell and driving him into the turnbuckles! Manson rears back and thumps his shoulder into Blackwell, the Irishman whimpering as Manson strikes again and again, Blackwell coughing and spluttering as Manson takes a step back to admire his handiwork. Blackwell wipes his mouth, looking into Manson’s eyes, covering his hurt ribs. Manson prepares to strike again, but Blackwell steps out of the way, Manson running face first into the top turnbuckle pad. Blackwell turns around and grabs Manson by the head and slams his head against the turnbuckle again and again! The fans don’t know what to think, watching Blackwell attack Manson, they certainly don’t want to cheer.

 

“Manson can be a cold, heartless bastard at times,” King says. “But that’s exactly the kind of person Blackwell almost despises. He’s here to do a job, and right now I don’t think he’s thinking about what the fans might want of him!”

 

“It’s disappointing to see such a fine, upstanding wrestler such as Blackwell be corrupted like this, in a time where people like that are few and far between…”

 

“Alcohol is a harsh mistress, Axis. I guess having a bitter and twisted brother might have something to do with it too.”

 

Manson blocks another attempt by Blackwell, putting his hands on the top rope. Blackwell tries again, but to no avail, as Manson counters, elbowing Blackwell in the ribs! It wasn’t only a light hit, but Blackwell is sent reeling, allowing Manson to turn around and run towards his opponent from behind, grabbing him by the head and falling forward, taking him down with a facebuster. Manson rolls back onto his feet and heads towards the ropes, jumping onto the second rope and flipping back to the centre of the ring, landing on top of Blackwell’s ribs with a beautiful Lionsault! Blackwell sits up, singing out in pain, but Manson pushes his arms into Blackwell, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

 

“Great work from Manson, Really running rings around Blackwell!” Axis yells.

 

 

… O n e !

 

 

 

 

 

… T w o – but Manson gets a two count only, Blackwell kicking out. Manson climbs back to his feet, forgetting any basic submission hold to simply stomp on Blackwell’s injured ribs! The crowd hate this sort of treatment by Manson, but Blackwell has had enough too, grabbing Manson’s boot as it comes down on him again, pushing up and flipping Manson onto his back! Blackwell scampers over, holding Manson’s arm out, jumping up into the air and dropping his knee on Manson’s elbow! Manson cries out as Blackwell climbs back up, Manson trying to move his arm out of the way, but Blackwell makes sure he holds him down, dropping another knee on Manson!

 

“Man, at this rate, neither man will have any useable limbs left!” Axis exclaims, cringing as Blackwell drops yet another knee, making Manson roll up into a ball. “These men obviously know what to do, and will exploit each other’s weaknesses without remorse!”

 

“Blackwell had an easy time taking advantage of his opponents weaknesses in his last match, but Manson is really taking it to him, so he’ll have to step it up a notch and be like… an uber prick.”

 

Blackwell traps Manson’s knee between his legs, grabbing him by the forearm and literally attempting to pull his arm from its socket with a cross armbar! This time, Blackwell has Manson conveniently placed in the centre of the ring, with little hope to escape! The crowd rise to their feet in unison, suddenly starting to stir as Blackwell locks in the hold even tighter, his legs wrapping around Manson’s arm, twisting his arm to sickening angles. Manson desperately tries to escape, digging his boots into the canvas, and pushing himself slowly, slowly towards the ropes, his free arm reaching out for the bottom rope as his last saving grace…

 

… And he grabs hold! The indecisive crowd gives an indecisive reaction as Blackwell gets to his feet, falling back into a corner, completely exhausted, his ribs flaring up again. Manson uses this time to get to his feet, leaning against the ropes with his good arm, he and Blackwell exchanging furious glares and take a step toward each other, but their wounds force them to back away and whimper like little girls.

 

“I swear, if Manson tries a bear hug…”

 

“I think he’s too small for that, King. Blackwell really needs to watch out for Manson’s high impact offence, his array of martial arts kicks and jabs, but in turn, Manson has to avoid Blackwell’s crippling submission holds.”

 

“Maybe Blackwell will use a bear-“

 

“Don’t… say… another… word.”

 

“Shed, bear shed.”

 

Manson suddenly darts at the Irishman, but Blackwell tries to stop him dead with a superkick! Blackwell’s boot flies a few inches over Manson’s head as he ducks just in time. Manson hits Blackwell across the back of the neck with a few quick dicing chops, before lifting Blackwell up from underneath him with a back drop suplex! Blackwell manages to avoid impact by landing on his feet! Blackwell grabs Manson from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist, trying to lift him over his head with a German suplex, but Manson counters mid-move, shifting all his weight forward and diving towards the mat, rolling Blackwell up in a cradle pin!

 

 

… O n e !

 

 

 

 

 

… T w – But Blackwell kicks out strongly, climbing right back to his feet! Manson is there to meet him with a few quick kicks to Blackwell’s side, doubling him over. Manson grabs both of Blackwell’s arms and hooks them, holding Blackwell out for a Double Arm DDT! The Irishman counters quickly before Manson can react, spinning behind Manson and locking on a Chickenwing! Manson is all too aware of this move, as he flips over Blackwell and lands behind him! Blackwell’s finisher avoided, Manson seizes this time to lock on his own, attempting to lock on an abdominal stretch, trying to set up the Crimson Stretch!

 

“A Crimson Stretch on Crimson!” Axis cries out, as if he were the first to recognise that. “Get it? The show name is Crimson, and-“

 

“Don’t… say… another… word,” King replies, causing Axis to grumble, but giggle again at the joke.

 

Blackwell spins himself around behind Manson can start putting pressure on his midsection, taking Manson by the arm and falling to the mat, dropping Manson face first. Blackwell stands back up, still holding onto Manson’s wrist, spinning himself around and falling to the mat! Manson cries out once more, pain surging through his arm, the referee shouting at Blackwell as he performs the move again and again! The ref finally steps in, having enough of Blackwell’s crap, pushing him away as the crowd cheers quietly. Blackwell looks around at them, then at the referee, at his side, his fist begin to clench, listening to the crowd and the referee telling him what to do, the pressure is getting too much… but Manson is back on his feet, after getting his second wind, hitting a dropkick to the back of Blackwell’s head, causing him to fall face first into the bottom turnbuckle!

 

“Listen to the crowd, most are watching intently, but some have the arrogance to cheer for the referee stopping Blackwell! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again Axis, Blackwell is simply doing what he has to do to win!” King exclaims in an uproar.

 

“I don’t think the crowd knows who to cheer for, both these men are hell bent on winning, and doing anything it takes to do so, so I guess the only good guy in this match is the referee!”

 

“I guess I don’t know who to cheer for either, both men are doing me so proud…” King sniffles.

 

Manson takes a look at his arm, red and swollen after Blackwell’s unforgiving attack. He growls as he takes a few steps back, placing himself in the opposite corner from Blackwell, at a four-point stance. Manson charges across the squared circle, leaping forward and dropping his knee on Blackwell! The camera gets a memorable shot of Blackwell’s head between the ropes, agony written on his face as Manson jumps up and down, stomping on his lower back. He finally stops, grabbing Blackwell by his hair and dragging him onto his feet, attempting to whip him across the ring, but Blackwell reverses the whip into a short arm clothesline attempt! It fails however, as Manson ducks the shot. Blackwell turns around but is met with a stiff kick to the breadbasket, as Manson throws Blackwell’s arm over his shoulder and grabs onto his belt, attempting to lift him in the air with a vertical suplex! Manson tries the first time, but his arms gives away and Blackwell lands back on his feet. He perseveres however, trying a second time, but to no avail as Blackwell is awake to counter the move as well. Manson tries a third time, knowing full well things always work the third time around, lifting Blackwell up into the air with a suplex! His arm gives away again and he holds it in pain as Blackwell shows him how a German Suplex should be down, grabbing Manson around the waist as quick as lightning and lifting him into the air, slamming him down on the back of his neck! He holds on with a bridge for the pin!

 

“Manson got schooled~!” King cries. “Beautiful suplex from Blackwell, Manson’s arm finally gave away, and this may just end the match…!”

 

The referee slides over…

 

 

… O n e !

 

 

 

 

 

 

… T w o !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…… T – But that’s all Blackwell gets as Manson pushes out of the move, reaching out to the ropes as Blackwell holds his ribs, coughing up a little saliva, and more worryingly, a little blood.

 

“I don’t like the look of that…” King says, genuinely concerned, but then lightening the atmosphere with a little joke. “He’ll only be able to drink –3- pints tonight!”

 

“… You made that joke last show King, and I didn’t laugh then, why would I laugh now?”

 

“Because you’re a tool Axis, that’s why.”

 

“… Thought so. But back to the –match-, both men’s injuries are taking their toll, they have been merciless in their attacks, and it will cost them as they try to recover from this match.”

 

Blackwell is slow to get to his feet, arm firmly wrapped around his stomach as he tries to stop coughing up the red stuff. Manson strikes, not even caring about Blackwell’s condition, kicking him across the ring and into a corner. Manson rears back and strikes with devastating back elbows to the head, and one to the gut for good measure. Manson whips Blackwell across the ring, hurting his own arm in the process, but Blackwell even more so as he thumps against the turnbuckles. Manson runs across the ring, trying his luck with another knee to the midsection, but Blackwell is able to counter with a boot to the face! Manson stumbles backwards, a little tipsy, which makes Blackwell chuckle for just a second, before charging toward Manson, extending his forearm and crunching him the jaw with a running forearm! Blackwell drops the mat, pushing his arms into Manson’s chest, the crowd chanting along with the pin!

 

“Oh my…” Axis says. “Blackwell put his full force behind that forearm, and Manson is out. Such a simple move, but it has a devastating effect.”

 

 

“… O n e !”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“… T w o !”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…… T h r” – No! Manson rolls a shoulder off the mat. “Blackwell only casually pinned Manson,” Axis notes. “Having such a bad injury is obviously throwing him off his game plan at the moment…”

 

Blackwell holds his wound with one arm, grabbing Manson by the neck with the other, throwing him against the nearest ropes wearily. Blackwell rears back, arm raised…

 

“Crack!” Blackwell slaps Manson across the chest with a backhand blow, a knife-edge chop!

 

“Crack!” The shots ring out through the arena, almost echoing like a gunshot…

 

“Crack!”

 

“Crack!” The crowd all cry out in unison as each shot is delivered.

 

“Crack!”

Blackwell finally relents following pressure from the referee, whipping Manson into the ropes, but he manages to reverse the whip! As Blackwell makes his return, Manson kicks him in the stomach, setting Blackwell up for another Suplex!

 

“Not smart, not smart!” King shouts. “Why would he risk another suplex? Blackwell already fought out of another due to Manson’s injured arm, it’s just stupid to try it again!”

 

Like last time, Manson isn’t able to lift Blackwell up at the first attempt, his arm giving away and Blackwell landing without a scratch. Manson manages to summon up all the strength he can, lifting Blackwell up vertically in the air, agony on his face as he does so, but as Blackwell is about to slip out the back way again, Manson sits out, throwing Blackwell forward face first!

 

“Great thinking from Manson, he may be a little erratic at times King, but he has a great wrestling mind, and he used his own injury to further attack Blackwell’s!”

 

“It truly is a great contest Axis, both men will not give up easily, as both are known for their tremendous endurance, able to take tremendous amounts of punishment, but it’s only a matter of time before one cracks under the pressure each man is heaping onto the other”

 

Manson manages only a lazy pin, really just falling on top of Blackwell as he breathes heavily, trying to work through the pain that has claimed his arm…

 

 

“… O n e !”

 

 

 

 

 

“… T w o !”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…… T h r -“ NO! Blackwell manages to kick out! The Irishman rolls out of the ring, grabbing at his stomach as Manson lies flat out on the mat, looking up at the lights on the rafters, trying to forget the pain that rips through him, but it’s too much to just ignore. The crowd begins to clap rhythmically, the jury still out on whether to cheer either man, but in awe at the contest unfolding in front of them. Blackwell struggles to his feet, stepping up onto the apron as Manson climbs to his feet, shrugging the referee away s he asks of his condition. Blackwell looks dazed as he places his hands on the top rope. Manson turns around and runs towards the Irishman, lowering his head and spearing Blackwell off of the apron! Blackwell rolls across the floor, shakily getting back to his feet as he lets out one all-mighty groan. Manson tries to build up some sort of momentum, trying for a risky move, placing his hands on the top rope, ready to vault over the top and land on Blackwell with a cross body splash! But his plan is thwarted by his inability to leap over the ropes, his arm forbidding him for the moment. Instead, Manson improvises, motioning Blackwell to comes towards him, which Blackwell does, not knowing which state he’s in let alone that he competing in a match. Manson holds onto the top rope as he slides under the bottom rope, kicking Blackwell in the chest!

 

“Both men show great ring presence, Manson not getting frustrated at his lack of movement, instead working on new offence to bring Blackwell down,” Axis comments, impressed by what he sees.

 

“It’s hard to make jokes at a time like this, in a match like this Axis,” King replies. “All you can do is wonder what will happen next, on the edge of your seat the whole time.”

 

Blackwell stumbles backward, but keeps his footing as Manson slides under the bottom rope, the referee instituting a count as the two men battle with each other outside the squared circle.

 

“One!” The fans yell with the referee, Manson striking Blackwell with right hands, throwing his head against the guard rail as many excited fans jump up and scream at the chance of being on camera.

 

“Two!” Manson pays no attention to the fans or the camera, grabbing Blackwell by the hand, trying to whip him across the floor, but Blackwell digs his heels into the concrete on the outside, and Manson lets go of the Irishman, his bad arm being jerked violently.

 

“Three!” The referee cries, as Blackwell sees his time, whipping Manson across the floor, his head smashes against the ring post! The fans cry “Ooh!” as Manson falls onto the concrete, lying against the guardrail.

 

“Four!” Blackwell lifts Manson into the air, dropping him arm first on the guardrail. Manson tries to stumble away but Blackwell soon catches him.

 

“Five!” Blackwell kicks the top of the steel steps away, placing Manson’s arm on the unforgiving steel., grabbing the other set of steps, the crowd starts to react as Blackwell lifts the steps above his head…

 

“Six!” … Blackwell drops the steps down, but Manson pulls his arm away just in time! Blackwell cries out as he drops the steps.

 

“Seven!” It would be a god damn shame if both men were counted out now,” Axis says. “they have to bring it back into the ring so they can finish this properly.” Manson capitalises on this momentary lapse by Blackwell, hitting him with a superkick, knocking him back into the guardrail!

 

“Eight!” Manson charges on, leading with his good shoulder, spearing Blackwell into the guard rail!

 

“Nine!” Manson grabs Blackwell and slides him back into the ring, getting back onto the apron and slowly ascending towards the top rope…

 

King shouts, “This may be a mistake from Manson, so many things could happen if this doesn’t work…”

 

Manson stands tall on the top rope, and the fans stand tall as well, waiting to see what unfolds. Blackwell squirms on the mat, opening his eye for just a second, seeing Manson perched on top rope, and then closing it again. Manson closes his eyes and takes in a breath before flipping forward with a Shooting Star Press! Blackwell knows this is coming, and rolls away and onto his feet, but Manson sees this, and changes his position in mid-air, landing on his feet!

 

“Holy shit!” King shouts. “ I can’t believe that he managed to land on his feet! These two are bringing everything to the table, and I am loving every second of it!”

 

“Amazing stuff from Manson, but he landed awkwardly, and a momentary distraction is all either man needs to turn the course of the match.”

 

Manson tries to kick Blackwell in the stomach to gain some advantage, but Blackwell is up to the task, grabbing Manson’s foot! The Irishman spins Manson around, putting his full force behind a clothesline, but Manson manages to duck! Manson quickly pivots around, grabbing Blackwell by one arm, pulling it back. Unfortunately for Manson, it happens to be his injured arm, and he’s slow in pulling back on Blackwell’s arm, while the other desperately tries to grab Blackwell in an inverted face lock!

 

“He’s trying for the Crimson Stretch again!” Axis shout. ‘If he can lock it on, then it’s all over by the shouting. His submission targets the mid-section specifically, and Blackwell, no matter how tough a bastard he is, could never endure that much pain!”

 

“Manson is slow in locking the move in, his arm having trouble reaching back. He’s lost so much movement in it during the course of the match…” King explains, on the edge of his seat like he said.

 

The atmosphere in the arena is electric as Manson still tries to lock in the Crimson Stretch, but Blackwell reverses it, ducking under Manson’s arm, still holding onto it as he hooks Manson’s other arm, putting on a Chickenwing hold! Blackwell holds Manson’s arms tightly, allowing him to easily push Manson into the mat, griding his face into the canvas! Blackwell is trying to flip over to complete the Cattle Mutilation submission, but he has to cry out as agony grips his body, his ribs aching too much.

 

“This see-sawing affair has to end some time, but neither man is having any luck locking in their finisher!” Axis cries.

 

“But if Blackwell can lock in the Narcosynthesis, it has to be over! If Blackwell really wants to be the best, he has to prove it here and endure the pain!”

 

The crowd’s noise, the referee close by. Blackwell cringes, his eyes closing shut slowly as he tries to flip over. He knows if he can’t, he won’ be able to do it again. He flips over…

 

… And lands in a bridge position! Both men cry out in stereo, Blackwell still holding onto Manson in the Chickenwing, but his mid section is feeling the move as well. Manson’s mouth is permanently open in agony, until he shouts, “I give up!”

 

“Ding, ding, ding!”

 

Blackwell lets go immediately, rolling up into a ball as blood drips slowly from his mouth, Manson holding his arm, somehow glad the match is over, but cursing himself inside for being on the losing end…

 

Funyon finally announces to the crowd, yelling, “The winner of this match via submission… CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL!”

 

“THAT’S IT!” Axis yells, out of his seat along with King. “Blackwell had to push himself to the limits to lock on his finishing manoeuvre, but once he did, it was all but over, Blackwell looking like he could have given up himself as he tried desperately to hold onto that bridge!”

 

“Oh man…” King says, wiping the sweat from his forehead, listening to greteful applause from the audience. “-Both- men were pushed to their limits in this unforgiving contest, and Manson was oh so close to pulling off an amazing victory, but Blackwell has proven himself once again, taking another man down with the Cattle Mutilation, a move to be feared!”

 

“Plenty of people watching this match would agree King, but this contest was on the wire up to the very last second, and Manson showed he is back for good with a fantastic performance. I know it’s been said so many times before, but both men are winners here tonight.”

 

The referee reaches down and raises Blackwell’s arm, but the Irishman is too distracted to notice, groaning loudly as he manages to roll out of the ring, edging up the rampway like an old man, battered and bruised. Manson stares at Blackwell, breathing heavily, infuriated by the loss…

 

“One could have been mistaken in thinking this were a submissions match, but coming up, we have a true submissions match, between the newest Magnificent Seven member Sean Atlas, taking on the king of the world and a man in great form, Spike Jenkins for the European title! So don’t go away, Crimson will be right back!”

 

The show goes to the break as Blackwell coughs up another vital organ as he stumbles behind the curtain, Manson getting to his feet, receiving applause from the crowd.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Cut to a corridor backstage. Dace Night is leaning back against one of the long corridor's walls, adjusting his wrist tape. From down the hallways the massive frame of Va'aiga strolls casually into shot. Va'aiga approaches Dace.

 

Va'aiga: Dace, man...

 

Dace looks up.

 

Va'aiga: It's the match they want tonight. And you know if you kick my ass and Crow slow counts you, that ain't the way it's meant to be.

 

Dace nods in agreement.

 

Va'aiga: And if I kick your ass and Crow fast counts, that ain't the way I wanna do things.

 

Dace: So?

 

Va'aiga: Just wanna say, if shit drops with the bird, I ain't gonna footrace you for spiking the guy, and if shit drops in the match generally, and you get screwed over by birdman, I want you to have first shots, man.

 

Dace: Yeah?

 

Va'aiga: Your call on the stips, man.

 

Va'aiga smiles, as Dace's expressionless face nearly cracks a smile of his own. Va'aiga raises his arms, and the pair touch fists.

 

Va'aiga: Let's do this.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

As we return from the commercial break, we are presented with a view of the outside of the Rose Garden. In the few moments before the match begins, our esteemed commentators have a few words to say.

 

[Axis] Coming up next is a rematch between Hollywood Spike Jenkins and European Champion, Sean Atlas. Spike is the only man that holds a win over Atlas in his SJL tenure, King. Any thoughts on this bout?

 

[suicide King] It’ll be a great one, I’ll tell you that much. It’s a submission match, and both of these guys have finishing submission maneuvers. In a way, it’s the Silver Lining versus the Katahajime tonight, for the SJL European Championship.

 

[Axis] And don’t forget, Atlas is now a Magnificent Seven member. And though I doubt Janus will be helping him out tonight, on his, Janus’ last night in the Junior League. But, Sean did mention earlier that the Magnificent Seven will in fact grow.

 

[suicide King] That he did. And he told us to watch carefully and expect something at any time. That is, until that stray arrow came flying in his direction. Wonder who that was.

 

[Axis] Obviously, King, that was Tr....

 

“FUCK THAT!”

 

Spike’s music, “Victim” by Nonpoint blares over the speaker system as lights of many colors begin to flash over the arena, illuminating the crowd. Spike Jenkins, wearing his new leather jacket, steps out onto the stage. Ignoring the booing fans, Spike walks down the ramp towards the ring, while Funyon introduces him to the viewers.

 

“The following match is a Submission match, and is for the SJL EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, the challenger, from Hollywood California, weighing in at 220 pounds... “HOLLYWOOD” SPIKE JENKINS!”

 

Spike makes it to ringside and heads towards the steel steps. He goes up them and comes into the ring, looking like he has a purpose. Walking to the corner, he takes off his leather jacket on the way and tosses it in the direction of the announcers. Hollywood leans his back on the pads, waiting for his opponent.

 

[Axis] Seems like Spike has changed dramatically since his last bout with Sean Atlas.

 

[suicide King] Well, he’s had his ups and down. He won yet another gauntlet match since, beating Va’aiga, Matt Myers and Mike Van Siclen. But on the very next show, he lost a number one contendership match to Vai’aiga.

 

[Axis] Which is why he’s here, fighting for the European instead...

 

Jenkins’ music fades out and everyone in the arena glances towards the entranceway. Appropriately enough, “Polyamorous” by Breaking Benjamin hits the speakers. Five seconds in, once the heavy drums sound, an explosion of white pyrotechnics goes off onstage. As the smoke clears, we see the image of Sean Atlas, standing proudly with the European Championship around his waist. He makes his way down the ramp, glancing around at the mixed crowd reaction while Jenkins watched the masked man stride down...

 

“And his opponent, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 230 pounds, he is the SJL EUROPEAN CHAMPION... SEAN ATLAS!”

 

Sean gets to the ring, and in what has become a pre-match custom for him, walks around the ring near the timekeeper’s table. When there, he removes the championship belt from his waist and hands it to the referee inside the ring. The ref, Eddy Long, raises the title above his head, signifying what’s on the line tonight. Meanwhile, Atlas steps up the steel stairs and quickly get in the ring.

 

[Axis] Sean Atlas won that belt exactly four weeks ago, defeating Chris Card in a ladder match. Two defenses later, he is forced to face Spike Jenkins, the only man to pin him since then. Can he retain, or will Hollywood, after losing so many title shots, capture his first Junior League gold here tonight?

 

[suicide King] We’re about to find out!

 

*Ding, Ding*

 

Immediately after the bell, Atlas darts towards the corner in which Spike Jenkins stands. To counter, Spike runs at him as well, but doesn’t react fast enough and is quickly taken down with a clothesline. He bounces right back up however, and turns around, heading for Sean... but Atlas gets to him first, throwing his body over with an arm drag. Spike hits the ring a second time, and once again, comes off the mat back to his feet. As he turns around though, Sean is right there, pushing him back against the ropes...

 

He whips Spike off of them and sends him running to the opposite side. Jenkins bounces and heads right back for Atlas, who stands waiting for him. Just as Spike gets near, he extends his arm, charging at Sean with a lariat... but none of that matters to Atlas, who by this time is already in the air, extending both legs out, kicking Jenkins directly in the chest. To some mild cheers from the crowd, Jenkins does down in a heap, landing flat on his back.

 

[Axis] And Spike goes down to the sweet, sweet looking Dropkick from Sean Atlas.

 

Quickly returning to his feet, Atlas walks over to Jenkins and brings him up by his dirty blonde hair. Taking a step back and bending his hand away, Sean snaps it back and strikes Spike’s chest with the back of his wrist. *smack* The chops sends him back a step or two. *smack* But right away, Jenkins catches Sean’s arm in mid-motion, stopping the third chop. Immediately, he draws Atlas closer and whips him off into the far ropes...

 

Sean bounces, while Jenkins stands in place, waiting for him. Atlas comes back charging, about to try a Spear when Spike jumps in the air, leaping over the dashing European Champion. As Atlas runs off to the other ropes, Spike darts at those opposite him, trying to synchronize their timing. Before hitting the ropes though, Spike leaves his feet and jumps, landing on the middle rope.

 

Meanwhile, Atlas is running back, watching Jenkins as he soars off the rope, springing himself into the air... Atlas tries to slow down to avoid him, but can’t do it soon enough and Hollywood lands an Asai Moonsault on the running champion! The crowd jeers the move, despite all its flair. From the convenient position, Spike reaches for the leg, trying to cover, but quickly remembers that it’s a submission match and backs off.

 

[Axis] Good thing he realized he can’t win that that way. That would have made him look like an even bigger idiot.

 

[King] Jenkins isn’t an idiot, Axis. He’s got a side to him that’s not all there, but the boy has skill. He did beat Atlas before, after all.

 

Spike comes to his feet and brings Atlas up as well. He hits a couple of forearms to Sean’s head, making him back up near the ropes, and then uses his fingers to rake Sean’s eyes, in plain view of the referee. He then follows up with a kick to the gut before scooping him up off his feet; turning him and slamming the champion back down onto his knee with a Backbreaker. Noticing where Atlas lays, Spike stands and dashes towards the ropes opposite Sean...

 

[King] He’s going for the rolling Thunder!

 

To the jeers of the fans, Spike comes off the ropes and dives down, somersaulting on his way back.

 

[Axis] Hollywood rolls through, comes back up to his feet and...

 

Jenkins lands with his back across Sean’s chest, compressing his ribs.

 

[King] It seems to me that Spike is either working the back or the rib, or perhaps both, in an effort to set up The Silver Lining.

 

[Axis] Looks like it, King. And as usual, the fans have no love for him, and do in fact, seem to be behind Atlas in this match.

 

[King] That’s only because he’s not as much of a badass as Jenkins.

 

[Axis] Well, that and he actually wins his matches.

 

Spike rolls back off of Atlas, coming up to his feet. He takes Sean by the hand and drags him up as well. Still holding his hand, he walks Atlas into the corner nearby, slamming him hard against the pads. With Atlas leaning on the turnbuckle, reaching deep for breath, Jenkins grabs the middle rope, lowers his shoulder and drives it into Atlas’ midsection, forcing even more air out of him. Pulling back, he does it several more times, all the while being booed by his non-fans in Portland.

 

Two more and Jenkins finally stops, coming face to face with Sean. Taking him by the back of the head, Jenkins walks Atlas out near the center of the ring. Standing behind him and slightly to the side, Jenkins reaches around Atlas with one leg, hooking one of his and placing his own between Sean’s. He then reaches under Sean’s arm on the same side as the leg and forces it up, stretching the champion’s side...

 

[Axis] Spike Jenkins using an... Abdominal stretch? Unusual, don’t you think?

 

[King] Normally, it is. But this is a submission match and Spike seems to be hard at work at wearing down Atlas abdominal are and ribcage.

 

Behind his mask, Atlas grimaces, fighting back the hold... He can feel his whole left side being stretch to its limits, lateral back muscles extended beyond their natural limits... And to top it off, Jenkins uses his other arm to club Atlas in his exposed ribs! Not expecting to be controlled so much at the onset of the match, Atlas must now rethink his original game plan... But Jenkins’ constant attacks on his ribcage have thrown those efforts off, and continue to inflict more pain on Sean’s body... Meanwhile, referee Eddy Long is now asking him if he wants to give up...

 

Atlas denies him, and begins to struggle against Spike some more... No longer being able to take it, Atlas uses his free arm to fight back, desperately trying to reach Jenkins’ head behind him... He can’t get quite so far back however, and soon gives that up. Then, realizing Spike’s leg is in such a position between his own two legs that with one slick move, he can get out of this... Thus, Atlas transfers all his weight to his right side and lifts his left leg, which happens to be between Spike’s at the moment, and from behind, swiftly attacks the Jenkins jewels!

 

[Axis] Hey! What’s up with that, why the lack of a disqualification?

 

[King] Eddy Long was too busy asking Atlas about quitting to keep an eye on Spike’s crotch. Not that anyone but Ben Hardy is interested in it anyway.

 

While Atlas falls down to the mat, Jenkins walks around the ring doubled over, tending to his wounded loins. Atlas uses the recovery time to get himself together and stands up, walking towards the hobbling Jenkins. He sets up behind him, reaching around to try a German Suplex, but soon realizes that his ribs and back won’t pull it off. So instead, he steps to the side, hooks a leg, reaches across Spike’s back and with one swift move, slams Jenkins down with a side Russian Leg Sweep.

 

Both men come back up at roughly the same time. They come at one another, but Atlas, building up momentum, gets the first hit and kicks Spike in the knee. As Jenkins leans forward, Sean grabs his arm, keeping him up on his feet. Twisting it around, Atlas wrenches the arm back, nearly twisting it behind Spike’s back. With Jenkins forced to lean over, Atlas extends the arm out and turns around... then drops to his back, hitting the Single Arm DDT on Hollywood!

 

[Axis] I have to wonder why Atlas would go after Spike’s arm here. None of the submission moves in his arsenal involve it.

 

[King] Oh really... The Katahajime doesn’t involve an arm?

 

[Axis] It focuses on the neck, King.

 

Still holding Spike’s hand, Atlas comes to his feet. He drags Jenkins up as well and gets him to a standing position. Stepping back, Atlas tugs on his arm and pulls it back, whipping spike in the direction of the ropes... but doesn’t let the hand go. As Jenkins is snapped back to Atlas, whose grip remains on the hand, Sean slides down and smoothly goes through Spike’s legs. Now holding him in a pumphandle, Atlas uses his free hand to hook Spike’s other arm... And with a pop of his hips, Atlas lifts all 220 pounds of Jenkins over his head...

 

[Axis] And slams him down on his neck!

 

[King] There’s your neck focus, Axis.

 

The fans cheer for the de facto fan favorite, Sean Atlas, as Spike grabs his neck with his one free hand. The other, is still in Atlas grip, held tightly this entire time. Sean stands up and uses that arm to roll Spike over onto his belly. Then, coming down to him and bending his arm at the elbow, Atlas sits down on Spike’s back, locking in the hammerlock!

 

[Axis] Now Atlas puts on a hammerlock?!

 

[King] Apparently... remember, he beat Thor with this move.

 

Mounting Hollywood from behind, Atlas jerks back on the arm, bending it further back... referee Eddy Long dives down to check on Spike who grits his teeth it torture... Atlas continues pushing the arm further up, stretching the deltoids in Spike’s shoulder... He can feel Spike’s heavy breathing beneath him, trying to get enough oxygen to power out of the hold... He soon notices that the bottom rope is not very far away, and with enough pushing, he could reach it with his free arm...

 

He forces the referee to get out of the way, while Sean pushes forward on the arm... The force up backfires though, allowing Spike’s crawl to the ropes to be easier than it otherwise would have been... Just before Jenkins makes it there though, Atlas sits up and pulls the arm back, forcing Spike out of the submission hold and onto his feet.

 

[Axis] Damn... how long has Atlas had that grip on Spike’s arm.

 

[King] too long. Nobody should be touching Jenkins for that long.

 

While Spike still tries to find his balance, Atlas makes it all that much harder for him by turning him around. He wraps Spike’s arm around his neck, so that Jenkins’ chin rests on the inside of his elbow. Turning around, Atlas drops down, pulling Spike by his arm and slamming him into the canvas! The fans cheer the move, showing reluctant support for Atlas while relishing in the punishment he dishes out to Jenkins.

 

[Axis] Immaculate Neckbreaker!

 

[King] I’m telling you, Axis. He’s setting everything up perfectly for the Katahajime.

 

Coming back up, Atlas stands over the fallen Spike Jenkins, wondering whether or not to go through with using the Katahajime just yet. Seemingly, he decides against it and takes Spike by his hair to bring him to a stand. Suddenly, Spike fights back with a punch to the face. Then another, both with the hand that Atlas didn’t abuse moments earlier. He then takes a step back and thrusts his leg out, trying to kick Sean... but Atlas catches it!

 

Wasting no time, Sean takes the leg and draws Jenkins closer, setting him up for a Leg Capture Suplex. He tries to wrap his hand around Spike’s neck to set the move up, but Spike pulls away, refusing to be caught with it again as he knows the combination it can lead to. Still hobbling on one leg, Spike leaps off with his other foot, and tries an Enziguri...

 

[Axis] Atlas ducks, and Spike flies through nothing but air!

 

[King] Amazingly though, he landed on his foot and not his face. Good job.

 

Because Sean allowed the leg he held to turn with Jenkins, Spike stands upright in the same position he was in earlier. But before he can gather himself, Atlas drops down and hits a Dragon Screw Leg Whip on Hollywood! Quickly standing back up, Atlas grabs hold of both feet, as Jenkins lies on his back. Atlas moves his leg through between Spikes’s and crosses his legs over it. Then, with a tight grip on both feet, Sean turns... and fully locks on the SHARPSHOOTER!

 

[Axis] Sean Atlas! Using the Sharpshooter on Spike Jenkins!

 

[King] Quite an appropriate move in this submission match, Axis.

 

Spike’s back is bent back, and his legs pulled on and crossed as Atlas puts pressure on the hold... The fans pop big for the move, excited about the prospect of Jenkins losing than Atlas wining... Eddy Long comes over to check on Spike, waiting for him to tap or quit... but he does neither, and in fact, fights back... He elevates his upper body off the ground, trying to leverage Atlas down... His legs are strong, and if he can use enough force, he might get out of it...

 

[Axis] Odd that Sean would work the arm for so long, only to use a move that puts pressure on the legs and back.

 

[King] I’m sure he knows what he’s...

 

Spike snaps out, as Atlas falls forward, face first.

 

[King] Or maybe not.

 

Using the convenient position, Jenkins immediately grabs Sean’s legs. He takes each leg in one arm, with his back facing Sean’s back. Then, locking the, in under his arms, Jenkins plants both feet firmly around Atlas’ body, fully locking in THE SMOKE OUT!

 

Sean reaches for the ropes... hoping to get them before too much time passes, he tries to claw his way to them... but it’s no use, as Spike firmly has the hold locked in... Eddy Long comes around to Sean’s side to check on him... Meanwhile, the fans boo the reversal by Jenkins, clearly showing their hate for him here...

 

Spike keeps solid pressure on Sean, His arm is weakened though, and the corresponding leg that’s being held by it is slowly slipping out... Aware of it, Atlas uses it to his advantage and tries to pull it out of Spike’s grip...

 

[King] Working the arm definitely helped Atlas out here.

 

He gets it out! Now locked only in a Half Boston Crab, Atlas tries to find an opportunity to get away... He pulls back on the free leg, and with one swift thrust... JAMS it into the back of Spike’s head! Screaming almost instantly, Jenkins frees Sean’s other leg from pressure and falls forward, grabbing his head.

 

[Axis] Ouch... That could cause some serious damage.

 

[King] To who, Spike? Nothing to damage there, buddy.

 

Atlas stands up, walks over to Jenkins with a bit of a limp. He lifts him up by the aching head and gets him to stand. Grabbing his hand, Atlas pulls Spike forward, sending him into the nearby ropes. He bounces off, but before he can orient himself, Atlas throws his leg up the air and under Spike’s chin, executing a Superkick perfectly! The crowd cheers as Jenkins drops down, his head now hurting on all sides.

 

Sean doesn’t allow him any time to rest though, and immediately brings him back up. Taking him by the hand, Atlas whips him into the corner. Spike hits the turnbuckle pads chest first, lacking the presence of mine to even turn around beforehand. Slowly, Atlas walks up to him, clubbing his back as soon as he gets near enough.

 

Then, taking Spike by the hips, Atlas lifts him off his feet and high enough to sit him down on the top turnbuckle. His ugly mug looking into the crowd, the fans in that particular section boo him, with some trying to throw soda and popcorn at him. Meanwhile, Sean climbs the ropes, stepping onto the bottom one with each foot, then the middle one. He takes Spike’s hands and begins to maneuver them, seemingly to set him up for a top rope Suplex...

 

[Axis] King, it looks like Atlas is about to try a German Suplex on Hollywood...!

 

[King] Why a German? Why not an Exploider 98? Or a Top Rope Reverse DDT?

 

[Axis] It could be any one of those, King.

 

Standing on the middle rope, Atlas turns both of Spike’s hands to maneuver them into chicken wings. Then, he locks them together behind his back, and leans in, preparing to throw Spike Jenkins off...

 

[King] No way.. He can’t...

 

Atlas lifts Spike up...

 

[Axis] Death...

 

He carries him over his head...

 

[Axis] Lake...

 

And SLAMS him down onto the mat with the force of a thousand men, driving his head and next into the canvas!!!

 

[Axis] DRIVER!!

 

[King] Sean Atlas has made an SWF veteran very proud...

 

The landing caused Jenkins to flip over onto his chest after hitting the mat. With minimal recovery time, Atlas floats over onto Spike’s back. Immobile, Jenkins doesn’t resist when Atlas slides his hand around Spike’s arm, hooking it from underneath. He then uses his other arm to hook Spike’s neck, wrapping it tightly to lock on the KATAHAJIME CHOKE!

 

[King] I told you, dammit, I told you he’s been setting up for this all along.

 

[Axis] I never said you were wrong...

 

Suddenly, with the oxygen being cut from his head, Jenkins starts moving, resisting the submission hold... Eddy Long immediately drops down to him, inquiring as to whether or not he wants to quit... Spike doesn’t give a definitive reply and continues to struggle through it, flailing his arms in the air like a madman...

 

Atlas tugs on the neck, tightening his grasp around it... He pulls back on the arm, the same arm he’s worked on all match long, extending the muscles further... Jenkins continues to struggle... Though the ropes are within sight, they are out of reach, and Sean’s pulling back on Spike’s upper body prevents him from moving forward...

 

The crowd doesn’t so much cheer Atlas on as they cheer for Spike to lose, to tap out to the hold... Jenkins screams now, his voice breaking up fro the pressure on the vocal chords... Long doesn’t let up with the questioning, as Spike brings his arm up, ready to either make a starch for the ropes or tap out...

 

And he desperately reaches out...

 

But doesn’t make it.

 

Not even close.

 

Tap.

 

Tap

 

Tap, tap.

 

Tap, tap, and tap.

 

*DING, DING, DING*

 

Eddy Long calls or the bell, as the fans cheer for the match’s ending, relieved that it’s over.

 

“The winner of this bout... and STILL the SJL European Champion... SEAN ATLAS!”

 

Victorious, Sean throws Spike’s head down, putting an exclamation mark on the win. He stands up, showing that this match did not take very much out of him. Eddy Long hands him his title, as Atlas raises it above his head, successfully defending it for a third time. The crowd reaction is mixed, as some continue to cheer while others boo.

 

 

 

[Axis] Sean Atlas gets his win back over Hollywood Spike Jenkins, solidifying his run as the European Champ. King, it won’t be long before we see this kid rise to the top of the league.

 

[King] Right. But you have to wonder about him. Who’s behind that mask? What did he mean when he promised that the Magnificent Seven will grow once more? What the hell was with that arrow that nearly hit him earlier? A man of mystery, Sean Atlas is.

 

Sean has made it out of the ring by now, and is slowly walking up the ramp while Eddy Long checks on Jenkins. On his way up, Sean takes the belt wraps it around his waist, securing the gold behind him. He walks on, satisfied in his win over Spike. But what will come of him next week, or after that?

 

[Axis] A wonderful match we had King, but now it’s time to move on to the Main Event.

 

[King] Right, and what a Main Event this will be! After winning the title just four days ago, World Champion Mike Van Siclen defends against Janus, Va’aiga and Dace Night in a Four Way match with Crow as the special guest referee.

 

[Axis] Not only that, but this will be the last match for Janus and Van Siclen in the Junior League, as they have been called up by the Federation! Don’t miss their last outing here in the Smartmarks Junior League!

Edited March 14, 2003 by realitycheck

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Backstage again and the Australian Giant Janus is leaning backwards against a production truck's crate. From the left side of the shot the Maori Badass Va'aiga approaches. Janus stands to meet his opponent for tonight. The crowd cheers and oohs as the pair meet eye to eye for the first time since Va'aiga's debut.

 

Axis: This is the confrontation that fans of the SJL have been looking forward to since Va'aiga stepped foot in this federation. And maybe, just maybe in the main even tonight these pair of fantastic athletes will face off inside the bounds of the wretling ring.

 

Va'aiga: Tonight, man.

 

Janus nods in acknowledgement.

 

Janus: Tonight.

 

Axis: What will happen when this pair of Pacific giants clash in the ring?

 

Suicide King: I dunno King, but it's going to be brutal.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Standing in the middle of the ring, straightening his bow tie, Funyon stands ready to break some copywrite laws, as Crimson comes back on air, from The Rose Garden.

 

"Ladies and Gentle, it is now time for tonight's Main Event!" Funyon booms.

 

"It will be a Four Corners, Special Referee Match, with One Fall!"

 

The fans cheer, whistle and yell, getting hyped for the match.

 

"And it will be for the SJL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WWWOOORRRRLLLLDDDD!"

 

The crowd comes to it's feet, filling the arena with atmosphere, like there wasn't enough of it already.

 

"So, LLEEETTTTT'SSSS GET TO RRRUUUMMMBBBBLLLEEEE!"

 

YYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Damage Done rips into life, as the arena turns up the volume on the boos.

 

"For the last time in the SJL. He is six foot four, two hundred and thirty seven pounds. He is 'Spectacular', he is the SJL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD .. MIKE VAN SICLEN!"

 

With the title belt in one hand, Mike stands in the entranceway , posing to the booing fans, getting all the reaction he can out of them.

Strutting down to the ring, he throws off his jacket and climbs between the ropes. Walking to the corner, he climbs to the top rope, standing tall, with the title raised high above his head, for easy booing.

 

He walks off and climbs to the top of the other three corners, before slowly handing the belt over to the Time Keeper, with some strong words about looking after it.

 

The arena drops into darkness, as Resurrection starts to rip out from the speakers.

 

"Also for the last time in the SJL. He his seven feet 2, three hundred and fifty pounds. He is M7. A true giant, this is JANUS!"

 

Stalking down to the ring in long stride, scowling at everyone he passes, Janus easily steps onto the apron, and then up over the top rope into the ring. Climbing the turnbuckle across from MVS, the glares out into the crowd, and down at the World Title belt at ring side.

 

Stepping back down into the middle of the ring, he thrusts his arms high out into the air, and sweeps them down, as blue fire lights up from the turnbuckles, before the arenas lights come back up as well.

 

Strike It beats into life over the PA, as the crowd takes it first chance to burst into cheering.

 

"Please welcome from New Zealand. He is six foot eight, two hundred and eighty five pounds. This is the 'Maori Badass'. He is VA'AIGA!"

 

Sprinting down the ramp, the large Maori tags the hands of his fans at ring side, before sliding under the bottom rope, and into the ring.

He stands tall, throwing a Maori hand signal to the crowd, as a line of pyro lights up the arena behind him.

 

Even with MVS and Janus in the ring as well, Va'aiga stands tall and unafraid, ready for the fight. Eyeing up the two opponents already in the ring.

 

Wind of Creation explodes into life, roaring out over the crowd.

 

"And the final challenger, from Birmingham, England. He is six feet four, two hundred and fifty four pounds. This is 'Horrorcore'. He is DACE NIGHT!"

 

As the red and purple lights strobe across the ramp and arena, Dace steps up from behind the curtain, to a another burst of cheers from the crowd.

Walking down the ramp, he high fives people on his way past, but staring at the ring, and the title belt on the other side of it.

 

Hopping onto the arena, and climbing between the ropes, he spreads his arms, before throwing his trench coat back, other the ropes into the front row.

 

As the four men stand in a corner each, they wait for the last complication to the match they have to think about.

 

Natural Born Chaos starts up, once more filling the arena with boos, as Funyon makes his last call.

 

"Introducing the Special Guest Referee for this Title Match. He is six foot three, two hundred thirty one pounds. The 'Antichrist Superstar' this is ... CROW!"

 

Under the booing and jeers from the fans in the arena, Crow slowly steps down the ramp to the ring. Tossing away the cigarette, he throws his arms into a crucifix, before stepping into the ring with the other four men.

 

Sporting a nose protector across his broken nose from Dace Night, and a referee's shirt, Crow has the looks of revenge, chaos, malice and destruction in his eyes.

 

START THE MATCH! START THE MATCH! START THE MATCH!

 

"Two men we'll see for the last time. Two firm big stars, still of the SJL, one hot up and commer, and just one title belt. King, this one will just be off the charts." Axis calls above the crowd.

"It won't be if you don't shut up, so we can have this match." King yells.

"This is the first time I've spoken since the break King." Axis fires back.

"Facts, facts. Always you and your facts Axis. They mean nothing. Nothing at all." Shouts King,

Axis stares at King blankly, thinking he must be betting on the matches again.

 

The crow his filled with signs about, for, and against everyone in the ring. As all five men look around the crowd, hearing the noise, the calling, the sheer intensity of it all.

 

Signs like 'The Bird Got Nutted!" "Janus can't Jump" "MVS =Miss Version Sissy" "Maori Pride" and "Horrorcore Time" can be seen dotted around the arena from top to bottom, as the fans start chatting louder and louder for the match.

 

 

"There is one fact that is true Axis, and that does mean something to this match though." Boosts King.

"And what would that fact be then?" Questions Axis.

"That these guys HATE each other. Janus hates MVS and Crow. Mike hates Janus. Dace hates Janus, Mike and Crow. Crow hates Janus and Dace. Va'aiga is the only guy that seems clean, but I'm sure there's fuel for his fire in there somewhere. And personally, I LOVE it this way." Grins King.

"You would do. It's sure to be 'intense' with all this emotion flying around, on top of the title being up for grabs. It'll be one to keep in the video collection."

"Axis, please stop killing the damn atmosphere that some of us work so hard to build up around here ok?" King shouts.

 

WE WANT WRESTLING! WE WANT WRESTLING! WE WANT WRESTLING!

Comes the inpatient chanting from all over the arena.

 

DING, DING, DING!

 

The bell sounds are drowned out as the crowd bursts into new life, as the men break into action.

 

Van Siclen and Janus charge across the ring, with Van Siclen just infront, just trying to close the distance between everyone else around.

 

Dace flies forwards with a charge of his down, and letting his favourite move fly first. Snapping his boot into Mike's jaw, the World Champ goes flying back, into the waiting arms of the big man, Janus, behind him.

 

"Yakuza Kick!"

 

Stumbled by the combined speeds, Janus uses all of it to just toss Mike like a back of sugar, all the back over head, high in the air. Like a rag doll, MVS sails through the air, over the top rope, and crunches down on the floor outside.

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

"German Suplex over the top rope to the outside! Janus uses all the momentum of the champ flying back into him to send Mike all the way over and to the outside. What impact!" Axis calls out.

 

Janus bounces back off the ropes, lashing out, but Dace ducks and rolls away, letting Va'aiga charge into action from behind him, leaving Janus with a huge lariat.

 

"Lariat, and Janus is down. What a huge show of strength there from Va'aiga!"

 

Being the referee, and seeing now reason at all why he shouldn't, Crow starts to stomp away, right into Janus' face, leaving the crowd to react with a mixture of boos and cheers.

 

"Crow fully enjoying the rights of being the referee, and doing damn well what he wants to do. Taking some time to take the point to Janus, about why he hates him so." King calls happily.

 

Together, Dace and Va'aiga pick Janus up, and drill home a pair of right hands, and then a big pair of knees to the gut, stunning the giant.

 

Locking on a Double Front Facelock, as if for a Double Suplex, between them they easily manage to get the bigger man in the air, even with the size difference, but then they twist him in mid air, letting him drop across their shoulders.

 

With Janus set, Va'aiga and Dace rise their hands together, to a cheer from the fans, as the sprint across the ring, diving forwards with a Double Running Powerbomb than causes the ring to shake from all the force of the impact the three men create.

 

"Running Powerslam from both men. Janus is a big man, but between two very strong guys, he not so big."

 

Dace slides under the ropes after Powerslaming Janus, and grabs the crumpled form of Mike Van Siclen. Pulling the still unmoving World Champ into a Standing Headscissors, Dace locks obth arms around MVS's waist, before pulling him up, and with a yell, drops back, Piledriving the champ onto the floor.

 

"Piledriver on the floor!"

"You're meant to do it onto the concert to fool Dace." King yells, not showing an ounce of respect.

 

At the same time, Crow notices the big Maori Va'aiga, and takes action with some more of his Official powers. Turning away from Janus, he slugs a right hand into the Maori's head.

Barely moving, the big man just swings his arm round like a club towards Crow's head.

 

Thinking fast, and planning on keeping his nose intact, Crow drops under the blow, and slugs his arm upwards into a Low Blow, straight into the balls of the Maori Badass.

 

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOO!

 

Taking hold of a leg as he stands back up, Crow flings himself over to the mat with a Dragon Screw Leg Whip, wrenching Va'aiga's knee along with it. Slamming onto the mat, Crow keeps hold of the leg, twisting it around his own. Leaning back to the mat, he crosses his other leg over, into a Figure Four Leg Lock.

 

Eyes opening back up in pain, the big Maori starts pushing himself up, fighting to get close to Crow to break free of the hold.

Crow leans back, adding more press to the hold, but as he does so, he sees the towering, and pissed off figure of Janus standing over him like a mountain.

 

Extending his hand down, Janus clenches it tightly around Crow's neck, and drags him up off the mat. Also breaking the Figure Four on Va'aiga, who thinks better of cutting up the man that just got an attack off him.

 

Crow struggles, scratching at Janus' huge hand, but the mountain of a man plants a massive boot into the Bird's gut. The with seemingly no effort at all, he lifts Crow up into air, and sends him straight back down to the mat, with a huge Chokeslam.

 

"Crow had the Figure Four on Va'aiga, but Janus took revenge for the stomping, and drilled Crow with one huge Chokeslam." Calls Axis.

 

Back on the outside, Dace has just Piledriven Mike on the floor, and now proceeds to pull him back up. Slamming a knee into Mike's gut, Dace wraps his arms around the Champ's gut again, lifting him high up onto his shoulder. Dace balances before he throws Mike forwards, slamming him into the security barrier with a brutal Powerbomb.

 

RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

 

In the ring, Va'aiga thinks he's giving Janus enough time, and grabbing the bigger man from behind, swings him around, and with a grunt off effort, hauls him up into air with a Scoop Slam.

 

The crowd lets out awed cheers, as the Maori Body Slams the huge Janus down to the mat, and then rises his fist in the air.

 

Never being one to lay down to anyone for anything, Janus immediately gets back up to his, and slams a series of right hands into the Maori's head, before placing one hand around the throat, and one around the leg, and hoists Va'aiga high above his head.

 

"Look at that, Janus pressing over two hundred and eighty pounds with easy."

 

Then with a yell, Janus sends the Maori Badass back first down the ring with an impact that shakes the ring.

 

Still outside the ring, Dace picks Mike Van Siclen back up once again, and this time places him on the ring apron. Climbing up along side, Dace watches as Janus no sells a Body Slam from the big Maori. Turning back to Mike, he loops an arm around his head, and grabs his tights. Steadying himself on the apron, before pulling a still lifeless Mike up as well. Next he stands straight up, bring Mike up into the air, as for a suplex.

 

The a roar from the crowd, Dace steps back, of the ring apron, and drops back vertically to the ring side floor.

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

"SSSHHHEEEEEERRR DDDRRROOOOPPPP BBBRRAAAIIIINNNBBUUSSTTTEERRR! From the Apron to the Floor!"

"Oh My God Axis, Dace is trying to break Mike's neck there." King yells.

"You think I don't know." Axis yells back.

 

Crow's hand grabs the ropes, and he Antichrist Superstar gets back onto his feet, as he sees Janus slamming Va'aiga from high over head.

 

Diving low, Crow hooks at arm into the back of Janus' knee, and fells him to the mat.

Rolling over, Crow starts to unloading right hands into Janus' face, and choke him with his left hand, forgetting around being the referee, and just wanting to take out his anger against Janus.

 

The crowd is on their feet, chanting and calling for every single move made in the match.

 

Now Va'aiga is back on his feet, and not taking any time about it, hurtles forwards, driving his shoulder into Crow's back, and squashing him between the Maori's own body and the body of Janus.

 

With huge, clubbing, lefts and right, Va'aiga pounds away into both Crow and Janus at the same time, trying to beat both men senseless.

Standing up slightly, he reaches down with his arms, hooking them around and under Crow's shoulder, and throws his body backwards, taking the Bird over head, and spiking him onto his shoulders with a Tiger Suplex.

 

"Damn it!" King shouts. "We're never going to get anywhere is these keep beating up Crow. He's the god damn referee. If he's out cold, who's going to make the count when someone has the pinfall, or call for the bell on a submission?" Questions King.

"Don't say you think Crow would count a fall for any of these four guys. I think he's rather see them fight it out, then KO them all for a few chairs, before DQ them all for excessive violence." Axis retorts.

 

Turning Crow over on the mat, the Maori Badass lifts him back into, into his arms. Crow's body perpendicular to his own. With a little spring, the Maori jumps into the air, leaning forward, with a huge slam, crushing Crow to the mat beneath him.

 

"Maori Drop!"

 

STRIKE IT! STRIKE IT! The fans chant on for Va'aiga.

 

Janus is back to his feet, and standing right behind Va'aiga as he turns back from Maori Dropping Crow. Janus goes for a right hand, but Va'aiga is faster and drills home three big left crosses, into Janus' jaw, with a force that manages to rock even the massive for of Janus.

 

Kissing his right hand, Va'aiga makes the gesture, and throws the right as hard as he can, but Janus catches the big right in an even bigger hand of his own, then throws his leg forward, slamming an huge boot into the Maori's face with crushing force.

 

JANUS THE ANUS! JANUS THE ANUS! JANUS THE ANUS!

 

Not done there, Janus keeps his grasp on Va'aiga all, pulling him back up. Janus ducks, throwing his shoulders up into Va'aiga's chest, and lifts the Maori across his shoulders in a Fireman's Carry, toppling sideways, driving him down onto his shoulders with a Death Valley Driver.

 

"Janus just crushing Va'aiga's face with that huge boot, then using the Death Valley Drive to plant him to the mat." Axis yells.

 

With everyone else down, Janus turns back to Crow, dragging the battered Bird into a Headscissors, Janus raises both hands in the air, then cuts them across his throat, signalling for the Dark Bomb.

 

Locking his arms around Crow's waist, the wrenches him up into the air. Dace Night rolls back into ring, and crouches, waiting to charge. Janus pushes Crow up even harder, just as Dace breaks into a run, just in time for Janus to see the black combat boot of Dace be driven into his face.

 

"Yakuza Kick! Janus was going to Dark Bomb Crow, but Dace got back in the ring and broke it up."

"Why did he save Crow? What was the point in that one? Dace doesn't like Crow at all." King snorts.

 

Gutwrenching Crow up from the heap of Janus' body, Dace turns him upside down infront of himself, with Crow facing the same way. Stepping forwards, and gripping Crow's head between his legs, Dace drops forwards to his knees, with a Kneeling Piledriver.

 

DACE F'N NIGHT! DACE F'N NIGHT! DACE F'N NIGHT!

 

But instead of Crow's head hitting the mat, it hit's Janus' skull with a ringing crack.

 

"Two birds for the price of one with that move." Shouts Axis.

"That was a terrible pun Axis. And I'm sure to Dace, birds means women, anyway."

 

Next, Dace pulls Janus back up from the mat, driving a hard knee into his mid section to double him over. Underhooking the huge arms of Janus, Dace growls at the effort, pulling the three hundred and fifty pounds off the mat and into the air. Flipping him over, Dace quickly sits down, planting Janus to the mat.

 

"Dace just hit the Venom Driver on the three hundred and fifty pound Janus. What a massive feat of strength form a man that very well could be the next World Champion."

 

Throwing a hand into the air, Dace gives the horn to the fans, crowds a wave of cheers and the horns in reply.

 

Then another wave of cheers spreads across the arena, and another series of fists in the air. Turning around, Dace sees the Maori Badass standing across the ring from him.

 

The two men slowly march towards each other across the ring, finally meeting in the middle of the ring, face to face. Eyeing each other slowly, the step back, and ready their firsts.

 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

 

Five ringing and skull shaking pairs of right hands are thrown.

 

CRACK!

 

Dace fires off a knee to the side of the ribs, then hammers home an Elbow Smash.

 

CRACK!

 

Va'aiga roles his head with it, and fires back a huge lariat, across Night's chest.

 

CRACK!

 

They lunge forwards, locking their arms into each other in a tie up. Va'aiga faints back, then surges forwards, throwing Dace off balance, and sending him flying towards the ropes with an Irish Whip.

 

The Maori turns to his side as Dace comes running back, scooping the Brummie Goth up, twirling him over head, spinning round, and sending Dace crashing to the mat with a Spin Cycle Powerbomb.

 

With Crow out cold, Va'aiga sees he has to improvise the count. Quickly, the grabs the barely moving Crow, and pulls him across the ring, before rolling over Dace into a cover, and with one hand, grabs Crow's wrist, and starts to count it himself.

 

......ONE!

 

......TWO!

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

 

......3/4!

 

NNOOO!

 

Janus makes a wild dive across the ring, and hammers his fist into Va'aiga breaking the whole thing up.

 

"Va'aiga making a pinfall happen the only way it could, but Janus makes to break it up just before the three count." Yells Axis.

 

Clamping on a Front Facelock, Janus pulls Va'aiga off his feet, and Spikes his head to the mat with a Implant DDT. Janus leans across the Maori, pinning him to the mat, and reaches over, taking hold of Crow's hand and starts a count of his own.

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

 

......3/4!

 

 

BAM!

 

Mike Van Siclen has finally managed to recover for the beating he took at the start of the match, and climbed to the top rope unnoticed.

 

Diving through the air, Van Siclen nailed a Shoot Star Frog Splash, Siclen's Gambit, onto Janus' breaking up the pinfall.

 

"And Mike Van Siclen is back in this one, breaking up the cover, and keeping this match going." Yells Axis.

"And you didn't notice him getting up from the floor, climbing the apron, doing some back flips between the apron and the barricade and all that because?" King mocks, rolling the sentence out slowly.

 

Forcing himself back up, the World Champion looks around, still shaking the cobwebs out from his head after the beating from Dace on the outside.

 

Firstly, Mike turns towards the big Maori, Va'aiga. Sending home a series of stiff kicks to the side of the head, Mike the drags the big man up by his hair, and kicks a field glow like low blow.

 

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOO!

 

YOU SUCK MIKEY YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK MIKEY YOU SUCK!

 

"And there's the Champion showing us just why he is the Champion right there. With smart thinking, and good tactics like that one." King proclaims loudly.

 

Slapping on a Front Facelock, Mike lifts one arm into the, and with a twists, drives it across the back of Va'aiga's neck, sending him face first back to the mat with a Code Red. Then with one last kick to the back of the head, Van Siclen moves on, taking full advantage of the beatings that the other have been taking as well.

 

Night is climbing back to his feet, trying to regain his focus, only for a knee to the gut to drive the wind out of him. His head is pulled back by the hair, and the arm of the World Champ, MVS reaches round his throat. The Champ's sharp swing pulls Dace over with him, and drives with throat and chin square down onto Van Siclen's shoulder.

 

"Russian Roulette, Mike Van Siclen is just taking out everyone in the ring. He took a hell of a beating at the start of the match, but he's just be resting ever since, and that just makes it easy for him now." Axis calls.

 

Calling out he's the champ, and motioning the belt around his waist, Mike turns around, only for his nose to bump into something over seven feet tall, three hundred fifty founds, and extremely fucking pissed off.

 

Looking up into the hate filled face of Janus, Mike swallows slowly.

With a slowness to Mike, that can only come for fear, Janus scoops Mike up over his shoulder, and drops to one knee, with a Shoulder Breaker. Standing back up, Janus drops down with Another Shoulder Breaker. Standing back up, he holds Mike completely infront of his body, behind peaking up onto his tip toes, and comes crashing down onto his knees with a neck snapping Tombstone Piledriver.

 

"Chains of Agony! Two Shoulder Breakers and a Tombstone Piledriver. Janus cuts off that come back that Mike was making, and maybe now he has chance to win this match." Shouts Axis.

 

As Janus drills Mike Van Siclen into the mat, with extra loving care and stiffness, Va'aiga and Crow roll back onto their feet on the other side of the ring.

 

Crow staggers round, and ends up face to face with the Maori Badass, Va'aiga. Whom, just like Dace Night last week, grabs Crow by the shoulders, and barrels his head forwards, crunching it off Crow's nose, with a crack.

 

YOU GOT NUTTED! YOU GOT NUTTED! YOU GOT NUTTED!

 

Crow crumples to the mat, blood pumping out of his re-broken nose.

 

With a roar, Janus dives across the ring at full steam, slamming into Va'aiga, and keeps on going, driving him into the ropes, and straight over them and down to the floor.

 

"Va'aiga just re-broke Crow's nose with the headbutt, and then Janus takes him to the outside!"

 

Even as their bodies smack of the cold floor on the outside, both of the big men lunge back to their feet, and start trading mountain rocking fists, nailing each other as hard as possible.

 

Now Va'aiga powers back, tackling into Janus, forcing him back against the security barrier, and the spill out into the crowd. Mobbed by fans, the two men continue trading blows, back and forth, moving back into the depths of the arena.

 

Dace, Mike Van Siclen and Crow are all down in the ring, as the crowd starts to will them back to life.

 

STOMP!

STOMP! STOMP!

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

 

GET THE FUCK UP! GET THE FUCK UP! GET THE FUCK UP!

 

Night twitches slowly, and pulling his hand slowly along the mat, rests his hands under his body, before pushing himself up onto his feet. Grabbing hold of the ropes, he takes big deep breaths, as MVS start pulling himself back up with the ropes.

 

Crawling up the ropes, Mike leans over the each, also taking big breaths, and trying to tune out the sound of the crowd.

Hearing a yell from behind him, he turns round, and gets just what he asks for in turning round.

 

CRACK! Elbow Smash

 

CRACK! Elbow Smash

 

CRRRAAACCCKKK Rolling Elbow!

 

'Fuck You Mikey!' Roars Dace.

 

Snapping his boot into Mike's gut, doubling him over. Dragging Mike by the hair into the middle of the ring, before leaning Mike over backwards, and ducking his body under Mike's back.

 

Pushing his body up, Dace has Mike racked across his back, face up to the lights.

 

"We've seen this one before King."

"Oh Fuck!"

 

Throwing Mike up into the, totally vertical, Dace reaches up, grabbing his hips, Dace throws his feet out, and sits down, pulling Mike down onto his head and neck, with a sickening snap.

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

"PPPPPSSSSSYYYYYYCCCCCCHHHHHHOOOOO DDDDRRRRRIIIIIIVVVVVAAAAHHHHHH!"

 

Pressing Mike's legs over his shoulders for the pin with one hand, Dace grabs Crow's wrists, and slams it to the mat, as the crowd counts.

 

......

 

......1/2!

 

......ONE!

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

......3/4!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

...... 3/4!

 

 

 

 

 

 

......9/10!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

......99/100!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.......................TTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRREEEEEEE!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

"Here is your winner ... and ... NEW SJL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WWWWOOORRRRLLLLLDDDD .. DACE NNNNIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHTTTTTTTT!"

 

DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT! DACE FUCKING NIGHT!

 

Rolling over of Mike's bent and battered body, Dace lays a hand on the title belt that gets slide into the ring. Grasping it in his hand, he struggles from the mat.

 

Standing tall, he lifts the belt over his head, to another huge roar from the fans.

 

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

"He does! Dace does it! He fucking does it!" Screams Axis with the fans.

"He went through everyone else in his path, all the other opponents in this match, and he finally wins the World Title."

 

King takes a piece of paper from under his desk and tares it into several small pieces before throwing it away.

 

"Stupid Bird!" Yelling in frustration, King starts to vent.

"He cheated! He damn well cheated. He can't you that Axis. You just can't do that. Crow was the referee, and he was out cold. Dace just doing that to get the tittle. It was a fast count too, I'm sure of it. Someone get the Head Official down here right now. I demand that the decision is reversed and stricken from the records.....CCCCZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKK!"

 

Axis just smiles, as King carries on screaming into his now unplugged headset.

 

Va'aiga drags himself back from somewhere in the stands, bleeding heavily, looking as if Janus left just a few marks before he finally left. Stepping into the ring, he steps up to the new champion. Extending his hand towards the celebrating Dace, he smiles.

 

Dace lowers the title, and looks slowly at the outstretched hand. Va'aiga looks at his hand, and then back at Dace. Dace looks back, before knocking the hand away and stepping in, embracing the big Maori in a big British hug.

 

YYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

 

"Sportsmanship lives. You just know these two will be facing off some time in the future of the title as well." Axis says.

 

Both men give Crow an emphatic pair of middle fingers, to another call of cheering from around the arena, before sliding under the bottom ropes.

 

Stepping up to a still ranting, but silenced King, Dace growls, loud enough to be heard over Axis' head set.

 

"King, shut the fuck up!" Giving another middle finger, right into King's face, the dangles the World Title Belt infront of him.

 

King tries to make a drive from his seat towards Dace and Va'aiga, but Axis is on it, grabbing King around the waist, and dragging him back down into his seat.

 

Va'aiga stride off up the ramp, talking to his fans, taking their thanks and calls as he goes, while Dace whispers into the Time Keepers ear.

 

Strapping the title around his waist, Dace climbs over the barrier into the mass of the front row fans.

The sound of the crowd is drowned out as the classic sounds of rain and thunder crashes start up.

 

His the horns high in the air, Dace beats his head as the rifts of Raining Blood scream into life, turning the whole section around him into a swirling mass of people, in a pit.

 

Panning one last time across the arena, the camera fades out for the last time on the show.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Duran writes the winning match.....and wins by default.

 

Tryst wins.....by default.

 

Omega Storm wins.....by default.

 

Christian Blackwell wins.....by default.

 

Atlas wins.....by default. Yes, JLers, you did wait seven hours to hear that.

 

Dace Night wins.....by default (although Va'aiga had a legit excuse).

 

What was there was good. What wasn't there kept this from being a great show. Read what is there, and make sure that we have some actual competition next time.

Edited March 14, 2003 by realitycheck