King Cucaracha 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 IT'S LIVE! BIGGER, BETTER AND WITH MORE KELLY CLARKSON REFERENCES THAT YOU CAN HANDLE (i.e 1) IT'S GOT LOTS OF ~!s IT DOESN'T USUALLY HAVE THOSE WRESTLING MATCH THINGS THAT ARE A CHORE TO READ THROUGH! AND IT'S JUST A SCROLL AWAY! SEE ALL YOUR FAVOURITE OAOAST STARS! Leon Rodez Zack Malibu Alfdogg Mister Warrior AND ALL THE REST! (Bloodshed) EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT ON TSM OAOAST HeldDOWN~! "..." "..." "...what the hell was THAT!?!" The Suicide King finally manages to splutter in shock. "Joseph Peters, always trying to make a few extra bucks." shrugs Mak, trying not to draw any more attention to the situation than already has. "Well, we're ready for our main event..." "Which makes showing a commerical for that piece of crap company right now even worse! Incase you and everyone at home has forgotten, this is the SWF and this is SWF 13th Hour, where you're about to see some real wrestling like only the SWF can provide! Not some glorified stunt man troupe working washed up nobodies live from some...rundown bingo hall!" "They have bingo halls in Vancouver do they, King?" "We haven't got gay Mexicans running around with pink sombreros rubbing their genitals against other people's faces and masked Japanese nobodies doing DDR, I know that much!" "Oh no, a DDR gimmick in a wrestling promotion, how terrible would that be?" sneers Mak. "Exactly! So, main event time, right?" "Main event time indeed and when you talk about main events, this has the potential to be one of the biggest. Sixteen months in the making. The customary 13th Hour Last Man Standing for Michael Stephens, as he challenges for the SWF World Heavyweight Title, looking to join the prestigious 4 Time World Champion club. And his opponent is a man we've seen really go over the deep end in...well, not so much 'recent' months as 'every month this year' in Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix. The third ever one on one meeting between these two men, their history has been well documented. Landon Maddix won his first World Championship from Toxxic in December of 2004, then challenged for the title in February of 2005 and nearly ended up with a collection broken vertebrea for his trouble. From there, Landon's career went downhill. He lost his partnership with Todd Cortez, lost his manager Megan Skye, floundered around achieving little of note. He lost at Genesis last year, he failed to repeat the Clusterfuck this year and that was just the start of the spiral." "If their history is so well documented, why do we have to run through it again?" "...by then, Toxxic was long gone." Mak continues regardless, acknowledging his broadcast partner with no more than a sideways glance. "He infamously downed tools at Ground Zero in London and disappeared from SWF screens and everybody's radars." "Shouldn't that be 'gaydars'?" King jokes, simply to BUTT in. "Because, you know, he's gay." ... "Landon blamed what aside from winning the Clusterfuck was a terrible year of 2005 on Toxxic and his questionable tactics at From The Fire, deciding that the only way to get his career back on track would be to lure Toxxic back to the SWF and avenge his defeat. Trouble being, nobody knew where Toxxic was. So Landon set about a campaign to basically piss Toxxic off to the point he'd storm back...which would work on 95% of the wrestling community, but seemingly not Toxxic. The campaign included but wasn't limited to: Verbal abuse, near mutilation of Michael Cross' hands for being straight edge, rejoining forces with Megan Skye, putting Ced Ordonez on the shelf with a Demonstar Driver, befriending Toxxic's sister Amy, sleeping with her, attacking her, costing her a match against Megan, attacking her again, dressing Matt Myers up as Toxxic, beating him down and then once Michael Stephens had returned and declined a match, threatening to cripple Amy." "...boy, it's been a long six months, eh?" "You're going to be intolerable through this, aren't you?" "Hate them both!" King proudly announces, taking a swig of product placement assured Pepsi Max. "I hate them both." "Well, all that aside, at the very base of this issue is an athletic rivalry. Maddix and Stephens are two very evenly matched wrestlers, similiar styles, similiar accomplishments, similiar weaknesses for that matter...but in many other ways, they're poles apart. For roughly a year these two men's career paths ran parrallel to each other, before their first match at Slay Ride 2004 and ever since then there's been a natural rivalry between the two. Take away the hatred and take away the personal issues and these two men simply want to prove that they are the better wrestler. That's what everything else has stemmed from." "Exactly." King surprisingly agrees. "It's all stemmed from one thing, the one thing that fuels this business. Ego. And these two have two of the biggest egos going." "I would have thought that fact would endear them to you." "Yeah, but then you see them wrestle and find yourself forced to hear them talk over and over and over again. I hate my job sometimes. Take these lengthy PPV filler exchanges with you for example..." *BOOOOONG!* "Uh-oh, I think we've hit 13th Hour King!" Mak shills, getting into the spirit of this slightly goofy PPV tagline like a real company trooper. "And to think, you only started talking at 12:25." "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!"[/i] Emerging through the curtains and into the imposing surrounding of the Nippon Budokan to the roaring sounds of "The Game" by Disturbed, Landon Maddix is unexpectedly on his way to the ring and not wasting any time in doing so. Storming down the rampway, Maddix brushes past outstretched hands with his leather jacket flapping behind his knees. Megan Skye is having trouble keeping up, Maddix already at the ring while Funyon is busily re-shuffling his cuecards. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your 13th Hour MAIN EVENT of the evening...and it is a LAST MAN STANDING MATCH, for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!" announces Funyon, to a surprising pop considering we're in the non-English speaking surroundings of Tokyo. "The rules for this match are simple...the first man to incapacitate their opponent, to the point that they cannot answer the referee's count of 10, will be declared the winner and the World Champion! Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by his 'Perfect 10' Megan Skye. He hails from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain. Weighing two hundred, twenty four pounds...the reigning, defending, two-time SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "The World Champion, bunking tradition tonight!" says Mak with noted surprise, as Landon snaps into the ring and removes his jacket. "It's wrestling protocol that the challenger enters first, followed by the champion, but apparantly Landon Maddix isn't prepared to wait for his opponent to make his entrance." "Well, let's be fair. Landon's waited six months...plus the twenty minutes you took to recap this petty feud...for this match. Now he's finally got it, I can't blame him for wanting to get on with things." Wanting to get on with things is exactly Landon's mindset, staring down the aisleway and beckoning on for the entrance of the challenger. Megan enters the ring and tries her best to calm her champion down, but Maddix shrugs her away, impatiently yelling for someone to "hit Toxxic's music". Assigned referee Sexton Hardcastle has other things on his mind though, as he taps Megan on the shoulder and reminds her that she's not supposed to be here, pointing her way to the back! Megan seems confused at first, apparantly having not gotten the memo about no interference being allowed tonight...or, at least pretending not to have gotten it...but Hardcastle is having none of that. And despite Megan and Maddix's best pleas, Hardcastle continues to DEMAND~! that Megan leaves! "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "I think Sexton's throwing Megan out of here and thank goodness for that!" cheers on Mak. "We've waited sixteen months for this match, this should be settled strictly one on one, man to man. And we all know Megan Skye isn't above interjecting herself into matches." "Well, looks like she won't tonight." Megan has finally given up the fight and gives Landon some last words of encouragement, and an even more encouraging peck on the cheek, glaring at Hardcastle one last time before sulkily leaving the ring. Back up the ramp she trapses, providing further delay for an increasingly impatient La Cucaracha. "COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH! COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!" The piped in chant is barely needed with the reaction that it garners in the arena, but the typically English (brash, bullish, bloody hooliganistic, probably drunk) chant sounds out regardless. The crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire then hits and as the Smarktron starts to fade to black, jagged white lettering flashes up one letter after the other, forming that familiar, ominous phrase: "PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…" As the spiky guitar riff starts up Stephens’ face appears smiling his distinctive lopsided grin before the Smarktron cuts into clips from his matches - the Super Intoxxication on Flesher to win his first World Title, the Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador - along with clips of him grinning or smirking on the mic. Finally it cuts to footage of him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro right across the themed 13th Hour set! This pyrotechnic display seems to take the reserved Japanese crowd by surprise a little, but they're soon roaring their approval again as the drums kick in. Striding out through the pyro's remnants, Michael Stephens comes to a quick stop on the stage as he looks down into the ring. Leaning over the ropes, Maddix's eyes are firmly locked on Stephens', with unfamiliar steely seriousness as he stares his opponent down. If Stephens were even remotely concerned by this unsettling, out of character look however, he doesn't show it as his trademark lopsided grin adorns his face. "And, introducing the opponent and challenger tonight! He hails from the city of Nottingham, England in the United Kingdom. Weighing in tonight at two hundred, eighteen pounds. The former three-time SWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... "THE SENSATION"... MMMIIIICCHHAAAAEEEEELLLLL... SSSSTTEEEEEEPPPHHHEEEEEEEEEENNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!" "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "This is three years in a row for Michael Stephens in Last Man Standing Matches at 13th Hour, after Dace Night and of course the enigmatic Kibagami. Stephens has the Last Man Standing pedigree and he also has the hardcore wrestling pedigree, a former Hardcore Champion, one belt that Landon hasn't captured in his time with the company." "But Michael Stephens didn't win the Hardcore Title and wrestle in Last Man Standing Matches and do all that crazy stuff...that was Toxxic." teases King. "If he's really changed like you say he has, he'll have no advantage at all, right?" "That does remain to be seen, just how far this reinvented Michael Stephens is willing to go tonight. We know how far Landon is willing to go, we've seen that relentlessly this past half year. For Stephens, it may be a case of kill or be killed. Although, of course, we do hope nobody actually is killed tonight..." "Eh." Taking his time over walking to the ring, just for the sake of throwing his impetuous opponent off a little more, Stephens removes his customised England soccer shirt (who are so going to win the World Cup by the way, 1-0, we rule, etc etc) and hands it to a lucky fan at ringside. Of course, that fan is a Japanese fan and would only really have cared if his gift had the name "BECKHAM" on the back, but he accepts it regardless. It might fetch a couple of Yen on eBay after all. Stephens then finally reaches the ring, taking a moment to soak in the Budoken's unique atmosphere once more while his head is still clear before sliding into the ring, popping to his feet... ...and being instantly confronted by the World Champion who virtually headbutts Stephens in the process of going nose to nose with his hated rival!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Man, you can feel the tension in that ring! This is sixte..." "Sixteen months in the making, blah blah blah. Pipe down just for a second wouldya Mak?" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "Granted my Japanese phrase book was a free gift with the bag of peanuts I bought at the airport, but if I'm not mistaken I think they're saying Toxxic's Number One." "Thanks for that King." sighs Mak. Unconcerned by this five foot ten Spaniard trying to punk him out, Stephens casually brushes him off. But Maddix comes right back in nose to nose straight away and starts to put the badmouth on the man who almost broke his neck sixteen months ago. Yes, sixteen months. Hopefully you've all got that plot-point memorised by now. Anyway, Maddix continues to grind his forehead into Stephens', trying to establish territoriality like some sort of wild animal which just seems to bug The Sensation, who's presumably dealt with this in a few Nottingham pubs in his day. Usually, a simple headbutt would suffice. His hair might even jab them in the eye and blind them, given a little luck. Times have changed. So's the hair. Lunging suddenly, Stephens catches La Cucaracha off guard and snares him into a side headlock to the surprise of virtually everyone. Even Hardcastle is taken aback momentarily and hesitates before realising the small responsibility of calling for the opening bell belongs to him. *DINGDINGDING!* "Okay, explain please." requests King. "Well, Michael Stephens wants to prove himself as an honourable fighter and a competent wrestler, both of which were knocks against Toxxic. And, I guess also, this will frustrate Landon even more." Clenching up on the headlock, Stephens drops to one knee and forces Landon's head into a more neck-wrenching angle in the process, a perhaps surprising display of technical thought from a man not noted for his pure wrestling ability. Especially not in Last Man Standing Matches. Slamming his fist into the canvas, Maddix can be heard growling away as the respectful Japanese crowd watch on intently. "Okay, and the real reason?" "That was the real reason..." "Oh come on Mak, you're not fooling me with this crap about how Stephens has changed. He's not fooling anyone. It's just a matter of time before he sees red again...or black, I guess, with all that eyeliner he used to wear...and snaps. Tonight, some other night, whatever, it's all a ruse until he decides to break some necks again. And besides that, why would you want to frustrate someone who's semi-pyschotic and out to break your neck in the first place?" Finally releasing the head, Stephens chains the headlock into a simple arm wringer and a tight wristlock, allowing Landon up to his feet but continuing to control his movement. The frustration is evident on the World Champion's face as he reaches for the eyes of Stephens but earns a wrench of the wrist that puts him back down to one knee. Landon seems to have been taken off his game by this unexpected start and his attempts to go to the eyes again are again thwarted by Stephens, wringing the arm out again. So Landon takes another route and tumbles forward, then rolling back up to his feet to aleviate the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to bring Stephens in for a knee to the gut. The wristlock broken, Landon is then able to get his first shots in on The Sensation. *SLAP!* ...and unsurprisingly, it's a disrespectful shot, as he slaps Stephens across the back of the head. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" If Maddix had hoped this slap would wake up some inner demons in Stephens and prove him right regarding his actions towards him, he's going to be disappointed, as Stephens responds by reaching up and wringing the right arm out yet again, applying a simple armbar. "Back to the arm goes Stephens again." calls Mak. "He's not going to put the Champion down for a ten with wrist and armlocks, but if Stephens can incapacitate one or more of Landon's limbs then there's no danger of a Demonstar tonight." "That's a pretty negative strategy." "But a smart one in the early going." Fuming, Maddix pushes up to his feet and manages to manouevre his way back into the corner, hooking his free arm around the ropes. With no DQs and therefore no rope breaks, Stephens need not release the hold of his own accord. Of course, getting kneed between the legs would make you release your hold, own accord or not. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Wow, how long must Landon have been waiting to do that." muses Mak. "Sixteen months maybe?" The Japanese fans look down upon this cheap tactic, but Maddix could care less. Finally, after sixteen long months (yes, I know), he has what he's wanted all along. 'Toxxic', at his mercy. Balling up his fist, Maddix's eyes light with fire as he measures the prone challenger and DRIVES a hate filled right hand into the temple, with perhaps more power than he's ever put into a simple right hand. Stephens rolls away and stumbles back to his feet, trying to keep moving as Maddix follows him in. By the hair, Maddix wheels Stephens around to face him... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and lashes him with a knifedge chop, which the well trained fans know to whoop on cue for. The breath is taken away from The Sensation and he drops to one knee, where he recieves another measured right hand. The look on Maddix's face is one of disturbed delight, somewhere in between anger and pleasure, as he brings Stephens up again... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...for another big chop. At the moment, it seems Landon is just content to pick his spot on 'Toxxic' and wail on it, a firm and deliberate knee slamming into Stephens kidneys before he pops the Englishman in the ear with a snappy forearm strike. Stephens seems to be absorbing most of this punishment for now, stumbling away with a hold of his ear and backing into the corner, but certainly nowhere near being put down for ten. But that doesn't seem to be a concern for Landon right now. Winning the match isn't in his thoughts, instead settling his urge to beat the crap out of his most hated of rivals with his bare hands is top priority, following Stephens into the corner... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...hitting another chop. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and a second... ...before simply clamping his hands around Stephens' larynx in a sadistic attempt to choke the life out of the challenger!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Is it just me, or does Maddix look like he's getting off on all this?" asks King, not altogether searching for an actual answer. "Wouldn't surprise me. And this is exactly the tactic we expected from Landon, to let his emotions get the better of him and to simply turn this into a brawl, be it consciously or unconsciously." Releasing his choke, Maddix now shows a little wrestling ability as he brings Stephens out of the corner with a snapmare. Only to then show very little wrestling ability, by pounding his kidneys with a firm dragon kick! Grabbing hold of Stephens' head for balance, Maddix then fires off another... and another... and another... finishing up with a fifth kick, that strikes Toxxic right across the external protrudence thing on the back of your head, a weak spot that doesn't react too well to being kicked. Slumping onto his back, Stephens looks up at the bright lights of the Budoken, blinking in disorientation. "ONE!" Hovering over him, referee Hardcastle begins his first count of the Last Man Standing Match. "TW..." Which doesn't get very far, before Maddix shoves the official away from the scene having apparantly not got nearly enough of his fill of punishment dishing just yet. "I understand that Stephens would more than likely gotten back up before ten, but I don't think it's too smart of Landon to be wasting attempts at winning this match." says Mak critically. "After all, he may not get too many more tonight." "If I gave him any credit, I'd say Maddix was smart for not giving Toxxic a free rest on a count that was clearly never going to win him the match. But, of course, I give him no credit." "No kidding." It's now the World Champion that hovers over the woozy Nottingham native, savouring the next upcoming strike...for a little too long, as Stephens suddenly fires up a right hand into his gut. Shaking that off quickly, Maddix is able to cut the challenger back off before he can reach his feet though by way of a firm boot to the head, which Stephens takes a pair of before he finds himself pressed up beside the bottom turnbuckle. Reaching down, Landon pulls Stephens up and positions him so he's now sat against that same turnbuckle, cruelly placing his foot over Stephens' windpipe and lifting his standing leg off the canvas to leave his entire 224 pound frame blocking the air passage. Hardcastle can do no more than stand and watch on inanimately as screams of "CHOKE TOXXIC, CHOKE!" rain down from the sadistic World Champion, grinding his heel down across Michael Stephens' adam's apple before leaping away. Backing quickly across the ring, Maddix then gets himself a runup before charging back. Leaping high into the air, the flying Spaniard seems to hover in mid-air over Toxxic for a moment, before coming down with a hesitation dropkick... ...but by then, Toxxic has pulled himself out onto the apron and Maddix ends up jolting himself awkwardly on landing. Coming back up with a hobble and a hop, Landon favours his right knee before collapsing back down, clutching the limb that had buckled itself up against the bottom turnbuckle. "There's a way that Michael Stephens can win without channelling Satan...if Landon can't stand, he won't be winning a Last Man Standing Match!" Mak astutely points out. The mood has changed now as Landon shuffles himself across the ring away from Stephens, clutching his leg in agony and calling Hardcastle over for some medical assistance. Hardcastle is also told to "Keep Toxxic away" because "I'm really hurt, damnit!", Maddix pulling down his right kneepad to try and repress any swelling as Stephens watches on. And doesn't buy it for a second. Moving in, Stephens is kept at bay by Hardcastle, who's busily trying to check Maddix can continue, waiting for him to stop sobbing for long enough to give him an answer. Being a newly honourable wrestler, Stephens isn't one to attack an injured opponent. But then again, he suspects Landon isn't really an injured opponent. So, Stephens has another think and decides to do just as he's told, backing off to one corner of the ring and kicking himself up onto the top rope for a little R&R. "Well...uh, this main event has come to a stop...Landon Maddix, down with an injured knee and...hopefully it's not too serious." "Oh jeez." groans King. "I know you're the play by play guy, but do you have to be so gullable? He's taking a page out of Megan's book, he's faking it. It's the oldest trick in the book. Don't you watch any tapes?" "I know you don't like the kid, but come on King. Give him the benefit of the dou..." Slowly realising that Stephens isn't coming back for another try, Maddix's sobbing abruptly stops. And his knee abruptly becomes 100% as if by magic, as he clambers back to his feet, yelling at Stephens that he's "not supposed to do that"... *SLAP!* ...and finally Stephens' temper gets the better of him for a split second, slapping Maddix across the face for being so dumb. "...nevermind." Mak finishes belatedly. Reeling from the slap for a moment, Maddix fires up again as he wheels back... *SLAP!* ...slapping the taste out of Stephens' mouth... *SLAP!* ...only to get one back, more of a palm strike than a unsporting bitch strike as Stephens tries to steer us back into a wrestling encounter by switching behind the World Champion, reaching back for the head and setting for a simple neckbreaker. At least, that's what Maddix is expecting, until Stephens does a quick 180, bringing Landon around and sitting out with the Pressure Drop! "Nice move by Stephens..." "But it's not going to win a Last Man Standing Match." "King, give him a chance, they've only just rung the opening bell. This is still the feeling out process." "I didn't sit through sixteen months for a feeling out process." King snaps. "And, that's probably not the best term to be throwing around with a homosexual and a haircare obsessing Spaniard in the ring, by the by. We don't want people to get the wrong idea." Stephens comes back to his feet and helps his opponent up with him, the Englishman rocking the Spaniard with a fitting European uppercut. In Japan. Can't win them all. Draped over the ropes, a defensive kick from Maddix is easily deflected by Stephens who brings Maddix back off the ropes, into a second European uppercut. This time Landon doesn't drape, being bounced back off by the ropes and falling into Stephens' clutches. Up into a fireman's carry goes Landon...and down, with a fireman's carry takedown goes Landon, the Japanese crowd applauding despite not getting the headdrop they may have expected. Instead, they get Stephens sitting the Champion up and backing the short distance off the ropes, shooting back with a basement dropkick to the back of the head! Maddix clutches at the neck on impact and rolls around in pain, as Stephens rolls to his knees. And after assessing the situation, he shrugs and motions for Hardcastle to count. "ONE!" "TWO!" "Here's the difference in this match, Stephens just wants to win." points out King. "Maddix wants vengeance and crap, Stephens just wants the win and the belt..." "THREE!" "...usually that'd be fine and dandy, but this is Last Man Standing." "FOUR!" "A match that Stephens didn't ask for and I'm not sure he's entirely comfortable with, even now." agrees Mak, as Maddix is comfortably to his knees before Hardcastle can reach his count of five. No longer needed the referee backs away to a safe position across the ring while Stephens moves in, scooping Landon the rest of the way off the canvas and wringing out the arm once more. This time it's just for some brief control as he then pushes Maddix away, getting length on an irish whip that sends Maddix across and into the ropes. Back shoots Landon and he manages to find some spark on the way, charging forward with forearm raised. However, Stephens sees it coming and ducks the arm, causing Landon to keep on charging off to the opposite side. As he rebounds for the second time though, Stephens is off his marks, rushing in and intercepting the oncoming La Cucaracha with a crude soccer tackle which in World Cup season should earn him a yellow card at least. To be fair though, Maddix does make the most of it (like most cheating Spaniards) and is sent sprawling into the air, landing with a thud, chest first on the canvas. "I would say he went for the ball, but there is no ball!" Mak chirps. "So, then why say it?" Rolling around on the canvas like the typical Spaniard that he is, Maddix clutches his ankle while Stephens comes off the ropes. Slowing up as he gets towards his target, Stephens then tumbles forward, flipping over with a somersault legdrop right across the back of the head. "Nice agility by Stephens...almost a standing Hangover." calls Mak. "And look at Stephens, asking for the count again, trying to get this match over with at every opportunity it seems." "ONE!" Stephens rolls away to a neutral corner of the ring and lounges back, watching on through half-lids as Maddix holds the back of his neck, kicking his feet in pain. "TWO!" "Stephens is almost testing the waters at the moment. Deep down, he knows he'll need more, much more to get a ten." "THREE!" Soon to stir, Landon rolls onto his back to see Hardcastle counting him down. And only seeing three fingers raised, the Champion wisely takes a moment more to regain his senses... "FOUR!" ...before pushing back up, again beating the five count, let alone a ten. "The thing is, you're right, because he knows what it takes to keep Maddix down for ten." points out King. "The question is, does 'Toxxic' do what he knows it will take to win, or will nice guy Michael Stephens try to prove a point to himself and probably nobody else by being 'honourable'." "I doubt that Stephens wants to stoop to the levels he had to at From The Fire 2005, but you get the feeling that it'll take something that severe to keep Landon down. If Landon is capable of movement and capable of thought, he will not let Stephens win. Because if he does, that would probably send him spiralling right over the edge of insanity. At From The Fire it was just about the belt, now it's more personal than anything we've seen in the SWF for years...it may even take MORE than a Demonstar to keep him down!" Wanting to keep the pressure on, Stephens moves straight back in, applying a rear waistlock. Instinctively, Landon's past training with Msrrs. Hawke and Johnson kicks in and he bends his knees to lower his centre of gravity, blocking any intended follow up by Stephens. Landon then snaps a back elbow up under the jaw before performing a standing switch, into his own rear waistlock. Not that suplexing is or ever has been his game, Landon stops short of sweeping Stephens over as the crowd anticipate, remembering the age old adage: "You Can't German Toxxic". Toxxic, Michael Stephens, whatever. Either way, instead of dumping the name changing challenger backwards, Maddix goes in the opposite direction and lifts Stephens off his feet, charging him gut-first into the top turnbuckle, leaving Stephens sat winded on the middle turnbuckle pad!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Ooh..." groans Mak. "Unorthodox from the World Heavyweight Champion, but certainly effective. Michael Stephens continues to try and wrestle this match in a more traditional manner, as he has done each and every match since his return, but Maddix clearly has other ideas." Leaving Stephens perched awkwardly, Maddix exits out to the stretch of apron to his opponent's left and hooks on a front facelock. Only, this front facelock has the added effect of choking Stephens across the top rope in the process as Maddix crouches down, leaving Stephens flailing around trying to swat Landon away. His flailing is all in vain however and Landon only relents when he's good and ready. And even then, it's followed by a hard forearm to the face that topples Stephens backwards. Despairingly Stephens manages to grab the top turnbuckle as he falls back and hangs near horizontol from the middle buckle, which seems just great for Maddix as he climbs the top turnbuckle over Stephens. "Oh no, this can't be good." "And Stephens is helpless. If he lets go, he drops on his neck. If he doesn't...well, same deal." Reaching the top and looking down with intent, Maddix shoots a wad of spit down into the face of The Sensation before leaping up, tucking his legs in... ...and DRIVING THEM DOWN INTO STEPHENS' STERNUM WITH A DOUBLE STOMP!!!!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Stephens' grip on the buckle is broken by the two hundred, twenty four pounds coming down on him and he lands hard on the back of his head on the canvas, Landon coming down in front of him and flicking the hair from his eyes. To reveal a smile. "He could have crushed Stephens' sternum with that!" gasps Mak. "He came down feet first..feet first across the chest, from that height with that angle of landing! Stephens may be in trouble." "ONE!" Hardcastle lays the count in on Stephens again, this time uninterrupted by the Champion. "TWO!" "THREE!" Stephens continues to lie motionless with a hand pressed to his chest, breathing heavily from the effects of the devestating double stomp and the not much more favourable landing. "FOUR!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "FIVE!" Stephens begins to move around now, pushing up off the canvas with his hands, only to stop for more breath. Watching on from the centre of the ring, it's hard to tell if Landon is disappointed that Stephens is recovered so quickly or not. If he is, he's hiding it well. "SI..." Reaching his feet, Stephens has no time to celebrate beating the count, as he's hauled back by the waistband of his Tripp NYCs and brought into a knee to the spine. Stephens doubles over in pain as Maddix then grabs hold of the hair and pitches the challenger forward, out through the ropes and to the hard floor of the Nippon Budokan. The timid Japanese fans at ringside quickly retreat as Stephens tumbles up against the flimsy barricade, Maddix following close behind. "And here's our first forray to the outside in this main event, which may spell bad news for Michael Stephens." Maddix slams the flat of his boot into the back of Stephens' head before leaning over the barrier, demanding a chair from ringside. One of the braver Japanese fans obliges and Maddix snatches the chair away, stalking Stephens as he crawls away around ringside with no interest in getting involved in a weapon fight. Unfortunately, crawling is not an easy pastime with a possibly crushed sternum, allowing Maddix to jog around and in front of Stephens, waiting for a chance to strike. *CLANG!* HURLING the chair, Maddix strikes Stephens right across the forehead, the chair deflecting off across ringside as Stephens covers his head in his hands, incase Maddix had more than one heavy steel impliment to throw. "Chair right to the face and Stephens is now realising what he...well, not so much got himself into as he was forced into by the World Champion." groans Mak. "On the bright side, if he were in Nottingham it'd probably be a knife hurtling towards his head." Retrieving the chair, Landon slides it into the ring, leaving one unlucky ringsider having to crouch to watch the rest of this main event. Landon then retrieves Stephens and slowly pulls him up to his feet, Stephens providing no resistance as he's gone virtually dead weight from the effects of chair all up in his grill, yo. Eventually Landon does get Stephens up though, draping him against the apron... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and landing a knifedge chop, fueled on by the fact that Stephens' forehead is becoming slowly stained with his own blood. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" Another chop finds the mark, dropping Stephens to his knees. Which is like a green light to Maddix as he snatches a handful of Stephens' bluey black hair and follows the slightly misquoted advice, "When in Tokyo, do as the Tokyoians do" by firing off a succession of Kawada kicks... *THWAP!* ...each... *THWAP!* ...one... *THWAP!* ...across.. *THWAP!* ...the... *THWAP!* ...lacerated... *THWAP!* ...forehead!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "This ruthless streak from Maddix is disturbing. Why does everyone have to go psycho around here all the time?" "Poor working conditions." "Ah." "ONE!" "Oh, and Hardcastle is counting Stephens out here..." "TWO!" "...he just took six kicks in the face and he might be KOed here!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" With Stephens showing no signs of movement, Maddix is caught in two minds, whether to allow this count to continue or to do what he's longing to do and continue beating Stephens senseless. "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEVE..." And finally, Maddix takes option two, breaking the count just as Stephens shows signs of consciousness by pulling him to his feet, dumping him back into the ring. Still looking quite lifeless, Stephens rolls away from the ropes with the blood now flowing freely enough to drip onto the canvas leaving a small but encouraging (for Landon at least) crimson trail behind him. "Landon was sadistic enough before, now he's got the taste and the sight of blood. I've got a bad feeling about this." Rolling back inside, Maddix picks the steel chair back up off the canvas and sets it open in the centre of the ring before going back after Stephens. Against the ropes, a defensive Stephens grabs the top rope and tries to kick the Champion away as he approaches, but Maddix manages to avoid the wild flailing kicks and lands one of his own across the forehead. And another, both aimed right at The Sensation's gaping laceration. Maddix then reaches for the hair and pulls Stephens back up, dragging him out and popping him with a quick forearm strike. The blood loss is making The Sensation a little woozy and these forearms are taking more of a toll than usually, a second strike enough to leave him wobbling on rubbery legs, allowing Maddix time to remove his right elbowpad. Out into the crowd goes the pad, a third forearm finding the mark before Landon shoots off the ropes, charging back towards Stephens with a SURE, THE GUY WHO USES THIS ALREADY WRESTLED TONIGHT SO IT'S NO LONGER AN HOMAGE BUT HEY, IT'S THE BUDOKAN, BITCH, LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOO... ...NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Stephens ducks the arm and thrusts a sharp mule kick back into Maddix's direction, catching him hard in the abdomen as he wheels around. "Avoids the contact!" calls Mak. "Apparantly, Michael Stephens has been watching his Puro tapes." "I highly, HIGHLY doubt that." King disagrees. With his back to the doubled over Champion, Stephens wipes his hand across his forehead, confirming his fears that he's infact been busted open. But this isn't the first time Stephens has seen his own blood and he doesn't let it concern him unduely, making a quick signal to the fans that he's going to 'end it' as he reaches back, hooking Landon's head in a 3/4 facelock. Landon tries to answer this with a counter. However, Stephens is a step ahead, dropping to one knee with a short chinbuster, coming straight back up to his feet and charging to the ropes. With an impressive vertical leap, the challenger plants his feet on the top rope and somersaults backwards, looking for his renamed Sliced Bread, Sunny In England. However, as is prone, the sun over England is unexpectedly clouded over, via Maddix countering with two hands in the toucous to push Stephens safely over his head. Stephens safely lands on his feet behind Maddix, who takes a page from his opponent's book, thrusting out with a kick...only for it to be read, blocked and caught by the challenger! "What's good for the goose wasn't good for the gander on that occasion!" Mak metaphors. "You know, you don't actually have to try and make up for my disinterest by becoming all flowery and poetic all of a sudden." Stephens leaves Maddix hopping on one foot for a few seconds, apparantly waiting for a counter attack. A counter attack which comes in the form of an enziguri, which Stephens sees coming a mile off and easily ducks his head out of range from, causing Landon to flop harmlessly onto his front on the canvas. Stephens now releases the foot and allows Landon back up. Holding his gut, The Next Generation stumbles around into a boot from Stephens, doubling him over and enticing The Sensation into a quick double underhooking of the arms. Maddix instantly tries to struggle free, but earns himself a knee to the left shoulder! A knee to the right! And another knee to the left, weakening him up suitably for Stephens to set and lift, swinging Maddix around in patented fashion, before sitting out with the Triple S (Stephens Shock Syndrome)... *CRAAAAAASH!* ...BRINGING MADDIX DOWN TORSO FIRST ACROSS THE SEAT OF THE OPEN STEEL CHAIR!!!!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "OH! That looked unintentional, but what a break for the challenger!! We could be on the verge of a new World Champion, via what seemed to be an accident..." "Accident Schmaccident!" screams King, finally into this match, if only because he has a reason to be controversial again. "That was deliberate...he hasn't changed a bit and I can't say that that's a bad thing right now, because Maddix is hurt and I was right all along!" Maddix remains draped over the now dented chair as Stephens remains seated. Judging by the look on his face, while the move was 100% intentional, the landing position certainly wasn't, showing signs of surprise and almost even remorse at the scene. This isn't how he would have chosen to win. Not in any way that could prompt excuses from Maddix afterwards. But one thing Stephens shares with his alter ego is the fact they're not stupid. And knowing what's done is done, Stephens nudges Maddix off of the chair and to the mat, where he signals for Hardcastle to go ahead and count. "ONE!" "Well accident or no accident, Stephens thinks he's done enough." "TWO!" "THREE!" While the count is ongoing, Stephens strolls over and grabs the steel chair. Hardcastle's count wavers for a second as he seems unsure of The Sensation's next move, relieved then when Stephens simply discards the chair in one corner of the ring. "FOUR!" "Break out the eyeliner, because Toxxic's back!" cheers King, breaking the silence at the commentary table." "King, please!" "FIVE!" "Using the chair was clearly not Stephens' intentions and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate you casting doubt on his motives like that." protests Mak. Rolling from his front to his back, Maddix keeps his arms clamped over his damaged ribs, a grimace on his face as he knows he has to fight through the pain to get back to his feet, within a count of five. And cause himself even more pain in the process. "SIX!" "The count is up to si..." "Do you seriously believe that was unintentional?" "Yes, I do! Stephens didn't see the chair, he started with his back to it." "SEVEN!" "Oh come on Mak!" snaps King, as Maddix starts to try and clamber back up, the crowd still respectively silent while inwardly hoping Maddix fails to recover. "He knew the chair was there long before he countered the Lariat, let alone anything else. Hardcastle is ready to count the eight, Toxxic's steel grey/blue eyes staring on from the corner... ...as Hardcastle need not continue his count, Maddix up to his feet. Barely. And gingerly. But up to his feet nonetheless. "Maddix is back up, but the damage may have been done." points out Mak. "Stephens just needs to capitalise quickly and he's got the World Heavyweight Championship in his sights for a record equalling fourth time!" "Especially if he dumps him on the chair again." "*sigh!*" With no intention of bringing the chair back into play Stephens comes out of his corner once Hardcastle makes it clear that the match is okay to continue, turning Landona round and into a firm European uppercut! Maddix's already aching chest fails to stand up to the shot and he falls flat on his ass, meekly holding his hands up in an attempt to beg off from his most hated of rivals. Knowing that Landon is prone to trickery, Stephens doesn't move into eyepoke territory as he lunges forward, dropkicking Maddix in the chest and putting him flat on his back. "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" Acknowledging the chants, Stephens turns to the crowd and bows to them. Luckily, they don't see this as in any way racist and applaud him all the more, probably surprised they even got a reaction from Stephens of all people. "Now, you can't tell me that Toxxic would have done that, let alone in the middle of a Last Man Standing Match." Mak argues. "Showing respect to his fans in mid-match wasn't Toxxic's style." "Phooey. It's all for show, that's all." Bringing The Next Generation back to his feet, Stephens again comes in with the favoured European uppercut, forcefully enough to send Landon backpedalling into a corner where he nestles, looking for a breather. He won't be granted one however, as after signalling for Hardcastle to move from his path Stephens charges across the ring, diving into the Champ with a Stinger Splash! Already winded, Landon slumps further down in the corner. He's soon brought right back up though, lashed with another European uppercut against the turnbuckles before Stephens wrings the arm, shooting Maddix across the ring with a forceful irish whip. And by only releasing Maddix halfway across the ring, Stephens ensures that Landon goes hurtling... *CLUNK!* ...sternum first into the turnbuckle, with whiplash inducing velocity!! "Wow, the ring almost shifted!" gasps The Franchise of the SWF. "From a two hundred twenty pound weakling like Maddix? Only in the world of hyperbole, Mak." The impact not only drops Maddix but rolls him back through for good measure, Stephens bringing him up off the canvas. Turning Landon around, Stephens then snares the arm again and sends the Champion right back the other way... *CLUNK!* ...and sternum first into the buckles he just came from! "And again, Maddix goes chest first! And unintentional as it's origins were, Stephens is working on the sternum all the same, which is exactly what he should be doing." Stephens' forehead continues to drip with blood which distracts his momentarily, before he again drags Landon up and again performs a simple arm wringer on the right limb, to aid a whip. This time, Stephens follows in after Maddix, charging a couple of steps behind. As he hurtles towards the corner this time though, Landon takes full advantage of the pro wrestling law of threes, avoiding a third collision by grabbing the top rope and pushing up and over. Unfortunately, Landon's frail upper body means he can't get the usual height on the floatover, allowing Stephens to stop underneath him and catch Maddix, so he lands seated on his shoulders. Fear stricken, Maddix tries to grab the ropes again, but can't as Stephens turns out of the corner... "SEE!" ...walking towards the middle of the ring... "SEE!" ...and dropping Landon forward, sitting out with a Front Electric Chair Drop that plants Landon right on his face and chest again! "...oh." mumbles King, taken aback. "That wasn't what I expected." "Evidently not. You need to give Michael Stephens at least some benefit of the doubt and some credit, even if it is your job to be controversial." "Give him credit? Why!? If he'd hit him with the Dangerlust, he'd be World Champion now!" Rolling back through to his feet, Stephens makes it clear to Hardcastle that he doesn't require a count, turning Landon over and dragging him across the ring to place him perpendicular to the corner. Stepping out onto the apron, the bloody Sensation then begins his climb up the buckles, heading towards the top and eliciting a buzz around the Budokan in the process. "And now, Michael Stephens looking to put the exclamation point on this one!" Reaching the top tier, Stephens looks down at the intended target, the World Champion's bruised sternum. Getting a steady footing, to his feet comes Stephens, standing tall over the Nippon Budokan for some suspense building seconds before finally coming off the top. Stephens tumbles forward, somersaulting 360... ...NO, MADDIX MOVES! His evasion saves him from a chest collapsing, but Stephens lands on his feet, one of the conditions of attempting a Somersault Double Stomp of course! And Stephens is also able to manage not to blow out a knee on landing, allowing him to be prepared as Maddix pulls himself up on the ropes. Expecting to find his challenger suffering from a crash and a burn, Maddix instead walks right into Stephens' clutches, The Sensation hooking Landon under the head and arm, looking to hit the Side Effect... *CHING!* ...but that imaginary sound effect can mean only one thing. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Lowblow by Maddix, unfortunately perfectly legal in this match." laments Francis. Booted below the belt, Stephens understandably releases Maddix to tend to his testicles. Which in turn allows Landon to back up into the corner, hopping onto the middle turnbuckle and hopping straight back off, coming over the bent double challenger with a Mushroom Stomp between the shoulder blades! "ONE!" Landon stumbles on from the stomp and crawls across the ring, holding his chest in one hand... "TWO!" ...and pretty soon, a steel chair in the other, recovering it from the corner where Stephens has placed it. "THREE!" And unlike Stephens, Maddix has no qualms about using it to his advantage, waiting on Stephens to drag himself back up. "FOUR!" "Stephens is getting back up quickly here, but he might want to rethink that with what's waiting on him." Mak muses. "FIVE!" The count is halted halfway as the challenger reaches his feet. Stephens still favours the shoulders as he lumbers in towards Maddix, the World Champion still weilding the open chair until Stephens wanders into striking range... ...and he jams the top of the open steel chair into Stephens' trapezious muscle!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Dropping to the canvas, Stephens quivers around, trying to get some feeling back into his right arm where the chair struck him. Meanwhile Maddix sets the chair back up in the centre of the ring where it lied before. That didn't turn out great, but Landon obviously has confidence this time as he lifts Stephens back up off the canvas by the hair. Bringing Stephens in front of the chair, Landon then locks on a front facelock and turns him to face the metallic furniture. "BRAINBUSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!~!!~!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "On the CHAIR!?" "Evidently he's given up on the beatdown phase and advanced to the attempted crippling phase." says King uncommitingly. "I really don't wanna see this..." "Welcome to my world, Mak." Gripping the Tripps by the waistband, Landon sets the bloody Stephens up and hoists him vertical... ...NO! Stephens floats all the way over, using Maddix's lifting momentum against him, able to land without impaling himself on the steel chair and whipping Maddix around into a sudden left jab! A right! LEFT! RIGHT! And the \/-sign flip-off sets up the discus clothesline... ...that Maddix of course knows is coming, ducking underneath in time to catch Stephens coming back around... *CLANG!* ...AND SPIKE HIM FACE-FIRST INTO THE CHAIR SEAT WITH THE COMPLETE SHOT!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Bouncing off the steel, Stephens' blood smears down the light grey metal chair as he slides off of the already dented and mangled seat and onto the canvas. Maddix stays down also, having caught the top of his head on the corner of the chair in delivering the move. "ONE!" "TWO!" Maddix stirs first, having only taken a glancing blow. "THREE!" Pushing up on the back of the chair, Maddix reaches his feet and dusts his hands in satisfaction, apparantly remembering he has the small matter of the World Heavyweight Championship riding on this match and settling for victory over mutilation. "FOUR!" "FIVE!" However, he may not even get victory, as Stephens begins to rouse himself back into consciousness. "SIX!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "SEVEN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "EIGHT!" "Look at Maddix, he thinks it's over!" Sat on the middle rope, Maddix signals for Hardcastle to get on with it as Stephens now has a hand on the chair and is using it as an aid to get back to a vertical base. "NI... ...NO, HE'S UP!!" "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Leant on the chair he may be, but Stephens has reached his feet and is therefore standing, meaning this main event will continue on! Much to the chagrin of Maddix, who jumps down from the buckles and charges Stephens... *SMACK~!* ...AND EATS A STEPHENSKICK!!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Stephens falls back into the chair, sitting back and taking a breather while Hardcastle lays another count on the Champ. "ONE!" "TWO!" "Maddix might be KOed, he's not moving!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" The Champion is moving now, although he's hardly doing the hoochiecoo. Shaking out the cobwebs, Maddix tries to sit up, but fails and slumps back down, earning an excited cheer from the crowd who sense this may be it. "FIVE!" Those same people are disappointed moments later however, as Maddix rolls over and pushes himself slowly up from his front... "SIX!" ...to his knees... ...and to his feet, breaking the count before seven. "Stephens is busted open and struggling to get his bearings, Maddix dazed and struggling for breath...we've got a gutcheck situation here, with the World Title hanging in the balance!" Hardcastle signals for the two to continue wrestling, forcing Stephens to claw himself off the chair and flick the bloody hair from his eyes to set his sights back on the World Champion. Both men slowly clamber back towards the other, Maddix's head hanging limply to his side whilst Stephens' arms are ready stretched, waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. Maddix staggers around to meet Stephens, stepping back out of range of a European uppercut attempt before catching The Sensation in the back of the head with a snap forearm. Stephens stumbles forward a couple of steps, but summons up some FIGHTING SPIRITUUUUU~! and hits the ropes, Landon wearily walking towards Stephens as he bounces back. With a head of steam, the challenger tumbles towards Maddix with a spinning heel kick attempt...but La Cucaracha is able to duck underneath the flying Brit! Stephens bounces off the canvas, skidding to a halt by the opposite ropes while Maddix turns to measure the challenger. Up stumbles Stephens, hardly gaining his footing before Maddix runs in at his lost opponent. Instinctively Stephens ducks his head with a backdrop over the ropes in mind, but Landon is one step ahead, able to catch the top rope on his way over and land safely on the apron. And as soon as he gains his footing, Landon promptly surrenders it, hooking Stephens under the jaw as he drops from the apron, snapping Stephens' neck across the top rope and causing him to whiplash face-first into the canvas! "ONE!" And again, the count is laid on Stephens. Meanwhile, on the outside, Maddix makes the most of his chance for a rest as he crouches down on the floor and sucks in some much needed oxygen. "TWO!" "THREE!" Stephens starts to show signs of life early and not knowing where Maddix is or what he has planned, The Sensation decides not to milk the count, clambering back up to one knee. A quick check of the forehead confirms that the blood is still flowing, although thankfully for Stephens it is slowly beginning to cease. Still though, his forehead remains crimson stained... "FOUR!" ...as he pushes back to his feet. "Maddix was hoping more that the combination of abuse would keep Stephens down rather than just the snap on the Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 Looking good so far, but where's the rest? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
The Ill One 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 “The Final Countdown” by Europe fades away and 13th Hour returns to a sold-out, buzzing crowd from the legendary Nippon Budokan in Tokyo, Japan. The usually collected crowd has now turned rowdy as the event has acted as a catalyst to their crescendo of nearly losing it. “We’re back, live, and tearing it up like Godzilla at the Nippon Budokan as we wrap up our World Tour,” Mak says. “Tearing it up like Godzilla?” King asks with a roll of his eyes. Mak ignores his partner and continues. “This show will definitely stand the test of time and speaking of which, Maddix is rapidly running out of time before he has to defend his World Title. Because the man he’s taunted for ages is back and finally we will see Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix collide in our main event.” King groans at his partner’s string of puns. “It’s going to get interesting when Stephens shows his true colors, that he always has and always will be Toxxic.” “But first we have Aecas defending his title against four men that the fans voted for on-line… plus Matt Myers. The fans have spoken and who are we to say no? So it will be Aecas, Manson, Stryke, Insane Luchador… and Myers all battling for the International Championship!” “Lord knows how he or IL snuck in there,” King mumbles. “But it’s an interesting stipulation too. It will be wrestled like a gauntlet match but without a set order. So two wrestlers will enter the ring and duke it out until somebody picks up the win. Then the next wrestler comes out to face the winner of the previous match up. Finally it’ll come down to two men and the winner of that will be our International Champion,” Mak explains. “I’d put money on Manson; it’s hard to resist the compelling force of MANSONOSITY,” King predicts. “I think it heavily depends on the order but Aecas has been on a roll since he has returned,” Mak replies. Suddenly Funyon’s booming voice breaks up their conversation. “The following match is set for four falls… and it is for the International Championship! First, introducing…” Silence follows as Funyon’s voice fades away as everybody watches towards the entrance ramp. Suddenly the lights begin to flicker and the sounds of gigantic, pounding foot steps becoming louder. Then it is seen, Matt “Godzilla” Myers- Myers stands there in a cheap dinosaur costume as his arms are held high into the air, lined with plastic imitation bone. The crowd breaks into laughter as he begins to stomp down the aisle and hissing towards the crowd in a venomous manner. He reaches ringside and roars at a cameraman in order to clear a path up onto the ring apron. His hands slip into two pockets and he reveals a handful of sparklers and one lighter. He shoves the sparklers into his mouth as he quickly begins to light each one with a growl from the back of his throat. All the sparkers come to life and Myers throws his head back, unleashing his fiery breath. Funyon stands in the ring and shakes his head before dropping the microphone with the trailing voice, “I’m not even bothering…” He spits out the sparklers as Matthew Kivell approaches him with a look of concern and pity. He recites the rules while patting him down, even running his hands over his foam tail. “Well it’s nice to know we can always hit new lows,” King says with a sigh. “Actually I think he made that costume himself,” Mak replies. The lights seem to get brighter as Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” blares over the sound system and frantic strobe lights begin to flash. The entrance ramp’s curtain is tossed to the side as Manson walks out and immediately starts to head down to ringside. The crowd begins to jeer, while secretly loving that Matt Myers will be fed to the cold-hearted Manson. He runs a hand through his long black hair as he approaches ringside in his usual black tights with matching knee pads, boots, and kick pads. “Introducing… from Denver, Colorado… weighing in at 230 pounds… FEEL THE MANSONOSITY IN THE AIR… MMMAAANNNSSSOOONNN!” He climbs up onto the apron and enters through the ropes with one last gesture to incite the resentful crowd by throwing up the metal horns. He approaches at Matt Myers but gets met by a growl accompanied by grinding jaw. But before he can kick off that jaw cleanly Matthew Kivell steps in the way. He sends him over into his corner as he stands in middle of the ring. He looks at both wrestlers and then signals for the ring bell. DING! DING! DING! Matt Myers holds his arms in front of him as he stomps on the canvas with both feet. Then he emulates every classic Japanese Godzilla movie he’s ever seen, he breaks into a charge with a wail towards Manson. He shuffles over towards Manson until the Raging Bull finally loses his patience and Myers eats an elbow to the face. He reels back and whips his body towards the side to stun his opponent with his tail. Manson, however, looks down in disbelief, and smacks him with a bitch slap that echoes throughout the Nippon Budokan. But Godzilla is only enraged by his action as he leans back his head and throws a headbutt straight for Manson’s face. Instead, however, the foam above Myers’ head harmlessly hits and bounces off of MANSONOSITY’S forehead. He replies by cracking him straight in the jaw with a vicious elbow. He staggers back but leans against the tail in order to gain some extra balance but his celebration of his own wit is cut short as- SMACK! OOOHHHHH! “That was arguably my favorite Raging Lariat in history of the world,” Mak laughs with a hint of sympathy. Myers seems to fuse with the canvas by the impact of the lariat and Manson covers- “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!” DING! DING! DING! “First eliminated via pinfall at, uh, hell I’ll round up, the minute mark… MMMYYYEERRSS!” The defeated Myers rolls out of the ring and leans against the barricade. He pathetically rolls himself over to plop onto the other side as he stands back up in the crowd. He glances back with a dazed look before turning around, walking out into the sea (of fans). “No surprise there,” Francis says. “Next time he’ll be Mothra.” Cypress Hill hits as “How I Could Just Kill a Man” begins and it cues a wall of blue and white pyrotechnics to the delight of the crowd. The smoke from the sparks lingers in the air and Stryke walks through it while lifting an arm to rally the crowd. He walks down the aisle with both of his arms extended as excited fans reach out to slap his hands while he remains focused in on the ring. The Australian wears his new blue and white tights with knee pads and boots, replacing his old street clothes attire. “Next, from Sydney, Australia… weighing in at 223 pounds… SSSSSTTTRRRYYYYKKKEEEE!” Stryke hops onto the ring apron and takes one more long look into the packed arena as they continue to cheer him on. He enters the ring and Kivell walks up to him, sending him to his corner while Manson is casually leaning against his. He looks at both men as Manson stands up straight and Stryke gives a slight nod for being ready. DING! DING! DING! The two men slowly inch away from their corners, staring across the ring at each other, before finally approaching towards center of the ring. They circle one another as they try to read each others’ body language to predict and gain the upper hand. Stryke reaches out both hands with a little smirk as Manson cautiously reaches for his hands. Manson’s fingers brush against Stryke’s hand and suddenly the Australian tries to shoot for his legs. But MANSONOSITY sees the move attempt coming and lifts a knee just in time to collide with Stryke’s head. He decides that he liked the feel of his knee against his opponent’s skull so he grabs the stunned Stryke into a front facelock just to bring up another vicious knee. Then he grabs a handful of his tights and quickly takes him over for the snap suplex. He is relentless and lifts Stryke back to his feet just to whip him into the ropes. Stryke comes rocketing back and shocks Manson by throwing up his leg, letting his boot collide into his face with a beautiful Yakuza kick! He reels backwards until Stryke grabs a hold of his wrist to send Manson into the ropes and follows after him. Manson hits against the ropes with Stryke a few strides behind and something triggers the Australian to drop to the canvas in a roll as Manson’s clothesline flies over him. He hops back onto his feet and shows off his agility by leaping onto the top rope to face the crowd. Manson turns around to see his opponent on the top rope and he moves forward in hopes to send him crashing onto the floor. But instead Stryke suddenly uses the rope’s spring to drop down into a seated position and then backflip over his lunging arms. He lands on his feet behind Manson, whose arms grab nothing but air and Stryke locks in a waistlock. The Raging Bull instantly reacts as he begins to push down on Stryke’s hands in hopes to break the lock until he opts for a more familiar approach, throwing back two quick elbows. He breaks out of the hold and whirls, grabbing the back of Stryke’s head, and then connecting with the European uppercut. Stryke stumbles back against the ropes in a daze as Manson looks down at his opponent’s bare chest. He smirks and lunges forward with a brutal knife edged chop right against his chest. Stryke grimaces in pain but responds with his own chop, followed by another, and one last one just for good measure. But the Raging Bull only seems more irritated by Stryke’s attack and comes back with five lightning fast chops right onto the side of his neck. The Australian slumps against the ropes in pain and Manson grabs him, sending him into the ropes. This time Manson bounces into the close ropes as he comes charging at Stryke while he rebounds from hitting the ropes. The two are on a dangerous collision course and MANSONOSITY strikes first as he hurtles himself into the air with a flying knee that cracks his opponent with a reassuring thud and Stryke immediately drops to the canvas. He glances down at the downed, and groaning, opponent as he goes down for the lateral press to make the cover- “After a beautiful opening exchange Manson is able to gain the upper hand with that brutal flying knee. Here’s the pin attempt,” Mak says. ONE! TWO! Stryke kicks out and tries to roll away from safety but Manson almost laughs as he grabs a hold of him. He lifts Stryke up in tow as the two get back to their feet and Manson lunges out for a front facelock but Stryke dodges underneath it. Again he finds himself behind Manson but this time leaps into the air to nail a beautiful dropkick into his back. The momentum sends Manson on an out of control course as he flies out of the ring through the middle rope. Stryke looks around at the crowd who encourage the same thought that’s running through everybody’s mind. He bounces against the ropes and charges after Manson on the outside looking in the set up of a plancha. Manson forces himself back up to his feet as he looks up into the ring in fear while Stryke takes flight through the middle rope with a flying shoulderblock. He connects and the two collide against the steel guardrail to the delight of the fans. “Stryke may have just turned the tides here with that high risk move. In the old days he might have busted out the Tope Con Hilo but he’s taking fewer risks now-a-days and has toned down his style,” Mak says. “Or he realized that it’s just really, really unnecessary to do a somersault before leaping out of the ring to crash-and-burn on the floor,” King snickers. The two begin to get back up to their feet as they each use the barricade for assistance. Meanwhile in the ring Matthew Kivell beings the count out- ONE! Stryke begins to get up from one knee while Manson moves to lean his back against the perpendicular guardrail to recover his breath. TWO! Stryke stands up and his chest heaves as he watches Manson use the guardrail as a crutch but gets to his feet. THREE! Stryke charges at his opponent but Manson bends down to easily get a hand against his chest and one wrapping around his thigh, lifting him high into the air. FOUR! He agonizes the crowd, but most of all Stryke, by benching pressing him before heaving him into the air. FIVE! Stryke comes falling down as he splats gut first against the steel guardrail! The fans all groan in sympathy as there’s a shout from Stryke in pain. He teeters on the edge before flopping over into the crowd as he clutches at his gut. SIX! Manson begins to walk over to the guardrail to retrieve his opponent while he throws the metal horns into the air. SEVEN! He stands over the barricade and leans down to scoop up Stryke but instead gets blasted by the European uppercut from Stryke! The fans rejoice as Stryke climbs over the guardrail as Manson retreats back into the ring. EIGHT! Stryke takes a moment time to regain his breath and push the thoughts of bleeding, internal, and organs out of his mind. NINE! Stryke rolls into the ring just in time and Kivell stops the count. The Raging Bull stands in center of the ring and taunts Stryke to grapple with him. The two walk up and this time Manson slowly offers both hands to tie up. Stryke begins to reach his out as he sees Manson’s knees bend and he knows the takedown attempt is coming. Predictably MANSONOSITY tries for the shoot but Stryke is prepared as he leaps over his back in a flip as he grabs both of his opponent’s thighs to roll him up with the sunset flip! “Pin attempt from the sunset flip,” Mak says. ONE! TWO! Manson kicks out and Stryke rolls backwards to get back to his feet while Manson bitterly stands towards his. Stryke tries to keep the advantage as he runs up and smacks him with a forearm strike. He tries to whip Manson into the ropes but the Raging Bull reverses the momentum, sending his opponent into the ropes instead. A light bulb seems to go off in Manson’s mind as he runs for the other ropes and bounces off to come charging towards his opponent. Again, the two are charging towards each other in an inevitability painful situation for somebody and Manson spins with his elbow out. He connects with Stryke and floors him with a gigantic roaring elbow! He drops down to the canvas to make the cover- “HUGE roaring elbow that could make Danny Williams proud,” Mak says. ONE! TWO! Stryke gets the shoulder up but the dazed look in his eyes says it all. Manson grabs his opponent and they get back up to their feet. The Raging Bull sends a knee to Stryke’s midsection and quickly turns his back to him with an arm wrapped around his neck in a diamond cutter attempt. “Manson’s trying to put Stryke away with his finisher here!” But Stryke shoves him off and narrowly dodges losing his chance at winning the ICTV Championship. Manson turns around and seems ready to strike but Stryke sends a kick to his ribs. It halts Manson long enough for his opponent to leap into the air and smack him straight in the temple with his signature Enziguri! The Raging Bull sways from the move and Stryke scrambles off the canvas as he grabs a headlock and a leg to roll over for the small package. “Another pin attempt,” King says. “Well if you have Insane Luchador and Aecas to beat you’d want to have a full tank of gas too,” Mak says to King’s condescending laugh. Kivell drops to the canvas for the count- “ONE!” The Tokyo crowd chants along. “TWO!” Manson breaks the pin and both men scramble up to their feet to face off yet again. The two don’t bother with trickery or tie ups but instead both of them fall back on one of their specialties- striking. Manson snaps off three forearm blows that rocks his opponent but Stryke quickly responds with a surprising head BUTT followed by an elbow to his opponent’s temple. The Raging Bull sways from the blow but throws out a kick to fend Stryke off long enough for his rattled head to recover. He watches Stryke leap off the canvas and he throws both arms into the air against the side of his head to foil the Enziguri attempt. Now with Stryke trying to rush up to his feet Manson is able to take advantage as he catches him with a kick directly into his face while he scrambles to get up. He crumbles back down against the canvas as he clutches his face with a weird groan coming out. Manson swoops down and lifts his opponent up to his feet to whip him into the ropes and he bounces into the other ropes. The two rapidly approach and Manson braces and then throws himself out for his finisher, the Raging Lariat! But Stryke sees the move coming and he drops down to the canvas in a baseball slide. The slide connects and trips Manson down to the canvas face first but he quickly gets up to all fours. Stryke snatches Manson’s arm in a fujiwara armbar but then he rolls him up with a La Majistral Cradle in an attempt to get the win- “ONE!” Manson’s legs kick furiously as he tries to break free. “TWO!” “THREEEEEE!” But Kivell shoots up two fingers to the crowd’s groan as Manson barely breaks the pin in time. Stryke grabs Manson and begins to lift him up to his feet but the Raging Bull has a surprise. Once on his knees he throws a jab into Stryke’s gut to force him opponent to bend over in pain. He explodes from the canvas and spins to snatch Stryke’s neck with his arm and brings it down to this shoulder in a prelude to a diamond cutter. He seems ready to drop but the slippery Australian pushes at Manson’s arm and then frees himself from the second attempt at the Consequences. He immediately reacts at his positioning as he bends down with an arm wrapped around Manson’s midsection with his head underneath his armpit for extra leverage. The crowd goes crazy as Stryke lifts Manson up into the air with a hasty Backdrop Driver! “Backdrop Driver! This may seal the deal for Stryke to move on,” Mak says. “These two are getting desperate because they are trying their finishers left and right,” King says in observation. “Right, I think Manson should stop going for Consequences, the Diamond Cutter, because that’s a finisher he recently dusted off,” Mak replies. But without his leg cradled Manson is able to throw his weight backwards and flip out of the precarious situation. He runs backwards and bounces off the ropes as Stryke reels around to see the Raging Bull charging his way. He panics as Manson throws out his arm in another attempt for the Raging Lariat to finally put away Stryke! But the Australian ducks underneath and immediately takes advantage of the situation. He uses Manson’s lifted arm to stick his head underneath to get the extra leverage again, wraps an arm around his midsection, and to end the fluent chain of motions he reaches forward to snatch Manson’s leg to the crowd’s delight. He quickly makes the lift as Manson’s face scrunches as Stryke falls back and the Raging Bull’s eyes are staring at the canvas, upside down. He crashes against the canvas at a dangerous angle as his neck seems to fold like an accordion from an absolutely brutal Backdrop Driver! The entire crowd flinches from the brutality that move brought but then break into a chorus of cheers for Stryke. “Jesus! Now that’s a backdrop driver,” King admits. “Here’s the cover,” Mak says as Stryke hooks the leg. “ONE!” The crowd chants. “TWO!” “It looks like Stryke’s going to move on,” Mak says in delight. Manson’s body wiggles as he tries to muster up the strength to kick out. “THREEEEEEE!” The crowd responds in delight as Matthew Kivell signals for the bell as a wave of relief comes over Stryke. DING! DING! DING! “Second elimination via pinfall… at 7:32… MMMAAANNNNSSSOOOONNNN!” “Stryke has to overcome two more men and both of them are not ones who are easy to put away,” Mak says as Stryke’s face seems to suddenly reflect that thought in the ring as his chest heaves. Manson rolls out of the ring and plops onto the floor as he stares back up into the ring with a hand against his neck. The Raging Bull makes eye contact with Stryke until he finally leaves ringside and heads up the ramp. “Right, one of those men is talented and that man is also seven foot flat,” King says with a laugh. “Man in the Box” begins by Alice in Chains and the crowd goes wild for Insane Luchador’s arrival. Black and red pyrotechnics explode and IL walks out with his arms thrown high into the air to milk the cheers from the fans. He begins to walk down the aisle with his eyes focused on the ring with that psychotic grin spread wide across his face. The same baggy khaki cargo pants, beaten up black skate shoes, a black t-shirt, and his hair wildly spiked up. “Next, from Easton, Pennsylvania… weighing in at 221 pounds… IIINNNSSAAANNNEE LLLLLUUCCHHHAADDDOORR!” He bursts into a sprint down the aisle with his hands outstretched as he makes a dive at ringside to slide into the ring. Stryke barely has time to even get his hands up as Insane Luchador rushes forward with an overhand right. It connects and he snaps off another that rattles Stryke but the third gets knocked out of the air. Stryke retaliates with his own overhand right but Insane Luchador blocks it with his arm in mid-air and uses his free arm to snap off an elbow. IL grabs Stryke and goes for the Irish whip but it is reversed and Stryke charges right after Rickmen. The fresh Luchador nears the ropes and foils Stryke’s plans as he hops onto the top rope to backflip all the way over Stryke. But the Australian isn’t impressed or fazed so he just bounces against the ropes to smack IL hard with a forearm. Luchador attempts to retaliate but first Stryke leaps into the air and attempts to crush Luchador’s skull in with a hard Enziguri kick! Rickmen, clearly unsatisfied with how things have gone so far, rolls out of the ring to the floor. Despite the logic that screams at Stryke he finds himself standing near the ropes and ready to take flight again. “It worked earlier, perhaps it’ll work again,” Mak says. Insane Luchador stands up and looks up with expectations to see 233 pounds coming at him but instead he sees Stryke’s hesitation in the ring. Luchador takes advantage as he reaches under the bottom rope to snatch both ankles and trip him down to the canvas. He immediately hops apron and then onto the top rope in wait as Stryke rolls up to his feet. The Psychotic Hero leaps off and wraps legs around Stryke in a springboard hurricanrana! But Stryke uses the ropes close proximity to his advantage. He guides Luchador’s body so that his back bounces against the ropes and Stryke uses the momentum to spin around to nail the slingshot sit-out powerbomb reversal! The ambivalent crowd begins to take sides as Stryke stands up and Insane Luchador coughs on the canvas while the mixed reaction pours in. “Brilliant counter by that springboard hurricanrana attempt,” Mak says. He reaches down and grabs a fistful of Luchador’s black spiked hair as he tugs him up to his feet. He steps forward to grapple but instead Rickmen snaps off an elbow to halt Stryke and then takes him over with an armdrag. They both scramble up to their feet and this time Stryke is able to flip his opponent into the air with an armdrag. Again they both race up to their feet and Rickmen answers back with yet another armdrag. Both wrestlers quickly roll back up but this time Stryke jumps into the air to surprise Luchador with a dropkick. He stuns his opponent and he gets back up to hit Rickmen with a European uppercut! IL backpedals against the ropes but finds himself Irish whipped to the other ropes. “Armdrag duels are cute and all,” Mak says, “but it isn’t a good idea for Stryke. He really needs to know when to keep the pace slow and when to really try to put him away.” “Right and if Rickmen eventually figures out that, well, he might have a chance of winning this match up. Against Aecas, however…” “Insane Luchador won the SJL World Title at Countdown to Genesis against Aecas and the English Dragon,” Mak informs King, who isn’t listening. “Granted it took four or so Evenflow DDTs to put him down for the count…” Mak continues to King, who still isn’t listening. Insane Luchador hits the ropes and watches Stryke barreling towards him as he leaps through the air. He takes Stryke by surprise and smacks him down against the canvas with the flying forearm. The two roll back up to their feet and Rickmen throws a kick into Stryke’s gut. He locks in the side headlock but suddenly Stryke gets an arm around Luchador and a hold of his leg. He hoists him into the air and drops down to the canvas with Rickmen with the backdrop suplex. “I hope IL realizes how close that could’ve been to a backdrop driver if Stryke had more time,” King says. “He needs to watch himself if there’s a guy who also specializes in roll-ups.” Stryke gets back to his feet and Rickmen rolls back up. He shakes his head as he looks at Stryke, the thought of the potential backdrop driver dawning on him, and gives a smirk. They collide again in another tie up and this time Stryke throws a knee into Luchador’s midsection. He whips Luchador towards the turnbuckles and breaks into a chase after him. IL smacks against the turnbuckles and slightly slumps down but knows that Stryke’s on the attack. He wraps his arms in the top rope and leans back against the turnbuckle before throwing both feet up into the air that smash into Stryke’s chest. He grabs his chest while stumbling back as Luchador hops onto the top turnbuckle, looking ready to take flight. But Stryke shocks the Ill One as he surges forward before leaping into the air with a crisp dropkick that hits dead-on that sends Luchador falling off of the turnbuckle, smacking onto the apron, and finally landing onto the outside. This time Stryke doesn’t bother with any aerial acts but instead just rolls to the outside to collect Luchador. “That was a great counter to what I’m assuming was going to be Luchador’s Crossbody,” Mak says. “But Stryke should be careful when he decides to go toe-to-toe on the outside, it used to one of IL’s advantages.” “His only advantage,” King corrects. He grabs the arm of Luchador and tugs until he sits up. Kivell leans over the top rope to first demand the two come back into the ring but it quickly dissolves into a plea, followed by an eye roll with the start of the count-out- ONE! Stryke leans down to send a powerful knife edged chop across Luchador’s chest and then follow it with a kick to his back. TWO! He continues the assault with another identical chop and then unleashes a spree of kicks to Luchador’s back. He pauses and Luchador scrambles up to his feet in hopes to avoid anymore seated back kicks. He throws a right haymaker in desperation but Stryke easily dodges it and then floors him with a dropkick. THREE! Andrew Rickmen rolls right back up to his feet with a growl as he comes forward with a hard Kesagiri chop onto Stryke’s neck. FOUR! He unleashes two more in rapid succession before throwing in a kick to switch things up but then falls back to throwing yet another Kesagiri. He grabs the stunned Stryke and simply throws him against the ring apron. FIVE! He lunges after his opponent but Stryke evades him and backs away to keep distance. IL smacks the ring apron with both hands like a child throwing a tantrum as he begins to pursue after Stryke. SIX! He lunges out with a high kick right into Stryke’s face and it sends him reeling backwards. Luchador leaps onto the guardrail, praying there aren’t too many Stryke fans out in front, and he runs like a suicidal tight walk performer. SEVEN! Luchador leaps into the air with a Crossbody but it is caught by Stryke who simply drops to a knee to counter it into a backbreaker. EIGHT! He keeps a hold of Rickmen and rolls him back into the ring, then slides in. “Luchador’s advantage, eh?” King taunts his partner. Insane Luchador charges in frustration and walks straight into another dropkick by Stryke. He staggers back as Stryke rolls back up to his feet and he taunts the Luchador with a little shrug. Andrew Rickmen rushes up again and Stryke throws a high kick but Luchador ducks underneath it. Before he can even get off a shot, however, Stryke cracks him straight in the face with an elbow. The Australian finds Luchador’s increasing temper comical as he comes at him again but he fends the Ill One off with another elbow. Stryke takes a step forward and leaps into the air with a dropkick but Luchador steps to the side to swat him down. He rolls back up to his feet and tries to back away but Luchador smothers him. He balls both of his fists and looks Stryke right in the eyes with a little smirk before letting his fists fly. He begins with a right hook to the ribs, left hook to the floating ribs, a wicked right straight into the kidney, a left straight into the gut, and finally he cocks back his arm to unleash a brutal right straight against Stryke’s jaw. Meanwhile Stryke reels back from the flurry of body shots but Rickmen continues to press on. He grabs Stryke in his own version of a Muay Thai clinch and begins to bring his knees into the air against his opponent’s body. He stops the knee assault and instead whips him into the ropes as he remains put. Stryke bounces against the ropes and is helpless as Luchador smacks him in the gut with a front kick, lunges forward, and locks in the front headlock. He raises his free arm into the air to garner the crowd’s support, sans the loyal Stryke fans, and he drops down to the canvas to spike Stryke’s head with the Evenflow DDT! “Luchador’s former finisher, the Evenflow DDT, and he is regaining control here. This stamina is making such a difference here and I can’t imagine how Stryke’s body aches after all those blows,” Mak says. Luchador looks down on the canvas at Stryke who flops onto his back with a heaving chest accompanied by a low groan. He then looks towards the turnbuckle and the Ill One hops over his opponent as he points over to the turnbuckle to a roar of approval. He walks over and hops onto the top turnbuckle, stands up while facing the crowd, throws up his arms, and doesn’t even glance back at his opponent. He bends his knees and leaps into the air as he throws his weight backwards in his signature Moonsault! He rapidly descends while Stryke notices a blotch cover up the house lights he was staring at. Luchador connects right across Stryke and lies there for the cover- “ONE!” The crowd chants. Stryke tries to get his shoulders up but Luchador has them pinned down. “TWO!” “THREE!” But Stryke uses his lower body to thrust into the air in order to break the pin. Kivell throws up two fingers, to a mixed reaction across the Nippon Budokan, and Rickmen runs both hands through his spiked hair. “What’s wrong Luchy? Pressure gettin’ to you?” King jokes. Mak sighs. “I imagine he’s frustrated but Luchador sure has been all over the place far as his attitude is concerned.” King pauses to think that over and asks, “How’s that any different than any other time?” Luchador gets Stryke in his clutches and he stands up while lifting him his opponent up with him. He Irish whips him into the ropes and begins to follow after Stryke. But the Australian rapidly approaches the ropes and he hops onto the middle rope, using it as a springboard to fly backwards, and collide into Luchador with a springboard back elbow. He grabs Rickmen while on the canvas and as he begins to lift him up he starts to lock in the front facelock. He slings Rickmen’s arm over his neck and he hoists his opponent into the air. But instead of dropping down to the canvas Stryke decides to get a helping hand as he drops Rickmen’s feet onto the top rope to get the extra momentum to hit the slingshot suplex. The Australian doesn’t even kid himself with going for a pin on the tenacious Luchador so he jumps into the air, crosses his arms across his chest, leans back, and hits the back senton. He gets right back to his feet as Luchador rolls away before scrambling to his feet. Stryke charges at his opponent and catches him off guard as he jumps into the air with his legs in motion for another Enziguri kick! Rickmen staggers from the blow and slightly slumps over as everybody expects a roll-up attempt from Stryke. Instead he forces himself up to his feet quickly as he gets the standing headscissors on Rickmen. He then wraps his arms around Luchador’s waist and tries to lift him up for the piledriver but the Ill One plants his weight. Stryke pauses and then gives another lift but Luchador falls down to one knee in prevention. Finally Stryke quickly lets one arm free as he sends down an elbow right into the back of Rickmen’s skull to rattle him, wraps that arm back around his torso, lifts him up, and then sits down for his signature piledriver. Andrew’s skull bounces off the canvas but Stryke maintains a hold on his waist. He gets back to his feet, forcing Rickmen up to his, as he secures the standing headscissors again. This time, however, he grabs both of Rickmen’s arms in the double underhook and with relative ease he lifts him into the air, taking him over for the double underhook suplex. Stryke lies on top for the cover and hooks one of Luchador’s legs- “ONE!” “Nice way to chain those two moves together,” Mak says. “TWO!” But Kivell stops the count and taps on Stryke’s shoulder to point out Rickmen’s leg slung over the bottom rope. He swears and gets up to his feet to recuperate while Andrew Rickmen uses the ropes as an aid. He stands there with his hands on his hips, adjusting his tights, and his eyes reflect the wheels in his head turning for a new game plan. Insane Luchador rolls onto one knee and looks up at Stryke before standing up, carefully walking towards Stryke. Finally the two come within range and collide into a grapple until Stryke is able to lock in the side headlock. But Rickmen easily frees himself and shoves his opponent into the ropes. He stands firm as Stryke comes back and the two collide in a shoulderblock but both men just stumble back. Immediately they tie up again and this time Luchador slips underneath to get behind Stryke. He wraps his arm around the neck of Stryke, forcing him to arch his back as he stares up at the ceiling before getting dropped down for the reverse DDT! Luchador hooks both legs for a pin attempt- ONE! TWO! Stryke breaks the pin and Insane Luchador stands back up. He bends over to pick up Stryke but instead gets a kick to the side of his head. The Australian regains the advantage as he stands up and snatches the bent over Luchador before flipping him over in a gutwrench suplex. But Rickmen rolls back to his feet in refusal to stay down as Stryke grunts in frustration. Insane Luchador runs back into the ropes and comes charging at Stryke who throws out a clothesline in hopes to floor him. Instead Insane Luchador ducks underneath it and bounces into the ropes again. This time he comes at him but Stryke outsmarts him with a simple leap frog. Luchador is persistent though as he bounces into the ropes for the third time. This time he attempts to decapitate Stryke with a clothesline but the Australian luckily ducks underneath. Like déjà vu Stryke is able to secure an arm, get his head underneath Luchador’s arm for leverage, and he reaches forward to snag the legs. He swiftly lifts Rickmen into the air but the backdrop driver falters as Rickmen isn’t quite high enough yet and he looks ready to drop IL back onto the canvas. The Ill One takes advantage of this as he flips out of it and wraps an arm around the back of Stryke. He runs forward and leaps into the air to spike Stryke down with a bulldog! “See what happens when you lift with your back instead of your knees?” King jokes with a smirk. “There can’t be too much left in Stryke’s tank if he couldn’t get his finisher,” Mak says in concern. Stryke rolls over onto his back as Insane Luchador walks over him. He assesses the situation and a psychotic grin spreads across his face, triggering a few sporadic cheers, and he sprints for the turnbuckle. He climbs to the top turnbuckle, back to the crowd, and doesn’t waste any time as he leaps off. He remains totally vertical as he even brings up his knees and thrusts them down to add extra damage to the double stomp! He hops off of Stryke’s chest as if it’s no problem and he sprints to the other turnbuckle. Meanwhile Stryke lets out a scream as his body thrashes from the brutal double stomp. “Double stomp off the top rope and Luchador isn’t finished!” Mak exclaims. Insane Luchador vaults onto the top turnbuckle and blindly leaps off, high into the air going for the moonsault! Stryke knows exactly what to do but Luchador is rapidly descending and he begins to roll- “Luchador got the moonsault! Here’s the pin!” Luchador, indeed, barely connected with the moonsault and he lays on top for the pin. “ONE!” The crowd chants. “TWO!” “Looks like it’ll be Insane Luchador versus Aecas,” Mak says in glee. “Terrific.” Stryke attempts to break the pin but can’t quite pull it off. “THREE!” DING! DING! DING! “The third elimination… at 15:27… SSSTTRRYYKKEE!” Insane Luchador gets off of Stryke and stands up to retreat into a corner in hopes to gain his breath. Meanwhile Stryke clutches his ribs as he rolls out of the ring and gracefully takes the walk of shame up the aisle. “Well, if nothing else, maybe Aecas can snap IL’s neck,” King says. “What.” “…Oh right, got that covered,” King shamelessly says. Suddenly darkness sweeps over the Nippon Budokan and a graveyard bell softly rings until… Are you scared? The fans shake off the creeps as the voice fades away. He’s here… “Of course he’s here, he’s the last guy in the match,” King says. “Death in Fire” blares by Amon Amarth and the Smarktron slowly glows to life. A lightning bolt flashes and Aecas’ face is seen in that second with a sadistic grin to rival Luchador’s. Red lights begin to frantically strobe about and a screen of smoke slowly begins to seep through the entrance ramp. Finally a crimson spotlight highlights Aecas, the seven foot beast with the infamous Flick Scythe. He holds the staff high above his head in both hands and the blades are suddenly exposed. He tilts back his head and lets out a bloody mist from his mouth as some of it trickles back down onto his face while he welcomes it. He begins to walk towards the ring ramp as the lights still strobe but following his path down to the ring. “It’s not like we’re going to lose sight of him,” King jokes. King, in this instance, is absolutely right. It’s hard to not pay attention to the demonic Aecas, 7’ tall, black hair that comes down to his shoulders, black leather pants and New Goth rocker boots, the totally white eyes from those contacts, the pale skin that clashes with the twisting black dragon tattoo that covers his chest and back, and the “DEATH” painted on his forehead in black face paint. But, most importantly to IL, the ICTV Championship is strapped around his waist. “Introducing… your International Champion- from Shrewsbury, England… weighing in at 315 pounds… AAAAAEEECCCAASS!” “IL is a former ICTV Champion, King; I don’t think it’s totally implausible for him to win tonight,” Francis says. “But Aecas has been destroying whoever we have been putting in front of him.” “That’s what I’m hoping,” King says. “Besides, IL won the belt off Grappler… at the PPV where he was also the main event. Then he lost it to Toxxic, what, like the next show or so? Plus this is the International Championship now, not ICTV.” Mak winces and says, “Oh, that’s true. Well, you know, excuse me if I said ICTV here and there, I don’t feel like going back and correcting myself every time.” Aecas continues his walk down the aisle without taking his eyes off Rickmen while the ballsy enough fans slap his back or try to run their fingers along his belt. He reaches ringside as he places the Scythe Flick against the guardrail and climbs onto the ring apron. He enters the ring through the middle ropes as the lights come back on, the cheers die down, and Aecas has a psychotic smile spread across his face, but so does the Ill One. He steps away from the corner as he walks towards center of the ring where Kivell stands. Aecas walks over and his face doesn’t fade into the usual stoic expression but that grin remains. Kivell removes the International Championship belt and holds it high in the air as the house light catches it at –just- the right angle, producing a glistening shine. The two men still don’t blink, change their facial expressions, or even acknowledge the title being held out. “I’m actually feeling pretty excited King,” Mak honestly says. “There’s some definite tension in that ring and if there’s two guys I expect carnage out of, well, it’s those two.” Kivell skips the usual lecture because he just wants to get out of the way of whatever is about to go down. He makes sure each man is ready and he practically leaps away, calling for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “This is it,” King says. “I know, IL has nothing to lose and Aecas has everything, these men will go down swinging,” Mak replies. “Laughing too, but I meant ‘this is it’ here comes IL’s death.” “Something tells me that IL wouldn’t be stopped by death,” Mak laughs. “What? Like he’d sell his soul to the devil? Wouldn’t he just be paying Aecas?” Then the banter stops as both men move closer to each other. Insane Luchador’s smile fades and balls his hands into fists as Aecas does the same. The two lunge at each other at the same time, before of them beginning to wail on each other with shots! Aecas grabs the back of Luchador’s head and holds it steady as he cracks him in the face with a forearm strike. But IL hangs in there and throws an uppercut to an unresponsive Aecas, who unleashes another forearm. This time Rickmen throws a shotei straight into the big man’s chest. He takes a step back but comes right back with a huge Kesagiri chop down across Luchador’s neck. Rickmen responds, for his own convenience due to height, with three rapid chops against Aecas’ ribs. Again Aecas clutches the back of Luchador’s head and pulls him into this forearm strike, sending him down to the canvas. He rolls right back up, though, but gets floored again by another forearm blow. This time he rolls away from Aecas and stands up as he checks his nose for blood, looking disappointed at the lack there of. The International Champion goes back into the ropes and comes stampeding towards Rickmen, who drops down with a basement dropkick to the knee. He falls onto one knee and Rickmen quickly rolls back up to his feet just to dropkick him in the chest. Now with the big man on the ground IL pounces as he gets on top of Aecas while shamelessly raining down sloppy, hard punches onto his opponent. But soon enough Aecas uses his weight and sheer strength as he lifts his lower body, throwing Luchador off of him. The two scramble to their feet and Rickmen instantly leaps out with a dropkick that connects with the Champion in the chest. It throws him off balance and Luchador rolls back up to his feet to take advantage. He whips Aecas into the ropes as he bounces into the other side. They come bolting towards each other and Aecas lifts up his arm for his Decapitator Lariats but Luchador ducks underneath. Both men bounce into the ropes again and this time Luchador leaps into the air with a Lou Thesz Press. But Aecas catches him and drops down to give him a spinebuster that shakes the canvas. “Oh! Brutal spinebuster by Aecas, I don’t think IL has any clue what to do here,” Mak says. “Again, I reiterate, how is that different from normally?” Luchador rolls away while grabbing at his back as Aecas stands up with a sadistic grin. He approaches Andrew Rickmen to lift him back up but instead is taken off his feet with a leg sweep kick. He falls flat onto his back and Luchador gets on top of him again but with a different technique. This time he brutally uses the tip of his elbow bringing it up into the air to the side then guiding it straight into Aecas’ jaw. He begins to get desperate as he feels Aecas beginning to work up the toss-off and he brings them down more rapidly. Finally he’s thrown off, yet again, and he rebounds right up to his feet while Aecas sits up, taunting Luchador by scratching at his jaw. He stands up to see Insane Luchador try to ambush him but Aecas simply brings up his foot to brand New Goth Rock’s design into his face forever. He smacks against the canvas but rolls right back up to his feet without hesitation. The International Champion uses that painful karate chop, the Kesagiri, against Luchador’s neck twice in rapid succession before he spins and lands a rolling Kesagiri! IL stumbles back and grabs at his neck while Aecas charges forward to shoulderblock him down to the canvas. He tries to hop over Luchador to get to the ropes but instead he gets tripped at the ankles. This time Luchador mounts onto Aecas’ back and grabs a handful of his wild black hair, yanking his head up. He mercilessly slams Aecas’ face down against the canvas! Matthew Kivell tries to protest, using the hair pulling as the reason, but Luchador does it once more. He stops and tries to get his arms in place for the Camel Clutch but the gigantic Aecas simply begins to stand up. Insane Luchador clutches on, however, and quickly changes strategy as he brings an arm across his opponent’s throat. He sinks in the rear naked chokehold by getting his left arm against the other side of Aecas’ head and his right hand clutches the left arm for that extra squeeze. He then takes a chance as he hops off the canvas to apply the body scissors as Aecas begins to lean back from the hold. “Insane Luchador is approaching this logically, the rear naked chokehold may be his best bet right now,” Francis says, “but it really becomes effective once Aecas hits the canvas.” Luchador leans his weight back and Aecas’ knees buckle before collapsing down to the canvas. IL grunts as he pulls back even harder but immediately Kivell leaps in to break the hold up. He lets go in confusion, wondering if Aecas tapped or if he’ll be wanted for murder, and then sees Aecas’ boot slung over the bottom rope. He swears and scrambles to his feet as Aecas rolls onto all fours before getting back up. This time he checks his nose for blood but there still hasn’t been a crimson mask shed. They collide in center of the ring yet again as Luchador throws out a spinning backfist directly into Aecas’ ribs. The International Champion responds as he grabs Andrew Rickmen’s head and unleashes a forearm strike right into Luchador’s mouth. But he holds onto IL’s head so he can’t crumble to the mat because he delivers another stiff strike, and another, and then one final one to make sure the Ill One falls down to the canvas. He does and he rolls away from Aecas as he gets onto one knee, brushing the back of his hand across his mouth. He looks down to see a crimson smear on his hand and he looks up with a psychotic grin towards Aecas. He breaks into a sprint at Aecas and is able to take him off guard as he begins to throw thigh kicks just as a warm up. Then he unleashes a European uppercut, followed by three Kesagiri chops, and finally he reaches up to grab Aecas’ head, tugs it down, and leaps into the air with both knees up to hit him directly in the face. Aecas reels back but doesn’t fall down as Insane Luchador leaps into the air and wraps his legs around Aecas’ neck. He attempts to go for the hurricanrana but the International Champion catches him and allows him to dangle down for his finisher the Executioner, the Ganso Bomb. But Andrew Rickmen uses his abdominal strength to pull his lower body forward into the air as he throws right hands that stagger Aecas. Finally he finds himself with his back to the ropes with Rickmen still raining down blows. Aecas finally gives up on the hopes of his finisher but certainly doesn’t mind the alternative. He takes a step forward and guides Rickmen down to the canvas with a powerbomb, complete with holding onto the legs for the cover, ONE! TWO! Insane Luchador breaks it and rolls backwards, away from Aecas. He stands up and charges, leaping into the air with a high dropkick. His skate shoes connect against the Champion’s chest as the momentum flips him over the ropes but he clutches the top to keep from falling down to the floor. He quickly gets back up to both feet in time for Luchador to fire an elbow. He then grabs the top of Aecas’ head and guides him to the exposed steel turnbuckle corner. He brutally slams his head against the steel but feels that isn’t adequate. He pulls Aecas’ head back and repeats the process as fans everywhere are disgusted by the thud of skull colliding with steel. But this time he stops as he hops onto the top turnbuckle with a hold of Aecas’ head. He grabs the back of his head with both hands and leaps onto the ring apron of the other side of the turnbuckle, smacking his forehead against the steel. Aecas wraps an arm around the ropes for support but this time his head tilts back from the impact as his forehead’s face paint is replaced with a rather nasty gash. Blood instantly begins to flow down his face as Luchador hops back into the ring. He charges at Aecas but the International Champion sends a back hand that connects with Rickmen in the mouth. He rocks back and turns his head to spit out a stream of blood right into the ring. He wipes his bloody mouth on his shirt’s shoulder as if it was a little kid with spaghetti sauce with a smirk of amusement. But he doesn’t allow himself to be distracted as he hurtles himself at Aecas with a kick to the gut through the middle and top ropes. Aecas collapses onto the ring apron from the hard blow while Luchador’s leg awkwardly causes him to lose his balance as he pulls it back into the ring. “Insane Luchador is being absolutely merciless but that is the only strategy that can possibly work for him,” Francis says in an attempt to justify his brutal actions. Aecas clinches onto that top rope as he begins to stand up on the ring apron as Luchador rolls back up to his feet. He runs forward and leaps high into the air as he throws an Enziguri that cracks Aecas right in the temples! The International Champion flies off the apron, all the way down to the floor but his upper body smacks into the guardrail. He leans over the guardrail in an attempt to recover as IL picks himself back up. He stares at his opponent and gets an odd little psychotic grin across his face. He runs two fingers across his bloodied mouth, dipping a bit into the gums, and scribbles out “DEATH” on his forehead in blood to match Aecas’. “Good Lord,” King mutters. Insane Luchador looks around the arena where the crowd encourages him to do whatever is running through his mind. He runs back into the ropes and sprints towards the helpless Aecas on the outside. The fans hold their breath, while the ones in the area bail, as Insane Luchador reaches his launching point as he grabs the top rope for extra help as he vaults from the ring in a flipping motion. He does a full body flip before he flies through the air as if casually sitting down. Aecas slightly turns his head in total disbelief as Insane Luchador lands onto the back and shoulder’s of Aecas with a Seated Senton Plancha! “HOLY SHIT!” The chant, somehow well known, spreads across the entire arena. Aecas and Luchador both violently spill into the front rows as Kivell almost looks confused by IL’s flight but he still begins the count- ONE! “Damn! Luchador just risked it all for that suicidal plancha, it could be a double count out or it could have led to an easier victory,” Mak says. TWO! Two loud, distinct groans are heard- one of pain, another of pain, perhaps some regret, and even a hint of laughter. King fumbles for an insult. “How unnecessary, now the company’s health insurance prices will soar.” THREE! A gigantic hand is seen grabbing onto the guardrail but it drops. FOUR! Insane Luchador’s arm is suddenly appears slung over. FIVE! Aecas’ hands grab the guardrail but there’s little movement from either party. SIX! Finally Insane Luchador’s head pokes out as he gingerly touches his forehead where a small cut is. A few feet away Aecas shoulder is seen. IL stumbles up to his feet and he flops over the guardrail onto the floor. He shakily stands up and looks at the deserted area, chairs askew, and a Champion who may be counted out. SEVEN! IL reaches over the barricade and aids Aecas in his standing up, whether he wants to or not. Suddenly the Champion violently jerks his arm free and climbs over the barricade. EIGHT! They glance at each other, inches apart, awkwardly and then look up at the ring. NINE! They both dart to slide into the ring and roll up to their feet. “These guys are tenacious,” Mak says in amazement. “Psychotic people tend to have that quality,” King dryly replies. They both stand there until Insane Luchador’s face twists in a smirk and he comes bouncing into the ropes but Aecas responds. He takes a few steps and throws out his arm that collides with Luchador in a moment where man now knows how far back a neck can go without breaking. He hits the canvas and crumbles in a heap as his hands instantly grab at his neck from the devastating Decapitator Lariat! The International Champion swoops down to make the cover- “ONE!” “There’s no way Luchador is going to kick out when there’s over three hundred pounds on you,” King says. “TWO!” “I’m inclined to agree here,” Mak says. “But it was certainly an amazing fight he put up. “THREE!” Aecas nods as the crowd finishes the chant as he waits for the ring bell. Then Kivell, looking rather worried, taps him on the shoulder to point to Luchador’s foot slung on top of the bottom rope. Aecas’ usually stone face twists into a rage as he gets up to his knees, grabs Luchador by his spiked hair, and yanks him to his feet. He whips Insane Luchador into the ropes as he bounces into the other ropes with body language screaming another Decapitator Lariat on deck. They come close to collision until Insane Luchador leaps into the air with a desperate flying forearm that smacks the Champion in the face. It knocks him down as Luchador feels a new rush of hope at finally toppling Aecas from a strike. He rolls back to his feet and gets past his aching body to bounce into those ropes once more while Aecas pushes himself to his feet. “Aecas has actually taken quite a beating here but I’m sure that Luchador is ready to collapse at any moment,” Mak says. “I bet IL will just drop,” King replies. “I’m not sure but that blood loss flowing from Aecas’ forehead is definitely a huge factor here, hell, he possibly could have a concussion. Luchador’s only noticeable blood loss is from his mouth and that bit trickling down his face from that insane seated senton plancha,” Mak argues. He stands up just in time to turn around to see IL in flight again to floor him with another flying forearm. The crowd goes nuts as both men test their limits as they begin to get up yet again. Insane Luchador beats the International Champion to his feet as he bounces against those ropes yet again. Aecas, however, stands up in a total dazed state but he knows what’s coming. He simply side steps in hopes that Rickmen would soar by but instead Luchador only ducks underneath him, bouncing into the other ropes. He turns around and in his frustration, anger pent up at Rickmen, flashbacks to the SJL, and fear of losing his title, he lets out a warrior scream as Luchador goes airborne. The Ill One connects once more with a flying forearm strike with enough force to cause Aecas to drop in a crumbled heap while he crashes onto the canvas. He gets to his knees and crawls over to the feet of Aecas where he grabs each leg. He smirks as he knows exactly where Aecas’ white eyes are looking and he jumps over Aecas’ body with the legs for the bridging pin! “ONE!” The crowd chants. “Could Insane Luchador be our new champion?” Mak excitedly asks. “TWO!” Aecas grunts and is obviously channeling all that’s left to kick out. “Kick out, kid, kick out,” King says while choosing the lesser of two evils. “THRRRREEEEE!” The crowd explodes into cheers. “Insane Luchador has done it! IL is our NEW INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION after an amazing effort from both men,” Mak exclaims. DING! DING! DING! “The final elimination… at 26:06 via pinfall… AAAEECCAASSS! AND THEREFORE YOUR NEW INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION- IIIINNNSSSAAANNNEEEE LLLLLUUCCHHHAAADDOOOR!” Insane Luchador staggers up to his feet as Matthew Kivell lands him the belt. Insane Luchador looks down on it and watches blood droplets from the bridge of his nose fall onto the otherwise glistening belt. He holds it high into the air with a psychotic grin while the crowd gives one last final wave of cheers that drown out “Man in the Box.” “Damn it,” King grunts. He looks down to Aecas who flips onto his stomach, watching the blood puddle he’s created, before finally getting up to his feet. He merely looks at Rickmen and remains calm as he exits the ring to leave Luchador to his celebration. “Don’t forget the rematch clause because this definitely isn’t over. But next is our main event… Michael Stephens versus Landon Maddix!” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
zyon 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 Comments please. I think it's pretty good for only writing it during my extension. Personally, if I knew the Akira is injured promo was in the actual results, I wouldn't have put it in my match. Oh well, congrats Cross and stuff. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The dust that surrounds the after effects of the hard hitting battle between the Maori Badass and the Ultimate Fighter finally begins to settle as the audience that packs the Nippon Budokan, who were prepared for a battle that has international consequences. They were ready to see a grand spotfest involving two of SWF’s top cruiserweight talents. One, the newly crowned Seoul Survivor who has warmed his fans hearts with his dazzling acrobatics and his artistic mat wrestling. The Divine Wind with a victory tonight would not only earn a SUPER SECRET TOTALLY AWESOME NEW NICKNAME that assures his greatness in the history books of professional wrestling, but he would also leap to the top of the cruiserweight division, definitely earning his right to claim a match for the coveted Cruiserweight Title. However… His opponent is a youngster who has held his international title for close to one year to the day. He is the Patron Wrestler of Athens. This Unique Youth from day one has made it his mission to deliver entertainment in all shapes and sizes. Rather it was killing himself in a duel with his rivals or flying through the air against those he respects, Zyon has always put the crowd in front of his own ambitions. Tonight he was to be rewarded with a chance to listen to the very crowd he loves to perform in front of, chant his SUPER SECRET TOTALLY AWESOME NEW NICKNAME if he could obtain the victory. Two warriors who have battled on numerous occasions were supposed to come in and tear the house down, one more time. The proud American and the crafty Japanese sensation were going to brawl, wrestler, and fly into a contest that would dazzle the audiences with an untouched entertainment factor. It would have been glorious!! However… Due to unforeseen circumstances and an unknown assassin, the beloved Akira Kaibatsu will not be competing tonight. In a horrible scene that showed the competitive Divine Wind in a whole new light, many wonder if time has ran out of the young warrior’s career. Only time will tell… However… Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a savior has been promoted from bench to starter. He’s been out of action for quite some time due to a variety of injuries that battered him both physically and mentally. This young man came to Tokyo, Japan with the intentions to watch a great match between two of the SWF’s finest. Instead he got one better. Tonight due to the Joseph Peters’ knowledge of all things entertaining (AKA ratings) the battle of international titles will be put on hold indefinitely. Due to fate stepping in, this phoenix will receive in his first match back a Cruiserweight Title shot. This phoenix is made of Iron… “My fears hunt me down Capturing my memories The frontier of loss They try to escape across the street where Jesus stripped bare And raped the spirit he was supposed to nurture In the name of my In the name of my…” “The next contest is schedule for one fall with a sixty minute time limit…AND IS FOR THE SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! First the challenger, returning to us from Detroit, Michigan. Weighing in tonight at 228 pounds, he is…IRON MICHAEL CROSS!!!!!!!” Funyon bellows as the loud background noise of Rage Against the Machine’s “Born of a Broken Man” send a shock through the Nippon Budokan. Welcoming the returnee back with a warm applause and massive cheering, the audience erupts even more when the man himself enters past the mysterious black curtain. Flashing lights of the dark red variant make Cross appear a bit devilish, which isn’t helped by the fact that he completely ignores the crowd’s generally respective applause. “Pretty good reaction for the returning Michael Cross. It’s a damn shame what happened to Akira Kaibatsu, but if anyone were to take his spot, it’s Cross. For those of you unaware, here is some footage of the unfortunate events that unfolded on the young Divine Wind, and what lead to Cross’ biggest singles match of his career.” Mak shouts as the crazy fans behind him pump their hands in a silly attempt to get on camera. --SMARTMARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION’S 13TH HOUR INSTANT RECAP-- “AKIRA!” Mike Cross comes into view now, making his on-screen return for the first time in over 2 months, since taking leave with the federation. The camera pans to the left to see a bloodied and battered Akira Kaibatsu, in full gear, crawling at the feet of ‘Iron’ Mike Cross as Mr. Kobe turns his attention to the locker-room doorway, catching a glimpse of the battered fighter. “What…what happened?!” Kobe, jumping to Akira’s immediate attention lifts him and sets him into a sitting position, blood drizzling from a cut, thick and boldly torn open, atop the Japanese man’s head. “Look…look at these bruises,” the heavily accented Japanese flows from Kobe’s lips as officials and doctors rush to the scene, followed by ‘Iron’ Mike, who left momentarily to get the group of men filing into the room to attend to the fallen Akira, who seems stunned. Akira’s mask lays folded on the floor, damp with fresh blood, having been tossed aside almost instantly by the worried manager. The crowd clears as the voice of SWF Management head, Joseph Peters, immediately demanding that he be given some answers and some space. “What the hell happened here, what is this?” A slight silence proceeds. “…I don’t know.” The first words uttered from the mouth of the Divine Wind, face now covered by a towel as doctors immediately begin cleaning the cut and stitching it, one pierce of the needle at a time as the dark thread weaves its way and folds the seemingly tight skin atop the man’s head together with ease as, for the first time, we now see Kaibatsu unmasked. “One minute I’m there, warming up for my match tonight, the next thing I know I’m sitting here, bewildered and confused.” Suddenly, doctors tear the towel away from the face of young Akira, revealing his true identity, flashing a beam of light into his pupils and telling him to follow their fingers as they move them across his field of vision like a ship across the ocean line. “Any word on his injuries?” Peters waits on the sidelines, anxious to be assured that his match will still go on as planned later in the evening. “Anything…at all?” Hands on his hips, Peters stands over the kneeling doctor, who pauses what he’s doing and turns his head rigidly, looking Peters in the eye. “I’m going to be honest with you,” the sounds in the arena are of a sigh, as they know what’s coming next, “It’s my medical opinion that any injuries possibly sustained tonight in that match could only worsen the condition he’s in. He’s not reacting properly, and I think this man has a concussion.” Peters shakes his head and lets out a disappointing sigh, slapping his hand against his thigh and then immediately running his hand through his hair. “But if you want to send out a worker in this condition, it’s on your head if he suffers anything career ending.” “No…no,” Peters comforting but discouraging voice cuts in as he turns away to walk through the door way with very clear disappointment in his step. “Wait…” Peters turns around to see Akira brushing the doctors away, getting a brief smile out of the stressed businessman, only to be let down again, as he falls to his knees. “Mike…” Akira looks up, apparently in a moment of need. “Fill in for me tonight.” With those brief words, medical attention with a stretcher arrives, as the doctors drag a blood-stained Akira Kaibatsu to his feet, seating him on the stretcher, the room clearing as he leaves, photographers and media relations rushing to the scene. Peters turns around to face Kobe and Cross, both of how look stunned at what’s just happened. “I know you weren’t looking to get in the ring tonight, Mike,” Peters turns, and then pauses, “But I need you to gear up. Can you handle it?” Cross nods, and Peters nods back, opening the door ajar sending a frenzy of flashing cameras and sounds of questions inward until he exits, the door closing with a metallic thud. The screen fades with Mike and Kobe at odds, wondering what’s next. --SMARTMARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION’S 13TH HOUR INSTANT RECAP— “Such a shame. This is a dark cloud indeed for the entire SWF.” Mak finishes. “Please. I bet he was just trying one of those 720 corkscrew moonsalts that all of these cruiser fools attempt on a nightly basis.” The Gambling Man shoots off with a few noticeable individuals mouthing obscenities at the opinion filled announcer. “Even with the lost of the Divine Wind, the SWF naturally receives a gain as well. Before his abrupt exit, the Suicide Machine along with Akira Kaibatsu were at the top of the tag division. He was also a more than capable singles competitor. He was what we like to call the total package.” The Franchise pimps Iron Michael Cross’ skills. “We? What is this we crap? He’s back for less than five minutes and you’re already choking on his dick. Yeah I said it. I’ll save my judgment for when he actually does something outside of a dead tag division and a few victories over the likes of Arch Griffon.” “King, Arch Griffon is a former International Champion.” “And where is he now?” “…” “Exactly.” Before entering the ring, Cross strips off his independent hoodie sweat shirt, unconsciously tossing it into the crowd for them to fight over. Rolling into the ring, Cross treads over to a random corner as he takes the next couple minutes to stretch out and prepare himself for the impending war. “I’M BORN!” The familiar intro of the Cruiserweight Champs begins on the Smarktron with ADD like flashes. Energetically hopping through the curtain to the music of Incubus’s “Vitamin” the Unique Youth receives an unprecedented reaction, which only ascends when he runs down the ramp, smacking hands on his way to the ring. “And his opponent, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in at 200 pounds. He is the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, the Unique Youth ZYYYYYYOOONNN!!” Funyon shouts to the heavens so that his voice can peak over the roar from the audience. The hyper champion slides into the ring, taking a moment to give his opponent a stern look, before hoping on to the second rope where he does his arrogant taunt that is meant to steal the spotlight. “I wonder what Zyon must be thinking. Up until earlier tonight he should have been busy preparing for a cruiserweight war with a man that has defeated him twice previously in Akira Kaibatsu. Instead, he gets the man who with the Divine Wind, defeated Zyon and Spike Jenkins in a TLC match.” “A cruiserweight war? Do you mean spotfest? Preparation is only half the game Mak. If that kid doesn’t deliver the goods in the ring tonight, then we would have a new champion no matter who the opponent was. Hell David Blazenwing would hold the advantage if the youth slips up during one of his flippy floppy stunts.” The Suicide King gets the final word in as Mak opts to hold his tongue for the moment. Dropping back to the canvas, Zyon hands his Cruiserweight Title to the exiting Funyon as fulltime SWF referee, Ken Masters is set to call for the bell. DING DING DING! “And with a HADOKEN, it’s go time folks!” “Mak, you are embarrassing to be around. And it’s not even because of the chair.” The bell sounds eliciting a thunderous roar from the audience who appreciate Zyon’s recent performances against Landon Maddix and JJ Johnson, and are quite interested in what post vacation Michael Cross has to offer. Lightly jogging out of his corner like a boxer hopping toward his opponent, Zyon takes a couple “fun” jabs at the man he respects due to his alliance with the Divine Wind. However, the Suicide Machine stares a hole through his naïve opponent before waking him up to the reality that is 13th Hour! *SMACK!* Driving the youth backward with an unnecessary smack to the face, Iron Michael Cross lower his eyes as if locking in on his target…on his enemy. Realizing that the returning Cross wishes to skip the warm up, Zyon crouches down, slinging himself toward the Suicide Machine with a double legged takedown attempt. Deciding to neglect the potential chance to block the grapple so early in the contest, Cross allows the youth believe he has the advantage as Iron Mike is taken to the canvas. However, it soon becomes apparent that the anti social warrior could be a better mat tactician than previously thought as he traps Zyon in a ground front face lock. Lucky enough for the youth, he’s been in this position recently due to his tough battles with Landon Maddix and JJ Johnson, and he readily expects a body scissors. Not only does he expect a body scissors, but he also despises them, which forces the Unique Youth to initiate action before the Suicide Machine can even send the waves to his brain that reads “body scissors.” Pushing off the canvas, Zyon performs a simple headstand before floating over into a bridge, using his free hands to pin Cross’ shoulders to the mat. Referee Ken Masters slides in for the sudden pin attempt. ONE! Kickout! Mak begins on one of his over complicated psychology lessons, “King, did Zyon expect to get the win there? Of course not, but what it did do is almost as important as the win. That pin attempts forced Cross to make a decision…to second guess himself if you will. That pin…” And King naturally interrupts, “Do you have a point? How about if I say it for you.” The Gambling man continues doing his best Mak impression, “King, did you see that? Michael Cross the most awesome man ever was forced to break his own hold due to Zyon, the other most awesome man ever pinning his shoulders to the mat with a bridge. It was brilliant! Mak you are so pathetic…and it’s not even because of the chair.” Both men shuffle around on their feet looking for the advantage when the overly aggressive Iron Mike hopes to pound his opponent’s face in with a leaping forearm. Noticing his opponent leave the ground, Zyon decides to be one with the canvas as he kicks off his back foot, which commences a baseball slide under the ascended Suicide Machine! Twisting around just as his feet touch the canvas, Cross swings his foot toward the unguarded face of the Unique Youth, who is using his hands to push himself back to his feet. With his foot inches away from Zyon’s face, Cross strategizes what to do next as he is sure that his opponent will be more than stunned. What the Suicide Machine did not predict is that his foot would be stopped by the youth’s outstretched hands. Rising to his feet with Cross’ foot cupped in his hands, Zyon proceeds forward…colliding with Cross’ other foot! Mak’s vocal pitch erupts with the audience’s pitch, “SWANK enziguri by the returning Cross who looks to not have lost a step.” Clutching the side of his head, Zyon wonders over to the ropes for refuge, but what he doesn’t realize is that there is NO refuge from the Suicide Machine. Striding toward the stunned youth, Cross elevates his knee into the sternum of his opponent, blasting the oxygen out of his body. With his competition doubled over and gasping for air, Cross knocks the youth silly with a well aimed elbow to the back of Zyon’s head. The impact of elbow on skull damn near sends the youth’s eyes rolling out of his sockets, but Cross continues his aggressive assault on the youngster with another satisfying knee into the youth’s sternum. Hooking the reigning Cruiserweight Champion under the armpit, the Suicide Machine tosses Zyon away from the ropes with a hip toss. Crashing to the canvas, Zyon pops right back to his feet…where the hostile Iron Michael Cross is waiting for him. “Now I’m interested. It seems the Suicide Machine has come back with a newfound aggressiveness to him. Here I’ll even put a good guy spin on it for ya, Mak. He’s doing it for his partner, Akira Kaibatsu who suffered a vaginal tear and couldn’t compete tonight.” The Gambling Man spits hot fire. “If you could have just stopped at that first line, but you just had to go overboard with the hate. Man, just enjoy the match would you.” Mak pleads with his partner at the desk. Swinging at the aware individual who was orphaned at a young age, Zyon falls into a deep arm drag that not only damages the youth, but embarrasses him as well. Ignoring the minor pain, Zyon pops back to his feet before being shoved back into the canvas with another rapid fire arm drag. The head strong youth continues to pop off the canvas at will, and the Suicide Machine is more than happy to put him back down with another arm drag… …Again …Again …And again! Sick of tossing the youth around like negative reviews for the most recent Marvel film, Cross kneels beside the youth, holding him stationary with an arm bar. Normally, the traditional Tokyo fan would applaud such sportsmanship, but the Suicide Machine continues to tap into this well of hatred that wasn’t allowed to shine through due to the guidance of Mr. Kobe. Without the brilliant manager’s guidance and counseling, Cross has given himself permission to grind his knee into the youth’s face in a disrespectful manner while applying pressure on the glorified rest hold. “Normally, I wouldn’t condone such actions, but Cross has always picked a fighter apart. His contest with Arch Griffon back in February showed Cross in one of his more masochistic moods as he forced the former International Champ to tap out to a fujiwara arm bar.” “Funny I don’t remember that match in the slightest, but if this continues, I might just crown this match of the year. All it needs is for Zyon to get cripp…” King looks at Mak and retracts his statement, “To get…hurt really really bad. Yeah that’s it.” Grabbing the youth with a handful of hair, Cross forces the youth back to his feet, driving him backward with a punishing right hand to the face. Disliking his opponent’s early tactics, Zyon unleashes a flurry of rights and lefts that force Iron Mike in a back pedal. Sneaking a toe kick in with the barrage of fists, Zyon pulls his challenger into a front face lock, dumping him on his back with a beautiful snap suplex. Uncharacteristically of the Unique Youth, Zyon holds on to Cross and swivels his hips in a motion that brings both men back to their feet. Kicking his foot for another snap suplex, Zyon is denied suplex number two due to Cross placing his inside leg in between the youth’s legs. The Suicide Machine answers back with a snap suplex of his own! Not totally out of Cross’ nature, Iron Mike also continues the latest trend in this competitive match by bringing the youth back to his feet with a swivel of the hips as well. “Now Cross is going for a chain of suplexes. Interesting idea on Michael Cross’ part. He’s blatantly stealing the youth’s idea to help him gain the upper hand. Now to see if it works could be a whole other story. “ The Franchise calls the action. Attempting feverishly to hoist the youth up with a snap suplex attempt, Iron Mike is visually disrupted by the youth who refuses to give in to the Suicide Machine by mimicking Cross’ variation on blocking the snap suplex. Agitated by the Unique Youth’s resistance, Cross drops a couple harsh forearms to the back of his opponent, which allows Cross to not only hoist the youth up, but it allocates the Suicide Machine to drop the youth with a vertical falcon arrow suplex!!! Following up his powerful slam variant, Cross rolls on to the youth, hooking the leg. ONE! TWO!! Kickout! Rising back to his feet with his various meaningful tattoos glistening in the lights of the Budokan, Cross delivers a swift kick to the head of his downed opponent before lifting Zyon back to his feet. To one Iron Michael Cross, aggressiveness seems to be the name of tonight’s game as he clutches the youth by his hair with one hand, and strikes him in the face with a multitude of STIFF forearms with the free arm. Minor swelling is born around the eyes of the Unique Youth who is Irish whipped across the ring and into the ropes. Catching Zyon with his outstretched arms, the straight edge competitor twirls the Cruiserweight Champion around with a tilt-a-whirl that is immediately countered into a magnificent satellite head scissor takedown that sends the respectful Japanese audience in a frenzy. At their feet, Zyon meets the visually disoriented Suicide Machine with a tranquilizing stomp to the sternum. Latching on to his opponent’s arm, Zyon returns the favor by Irish whipping Michael Cross across the ring and into the ropes made of wire. Rebounding off the ropes, Cross attempts to take Zyon’s head off with a lariat that doesn’t quite measure up to the benchmark set in the previous match. Nonetheless, Iron Mike tries to KO the man that hails from Elkhart, but with a simple crouch, Zyon avoids the move entirely. Coming back at the youth with a full motion of rabid momentum, Cross is rotated into a dizzy spell with a Zyon tilt-a-whirl…that is countered into a fujiwara arm bar!!!! “This forced Arch Griffon to tap out and this very well could snap the title right off of Zyon’s waist.” “Shit. I could careless about the title. Just break his arm. Seriously, if he does this. Then I will crown this match of the year and that arm bar spot of the year.” Overwhelming the youth by bearing all of his weight down on Zyon’s shoulder, Cross continues to torque on the Cruiserweight Champion’s shoulder in a vicious attempt to either garner a tap out or to snap his arm entirely. However, for the Unique Youth, quitting is not an option. It’s not even an idea that will enter his mind as he hastily uses his free arm to claw his way closer to the ropes. Reaching out with his free arm, Zyon gives up position for stretching ability, which Cross pounces on as the youth’s arm is bending in a dangerously awkward angle… …His other arm on the other hand is latched on to the bottom rope. “YEAHHH!” “Yes. I don’t care what you say King, Zyon just showed the courage of a true champion. His arm could have easily been destroyed, but he chose to not tap out. And more importantly, he chose to fight for what he believes belongs to him.” The hostile challenger agrees to release the possible life altering hold, only to leap back to his feet and pummel the Unique Youth with mad stomps to the back of his head. Hoisting the youth back to his feet, the Suicide Machine sends the youth sprinting with an Irish whip…or that was at least the plan. Pivoting his foot and twisting his hips, Zyon switches the momentum around as he sends Cross across the ring with an Irish whip of his own. Charging down the warpath with the intentions to bring Cross to the ground with a clothesline, Zyon is absolutely shocked when the Suicide Machine is able to descend in mid motion, delivering a sharp dropkick to the youth’s knee that sends the Unique Youth eating the canvas face first. Taking a moment to clutch his knee, Zyon places his palms on the canvas as he prepares to pull himself up, and eventually back into the match. Sadly, in a match with Michael Cross, a moment could be all it takes for the impending DOOM! Hooking his leg around the youth’s, Cross stretches across the Cruiserweight Champion’s, wrapping his arm around Zyon’s head, and reeling back in a poetry in motion version of the Entrapment!!! “He calls this the Entrapment. Cross continues to show off his streak of aggression as he attempts to force Zyon to tap out to his variation of the STF.” Mak brings the move identifying not seen in other wrestling promotions. “Yes I can see it now, Zyon the kid on one of the biggest streaks with victories over Landon Maddix and JJ Johnson, loses via tap out to the returning Michael Cross. This is a glorious day.” “Can you be any more biased?” “Yeah. I hate cripples. See?” Waving his hand in the atmosphere in multiple random directions, Zyon pretends to block out the pain, but each time Cross tenses his muscles a bit, and reels back on his head, the youth reaches closer to the brink of tapping out…or getting knocked out. Digging his fingernails into the canvas, Zyon drags his body closer to the ropes as the overly malicious Iron Cross continues to shout for the youth’s demise. “TAP!!” Apparently, Cross has gone caveman as that’s all he can scream at the top of his lungs, while the thousands that fill the Budokan shout something quite different. “PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!” Inching himself closer to the ropes, Zyon can feel the momentum swinging…as does the violent Michael Cross who abruptly releases the youth from his torture. Dragging Zyon back to his feet by his hair, Cross shoves the ragged youth into the turnbuckle where he immediately crouches and barrows his shoulder into the sternum of the champion. Choking on the oxygen that leaves his lungs, Zyon is unable to deflect any of the shoulder tackles delivered by the pitbull like Michael Cross. “King, I believe Cross might be going a bit overboard on this aggression thing. Sure it’s a great strategy that caught the youth off guard, but does the man not believe in sportsmanship.” “Fuck no he doesn’t.” “Ok King, care to elaborate.” “Fuck no I don’t” “…” Feeling his opponent completely deflate, Cross wonders over to the corner on the opposite side of the ring as the discouraged youth can only watch on, gagging on each breath he takes. Burning the rubber on the soles of his boots, Cross takes of in a mad dash for the youth, leaping off his feet, transforming into a living spear as he tried to plunge his shoulder into the wounded sternum of the champion. Zyon may not be able to breathe, but he sure does understand that entering the realm of unconsciousness due to an overbearing shoulder charge isn’t the most appealing of things, so with a moment to spare… …And we all know how important moments are; the youth skips out of the way just in the knick of time! Cross on the other hand is in the cold hand of gravity that guides the Suicide Machine shoulder first into the ring post to a massive pop!!! “YEAHHHH!!” Rolling weakly on the ring apron, Cross rotates his shoulder carefully, pleased by the fact that the impact was the worse of his problem. Grabbing the rope with the same arm that collided with the ring post, proving that his shoulder is just tingling a little bit, Cross pulls himself back to his feet, prepared to kill the youth for his title. Then again you can’t kill what you can’t see. Searching the horizon for the Unique Youth, Cross realizes that the 5’11 Zyon can compact himself into dwarf size if need be, so he allows his eyes to ease into a descent…where he is SHOCKED by the realization that Zyon is plunging his shoulder into his sternum with an uber powerful should block to the gut!!! Blasting the Suicide Machine off the ropes, Zyon along with the rest of the world watch with broad eyes as Iron Mike twirls in the atmosphere, landing not so graciously across the steel safety barrier that is obviously not regulation height. The domino effect continues as Cross bounces chest first off the unforgiving steel, falling defenseless into the rabid audience that pats the young cruiserweight on the back for moral support. “HOLY SHIT!” Mak shouts out as the crowd echoes his sentiments with a foreign version of the chant that pumps wrestlers up worldwide. “Michael Cross just went from the ring apron all the way down into the front row where most fans would maul him.” “Lucky for Cross, just like Akira, these people are far to weak to dive in for a hug, a kiss, or even a right hook. Instead, they would rather sit on the sidelines and watch the real men hone their craft. Of course, that doesn’t work in this case because Zyon is in this match, but Cross has impressed me at least.” The Gambling Man admits, as a few angry Japanese fans look ready to throw a right hook at the Suicide King. Hastily, Cross pulls himself up with little difficulty to the respective, but overly hyper crowd parting right down the middle in perfect unison. He’s never paid much attention to those who sit on the sidelines before, but Cross takes a look around, and follows the trail that each individual’s eyes make with their unblinking stare. With a cold sweat and a sudden lump in his throat, the Suicide Machine lifts his head so that he is looking into the intense lights that blind him slightly, but that is the least of his problems as we have all come to expect. Back in the ring, Zyon springboards off the top rope, and with a moment of hesitation, the youth DIVES INTO THE CROWD…AND OVER THE DODGING MICHAEL CROSS, smashing carcass first into the cold concrete. *CRASH!!!* Bedazzled by both men’s toughness and lack of care for their own well being, Ken Masters forgets to initiate his 20 count (for the Cruiserweight Addenda), which proves wise as Cross thrusts Zyon over the safety barrier and down to the floor. However, the referee may have to step in yet as the Suicide Machine peels back the padded mats that protects individuals from the pain that comes from being dropped on concrete. Ken Masters immediately pleads with Cross who realizes that he let the match get to his head. Shaking his emotions away by tilting his head side to side, Iron Mike hoists the youth by into the ring, to settle the match like men. “CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!” The respectful audience can see the interior and exterior of Cross’ soul, and the majority hope he can overcome the pain in his heart. Forcing the youth back to his feet, Cross Irish whips the wounded animal across the ring, catching him with his palms, and shooting him sky high into the air. Swimming in the atmosphere, Zyon watches as the canvas comes closer and closer until… *BANG!* …He’s flattened like a bug, colliding with the mat sternum first. Gasping for air, Zyon instinctively rises back to his feet, and retreats to the nearby turnbuckle…only to receive a rushing knee to the sternum for his troubles!!! “Michael Cross is relentless. I can’t help, but applaud the man for obliterating the youth with non-cheating means. This is wrestling after all, ballet.” “My god Mak…you do have the ability to grow a set once in awhile. I seriously thought that you were crippled, blind, deaf, and unable to pleasure the females in the world. You have proven me wrong, I commend you.” “King, you really must find it hard to compliment someone. Does happiness hurt you?” “No…but…” Prepare for a ZING moment in 5…4…3…2…1…”But your face does! Fucking Zing!” Holding the youth stationary in a MMA clinch, Cross drives his right knee into the face of the Cruiserweight Champion, and then shoots his left knee into the face of the very same individual. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* Knocking the Cruiserweight Champion silly with the first two knees, Iron Mike doesn’t use his hands, but chooses to systematically destroy Zyon with alternating knee strikes that overwhelm the Patron Wrestler of Athens! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* Releasing the firm clinch, Cross watches with glee as the Unique Youth staggers out from the turnbuckle with massive swelling across his face, and blood dripping from his knee. Uncoordinated by Cross’ relentless attack, Zyon finally gives into the pressure on his legs as he falls to the canvas, looking more fragile than ever. Stomping up to the youth, Cross delivers a harsh boot to the youth’s ribs that props the Cruiserweight Champion on all fours. Leaping over the youth with a half nelson, the Suicide Machine rolls Zyon up in an Oklahoma Roll as the Nippon Budokan counts along with the hand that smacks the canvas… ONE! TWO!! Zyon kicks his likes violently as if riding a bike up the steepest hill created by the gods. THRNOOOOO! And that is what keeps the title on his waist for the time being. Slapping the canvas in irritation on his way back to his feet, Iron Mike hoists the youth back to his feet, throwing caution to the wind, Cross gives Zyon a wicked chop… *SMACK!* …Before launching the youth across the ring with an Irish whip. Planning to reach into the deepest depths of his skills, Cross takes a step forward, colliding with Zyon’s extended feet that brush into the Suicide Machine’s chest with the momentum changing SNAP FRONT DROPKICK!!!! “WOW! It’s been a long while since we have seen that one. And now is as good a time as any to reach into the move set. I’m sure both men are beginning to realize this.” Mak explains as the fans in the background almost cause the cripple to go deaf due to their excessive shrieking. Crashing into the nearby turnbuckle, Cross descends to the canvas and clutches his back as he stomps the canvas with his right foot. Grinding his teeth and cursing under his breath, Cross courageously lifts himself back to his feet, meeting the Cruiserweight Champion at eye level. Feeling the tides of this hurricane battle changing, Zyon swings wildly at the keen Iron Mike, who counters with a Northern Lights suplex attempt. However, the Unique Youth simply shifts his weight downward, and in one fatal motion spikes Cross’ head into the canvas with his neck going one way…AND HIS BODY GOING THE OTHER…SIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCKKKK! “God god what a DDT. He has got to be knocked the fuck out!” No that not Mak, that’s the cruiserweight hater marking out. Diving on to the limp challenger, Zyon damn near passes out as referee Ken Masters could be sending the Unique Youth home happy, which makes the audience happy. ONE! TWO!! Was that a twitch? THRENOOOOOO! Correction, this match continuing makes the Nippon Budokan erupt just like Cross’ shoulder did off the mat. Returning the favor, Zyon grabs a hand full of the Suicide Machine’s messy hair, and doubling him over with a spinning back kick to the sternum. Setting his feet so that his right foot leads behind the right, the youth goes all HADOKEN on the challenger by floating into the air, and blasting the Suicide Machine with a Flash Kick! Remarkably, Zyon complete a back flip, landing gracefully on his feet. What could be even more remarkable is that Michael Cross could very well have an Iron chin as he remains on his feet, which fits into the youth’s spotty strategy well enough. Taking off for the ropes, Zyon springs off the middle rope with a moonsault, overshooting the maneuver to the confusion of everyone. Everyone, but the violent Cross. Slipping his arm around Iron Mike’s head, trapping him in a reverse front face lock, Zyon seems to have tricked the Suicide Machine like he has many others. Spinning around for the Wicked Cutter, Zyon is unable to complete the move due to an aggressive push that fires Zyon toward the turnbuckle. Stomping forward with the staggering Cruiserweight Champion, Cross can read the Cruiserweight Champion like a book…a very short book. Stepping on to the first rope, Zyon begins his ascension for the No Regard, which Iron Mike has scouted perfectly. Too bad the Suicide Machine hasn’t faced off with JJ Johnson recently like the Unique Youth has. Flipping off the middle rope with a JJ Johnson inspired dragon flip; Zyon rises over the horizon, landing behind the awestruck Straight Edge competitor. Quickly locking the replacement down with a reverse front face lock, and twists around nailing Cross with a high impact Wicked Cutter!!!!! *BANG!!!* Zyon naturally follows up one of his best moves with the cover and the leg hook. ONE! The crowd counts along. TWO!! “It’s over…” Mak possibly speaks too soon. THREEEEENOOOOO! “He kicked out Mak…you were wrong like always.” King brilliantly points out. Popping off the pin attempt, Zyon wraps his hands around his inflamed face, wondering what it’s going to take to keep this guy down. Cross has virtually taken Zyon out of the match even when he’s on the receiving end of a beating. Unsure of what to do next, Zyon does what comes natural to him. He exits to the ring apron. “YEAHHHH!” The pitched roar behind him interrupts the youth’s concentration for a moment, but he eventually springs off the top rope with a tantalizing 450 splash…a moment too late! Crashing into the canvas sternum first, Zyon remains on all fours as Cross who looks to be under the pressure of winning the gold and withholding his flaring rage. Looming over the youth with a cold glare, Cross pays the Unique Youth back with his wrath… *CRACK!* …He pays him back with a merciless cross face forearm to Zyon’s already swollen face. Hearing the shriek that comes from the wounded youth sends a jolt through Cross’ body that transforms him into a beast. A beast that loves to deliver Fierce Strikes to a prone opponent. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* Soothing the Suicide Machine’s battered soul and body is the feeling of his limp opponent in his hands. Releasing the youth who plops down on the canvas clutching his face, Cross looks to reveal his highflying foray. Ascending the top rope as Zyon continues to spasm from the beating he just recently took at the hands of the aggressive Cross, the Suicide Machine perches himself on the top rope. He doesn’t waste time show boating or caring about the audience… But he does please them. …Paying tribute to the hometown boy who just happens to be his injured partner, Cross dives off the top rope with a Senton Bomb that utterly annihilates that canvas, which isn’t his target at all!!! Barely managing an escape of the Dick Togo/Akira Kaibatsu special, Zyon stands back on his spaghetti legs. Hurting his back as well as having the wind knocked from him, Cross continues to persevere as he rises back to his feet in a hurry. Taken back by the Suicide Machine’s anger driven courage, Zyon can only answer with a swift toe kick to his challenger’s sternum. Unlike all of his previous matches, Zyon proves he can place his opponent in your standard double underhook position from a standing headscissors. “What is he planning?” Not even Mak is sure what the youth has in store for this difficult opponent. “He doesn’t even know what he’s planning.” Rather the Gambling Man will ever admit it or not will probably never see the light of day, but he’s wrong. The youth may not be in control, but for the moment he has it all copasetic. Hoisting Iron Mike through the hair, Zyon flips him before power bombing him to the canvas with a TIGER BOMB…FOOL! No that’s not Street Fighter. That’s just plain fucking your opponent up. Kneeling over his motionless opponent, Zyon pins Cross legs to his shoulders for a pin attempt that is hard to escape. ONE! TWO!! And then there was silence. THREEEEEEEE!!! And then there was a thunderous roar…as Ken Masters throws TWO fingers into the air! “YEAAAAHHHH!” The crowd just yells before becoming organized. “LET’S GO CROSS!!!” “He might not appreciate it. But damnit this kid has shown some heart. And it’s his first match back. He wasn’t even supposed to wrestle tonight. This is amazing.” “Are you kidding? I could get in their right now and tear these fools apart, but they are simply not worthy.” Obviously the Gambling Man doesn’t hear the sound of his own voice very often. Zyon unlike his opponent will acknowledge the audience, and he agrees. Shrugging his shoulders, the ravaged youth lifts Cross directly into a scoop AERO DRIVER that Cross counters into a dragon sleeper…which is…to set…up…NEW CHAMPION… … Or not. Refusing to feel the punishment of the Silent Rage Syndrome, Zyon blindly reaches up and holds Cross stationary with a clinch. Upside down and blood rushing to his head, Zyon realizes he can’t take his eye of the prize. The prize that he currently owns. The prize that he wishes he could hold forever…or at least for a period of time that extends past tonight. And to do that, the youth must control his own destiny. He must not fall victim to Cross’ aggressive nature that has almost won him the gold. And what type of nature will help the youth keep his title…this knee. *CRACK!* Leaving his vertical balance to shock Cross with the knee, Zyon readjusts his position as he drowns the Suicide Machine, not is sorrow, but in a splitting headache. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* With Cross in a daze, Zyon simply performs a standing crabwalk, using his hands to push off Cross’ thighs to get free of his unfavorable position. It’s now or never. Sprinting off the near ropes, Zyon performs a baseball slide under the Suicide Machine, latching on to his far arm in the process…along with his body that stops the youth from stealing home with his weight. Looming over the youth with a wicked, angry, hateful stare, Cross obliterates the youth with a cross face forearm, which starts a second wave of Fierce Strikes. *CRACK!* Cross’ sly grin that comes with the satisfaction of jacking your opponent’s jaw is soon wiped away as his left arm doesn’t retract back like it usually should. Instead, his left arm his trapped in the clutched of the Unique Youth who acts hastily, trapping Cross’ farm arm to his near leg, which doubles his over pump handle style. It’s now…let’s just forget the never. Picking himself off the canvas with a slight sting in his jaw, Zyon snares his challenger’s other arm by maneuvering it behind his head, and only now is Cross enlightened to the method of the youth’s madness. All along Cross controlled the pace with his rage leading him along, while Zyon remained calm looking for the cure to the Suicide Machine’s manic state of mind. Even someone as blinded by wrath as Cross was can understand his fault, and maybe someday he can find a true cure to his pain. But for now he has to deal with the alternative…911 AERO DRIVVVAAAA!!! Zyon spikes his foes head into the canvas with his compact finisher, reeling Cross’ legs behind his shoulders once more for the hopeful pin attempt. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! “YEAHHHHH!!!” The crowd erupts as the fatigued youth rolls off of the motionless Suicide Machine who should remain unconscious for the next few minutes, but at least he can dream knowing he put up a spectacular fight. “Vitamin” blasts again, which is truly music to the Unique Youth’s ears. Otherwise…he wouldn’t be champion anymore. “The winner and STILL SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, THE UNIQUE YOUTH…ZYYYYYOOOONNNN!!!” But that officially kills the youth’s epidemic as he rolls out of the ring, hugging the very title he was NOT supposed to defend tonight. “Now that was fantastic. Those two went at it with each claiming near falls that can only be seen clearly with the help of slow motion. It’s just that Cross might have got a bit too aggressive for his own good, and it cost him here. I’ll tell you, King. Zyon continues to grow under the weight of the spotlight that seems to shine on this kid when he steps into the ring.” Mak compliments the youth. “Eh whatever. You are right. Cross was definitely the aggressor of the two tonight, and I enjoyed that. A star was born tonight, but it sure wasn’t Zyon. Of course, Cross will probably pussy out, and tend to his injured partner as opposed to chasing his own dream. Such a pity.” And King…compliments someone???? That someone being Michael Cross. Staggering up the ramp, Zyon can rest easy as his difficult challenger begins to awaken from his slumber…his only time of peace. The youth can almost sympathize for the Suicide Machine, but the crowd is just too damn loud, and there are still two more matches to take place. 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super_tigris 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 Don't worry about it, you were supposed to put it in, it was kind of something to help add to commentary and the beginning of the match. I added it as well. Anyways, I liked the match. You wrote it as I expected, at least in terms of writing my character. I like the fact that I was more of the agresser with the more offense-based showing as opposed to my match, that's probably one of the aspects I like about your's. I feel like the way I wrote my character, which is embarasing for me, was far less superior to how you wrote it. Though, different interpretations from different people. Overall, I liked your match, it's exceptional for having done it within an extension which shows really how much you're capable as of a writer. The only problem I felt that was there was sort of the voice within the match. For me, I enjoy writing it without sort of leading the reader down a specific road, that way they can sort of make what they like of the match, where as with your match, it felt like you were taking the reader by the hand and telling them where to go. Still, good match, I'm really glad you decided to write, because I would've felt uber-guilty about the circumstances that happened with deciding the finish and what not, with the lack of communication. EDIT: I don't know what you're doing in the next couple of shows, but if you're not doing anything in a couple shows or at the next PPV, I want a rematch, maybe 2. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
zyon 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2006 Thanks for the comments. I'm glad you liked the way I wrote Cross since that's always a plus. And about the commentary thing. I wouldn't have added that in since it took away from some of the actual match. Like I wrote the opening thinking that the promo was already in the show somewhere (which it was) and I later put it in because I was told it wasn't. So that big opening along with the replay of the earlier promo really ate into the actual match. I think both of us were guilty of this, while you wrote a really good match I think the replay of the Akira is injured promo along with your end heel turn cut into the actual match a bit (the wrestling.) As for leading readers down a specific road, I do like to emphasize the main story in the match, but there are plent of side stories that I'll let the reader try to find. Comparing it to a video game RPG's main quest and side quest would be efficient. Once again thanks for the comment and I'm glad you liked my match. As for a possible rematch I'd wait a couple of shows and maybe let me build myself back up. It seems every time I lose a title I get an immediate rematch and I don't really want that this time. So we can clash again sometime, but I'd wait a couple shows. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
The Amazing Rando 0 Report post Posted June 15, 2006 Here ya go... because Taamo suggested I do it. ------------ The whiny guitar and wailing vocals of Joey Tempest and his band Europe play over the screen, showing a small graphic for the upcoming tag team contest as the Suicide King and Mak Francis kill time and Funyon makes his way into the ring for his introductions. “This show has only just begun, the seconds ticking past on our way to the long awaited main event of the evening, where Landon Maddix will defend his prized possession against the man whom he won it from the first time less than eighteen months ago, the man we’ve all come to know as Michael Stephens.” “We know you are excited King, but there is still a lot more to go tonight! We have the hardcore championship on the line in a cage, we have the Maori Va’aiga and JJ Johnson, we have The Divine Wind and the Unique Youth and let’s not forget tag team turmoil later tonight…but next…” Mak’s run-down is suddenly cut off as the lights in the arena go dark, a lone spotlight shining down to the entranceway as the opening guitars and snare shots of Metallica’s “Welcome Home” bring a hush across the sold-out Budokan crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen…” Funyon begins, “the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL….” From behind the curtain comes Bruce Blank, his body shrouded behind what seems to be a new angelic white jumpsuit. His face holds a sarcastic smile as he looks out over the Japanese crowd before the spotlight flickers and fades to black... ”Sanitarium! Leave me be! Sanitarium! Just leave me aloooone....” FWOOSH! The spotlight returns to full brightness, showing Bruce now standing behind his partner, the self-proclaimed bloody prophet, also clad in his signature white, crotched down on one knee in front of him, hair covering the trademark smirk he has made famous throughout the years. “Introducing first…coming down the aisle…at a combined weight of five hundred and twenty five pounds… they are “The King of Pain” Bruce Blank and Blooooodshed… THE DEAD PRECEEEEEEDENTS!!” “Love them or hate them, the unpredictability of those two volatile individuals has really started to come out. After coming up short for the tag team championships, you have to know they are looking for revenge against the first two people to step in front of them, regardless of who they are.” “But we know exactly who they are!” the Suicide King laughs out loud as Funyon’s voice fades and Bloodshed slowly stands, beginning his walk to the ring. Behind him, Bruce Blank follows, the light them causing them to glow as if they are saints. As they hit the ring, Bruce takes his time climbing the steps as Bloodshed slides under the bottom rope, meeting his partner in the ring as they await their opponents… “And their opponents…” “Hold on just a minute!” The crowd’s attention goes to the entranceway, where James Matheson stands with a microphone. “Funyon, Onion, Paul Bunyan, whoever you are. You can kindly take your leave…” “What the hell is this?” Francis wonders aloud as fans begin to boo at the first notes of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”. They know what is coming. “Matheson just doesn’t think Funyon has what it takes to introduce the two thoroughbreds just behind that curtain!” replies the King as Matheson clears his throat and brings the microphone to his lips once more. “Tonight I bring to you, you lucky Budokanians, two men who really need NO introduction… …except the one I’m about to give them!” Boooooooooooooo! “First…he was one of the quickest graduates of the Junior Leagues and has held every championship he’s ever set his eyes on! From Kansas City, Missouri…deeeeeeep in the heart of the United States of America….he stands at six feet five inches and weighs in at three hundred and six pounds….if you look up Old School in the dictionary you’ll see his face… CHARLIE…THE GRAAAAAAPPLER…MAAAAATTHEWS!” From behind the curtain steps the Grappler, the foreign crowd jumping all over the big man before he can even get a breath out… Boooooooooooooring… Boooooooooooooring “AND HIS PARTNER…” Matheson yells over the crowd, only slightly quieting them, “the absolute definition of Hall of Famer, Champion, Technician and Sex Appeal…” “WHAT?” “hush, Francis!” “…he has come to you all the way from Buffalo, New York…which is also in the great country of the U-S-of-A…he stands at five feet ten inches and weighs in a brisk two hundred and thirty one pounds…the man, the myth, the legend… THE SUPERIOR ONE…TOM FLEEEEEEEESHER!” Matheson turns and Charlie looks to his side as Tom Flesher steps onto the stage, the crowd filled of mostly jeers along with a small spattering of respectful applause for the SWF veteran as “Kashmir” continues to blare around the arena. As Matheson departs back through the curtain, Flesher and Matthews begin their walk toward the ring, blasts of blue pyrotechnics blaze, their four eyes lock on the four in the ring. As they hit ringside, Bloodshed makes a move toward the ropes, his quick movement doing little to startle his two opponents as they head to opposite sets of stairs and climb them to the ring. Ignored or not, Bloodshed continues to smile as referee Nick Soapdish positions himself between the Precedents, Tom Flesher, and Charlie Matthews, calling for them to get to their corners and get ready for the match. “Nick Soapdish is going to need to have two or three sets of eyes in the back of his head to follow every guy in this match. History will tell you that these four men aren’t exactly privy to following the rules from bell to bell…” “No one can out-trick or out-cheat that man right there!” King says as he points to the Superior One, the brunette of the veteran duo pulling off his blue jumpsuit and tossing it to the outside as he turns back to the ring, unceremoniously shrugging his partner to the apron as he watches across the ring, the Dead Precedents engaged in a bit of discussion before Bruce steps back through the ropes and clutches at his tag rope, holding it out in Soapdish’s direction as the bell sounds… *DING DING DING* “Bruce Blank is making sure the referee sees that he is firmly holding on to that tag rope as Bloodshed and Tom Flesher start things off!” calls Francis as the two men in the ring stare toward each other, both sets of eyes moving rapidly between their opponents as Nick Soapdish calls for them to get the action underway. After brushing the hair from his face, Bloodshed zips across the ring, aiming straight for the Superior One… “Here we go!” King yells as Tom reacts to the charge, strafing his body to the right and catching the speeding Bloodshed around the head and pushing him toward the corner, “And there Bloodshed goes, straight into the corner of the Superior Grapplers almost face-first!” “You come up with that name all by yourself?” Mak asks as Bloodshed recoils off the turnbuckles, stumbling backwards and right into a waistlock! Fighting over the hold, Bloodshed tries to reach for the ropes as Flesher begins to work himself toward the middle of the ring. Taking a second to look over his shoulder at Bruce, Flesher spins himself and his captive around to better face the opposing corner, keeping one eye on his entrapped opponent and the other on the former Ultraviolent champion only a few feet away. Bloodshed continues to fight, shaking himself around like a rag doll in an effort to free himself. Flesher tries for a lift, looking to get Bloodshed off his feet… Blocked~! …Bloodshed’s left foot slides around Flesher’s left leg as tight as it can, keeping himself grounded as he begins to throw elbows behind his back, doing whatever he can to release himself. As the elbows begin to connect, Tom pushes forward and toward the middle of the ropes, pushing Bloodshed’s chest into them as he releases his waistlock and falls toward the mat, expertly weaving his right arm around Bloodshed’s thigh and pulling back, spiking his opponent down into the canvas and into a pinning predicament! One! T-Kickout! “Our first pin attempt of the contest looks to have Tom Flesher in control…” “As if you expected anything less…” The Suicide King remarks as the Superior One stays on top of Bloodshed, latching on a front facelock as both men get to their knees. As he begins to pull Bloodshed up to his feet he pushes away from the ropes once more, doing what he can to keep his opponent as far from the ropes and his partner as possible while still wrenching in the hold, tweaking and pulling every muscle in Bloodshed’s neck like only he knows how. “As long as Tom can keep Bloodshed away from his corner and continue wearing him down, it is going to be an easy night for both him and the Grappler, Charlie Matthews” comments Francis as Flesher tries for a suplex once again… Blocked Again~! …Bloodshed again gets his foot up to stop the attempt and follows by pushing his chest down and throwing his arms around Flesher’s chest, using his feet to get underneath his captor. With a grunt, Bloodshed lifts up, the position of both men making it hard for Flesher to attempt a block, and causing him to end up six feet above and parallel to the canvas on Bloodshed’s shoulder! “No! No!” “Could it be a Northern Lights Supl-“ THUD~! “-NO! Bloodshed was going for what he calls the Lights Out, and that is exactly what looks to be the outcome, the veteran Tom Flesher pulling back on that still-applied facelock, causing both men to come crashing back down to the canvas – the Dead Precedent’s head being drilled into the mat with an amazing DDT!” “Don’t ever think for a second that someone like Bloodshed is going to out-wrestle or out-counter a man of such wonderful caliber!” “I never said such a thi—COVER!” Mak yells as Flesher rolls himself on the downed Bloodshed… One! Two! SMACK!! “Broken up by Bruce Blank before the three!” He continues as Blank’s foot connects with the back of Flesher’s head, stopping the count as Tom rolls off Bloodshed and the referee jumps up, calling for Bruce to get back to the apron. Blank complies, his job done, making sure to once again wrap his hand around the tag rope in front of Soapdish as Flesher stands, rubbing the back of his head as he looks over at Blank, a smile on the big man’s face. “Had Bloodshed DDTed Tom Flesher like – as impossible as that is – you wouldn’t have seen Charlie Matthews breaking up the pin like that dumb redneck just did!” King exclaims, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as Flesher pulls Bloodshed up once more, only to have the hand full of hair knocked away. Bloodshed breaks the Superior One’s grip as he gets to his feet, once again wrapping his arms around Flesher’s chest and pushing toward his own corner, putting both men firmly into Dead Precedential territory. Bruce backs up, putting himself on the ring steps as Soapdish looks on, his hands raised in innocence as Bloodshed begins to fire away with a series of chops… *CHOP* Wooooooooooo! *CHOP* Wooooooooooo! “And the crowd here at the Budokan seems to love the chops!” “Must they always do that?” moans the Suicide King as Bloodshed continues his attack… *CHOP* *CHOP* *CHOP* Wooooooooooo! Bloodshed steps back from Flesher and moves toward the center of the ring, keeping an eye on Matthews and saying a few unheard words to the Grappler, a sarcastic grin forming on the faces of both men as Soapdish gets between them, warning Matthews about interfering. Behind him, however, Bruce Blank has his left arm across the face of Flesher, pushing his neck back and bringing his right forearm crashing down with a violent smack across the Superior One’s chest. “Bloodshed knowingly or unknowingly has distracted the referee long enough to allow Blank to get in his own shots on Tom Flesher, that huge right hand almost denting in the Hall of Famer’s chest!” exclaims Mak as Bruce moves back to his position on the steps just as Matthews begins pointing across the ring, both Bloodshed and the referee turning around to the site of Bruce jawing with a ringside fan and Tom Flesher still stuck in the corner, looking a little worse for wear than a few seconds before. The referee goes to the ropes, pulling Blank away from whatever conversation he seemed to be having and pointing at Flesher. Blank shrugs, throwing his arms up in ignorance before turning back to the fans, a smirk on his face. “Nobody pulls the wool over Tom Flesher’s eyes unless that’s what he wants them to do! And even then, that’s only behind closed doors” The Suicide King calls, causing Mak to shudder in his wheelchair next to him, as Bloodshed returns to the offensive, keeping Flesher in the corner with a series of kicks to the midsection. With the referee trying to break the two up, Bloodshed once again backs up, giving his opponent a small bit of breathing room as Soapdish checks on Flesher, the veteran pulling himself back up to a vertical base and shaking off the various shots he’s taken over the last few minutes. As Bruce moves back up to his place on the apron, a warning from Soapdish catching Flesher’s attention for a split second, long enough for Bloodshed to move back in… THUD! “And Bloodshed MIGHT be busted open!!” screams Mak as the Dead Precedent’s face strikes the top of the ringpost, his attack being thwarted by Flesher and causing him to be lifted high into the air before coming down with a sickening thud face-first onto the steel pole! “He took that Hot Shot forehead first…and indeed he is definitely living up to his name!” he continues as a ringside camera zooms in on the downed Bloodshed’s face, showing a small trickle of blood flowing down from his forehead as Flesher goes back on the offensive. “It’s not really a Bloodshed match until he’s bleeding Mak, I wonder if he has someone standing by with a couple of bags of his blood type during each match?” King says as he ponders the strange and mysterious ways of the man who no longer wishes to be known as Alan Clark. With Bloodshed on his hands and knees Flesher can’t help but smile as he’s set up perfectly for one of the biggest “F*ck you” moves in wrestling, a move the Superior One employs with great enjoyment, the Boot scrape. Flesher bounces off the ropes for that little added “oomph” but once he’s in the ropes Wayne Blank casually reaches in from the outside and hooks Flesher’s foot. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “Hey now!” King yells as Wayne’s hand around the boot stops Flesher dead in his tracks and makes him turn his attention to Bruce’s annoying little brother on the floor. The moment Soapdish turns his attention to Wayne the weasel just turns his back to the ring and whistles like he’s totally innocent of any and all wrong doings. Grappler scowls at Wayne but doesn’t move from his place on the apron while Flesher has a couple of not too terribly nice words for Wayne. BIG MISTAKE!! Bloodshed has regained his senses enough to grab Flesher by the tights and rolls the Superior One up with a school boy and a generous handful of singlet One!! Two!! But not three as Flesher kicks out before Soapdish has even begun to bring his hand forward to start the third count. The fact that he only got a two count doesn’t seem to deter Bloodshed as a smile creeps onto his face, a smile that says “it’s only just begun pal” – a smile that’s quickly wiped off his face by an ultra stiff palm strike to the jaw thrown just as Bloodshed bends over to grab Flesher by the head. *POW!!* Flesher is on his feet only seconds later and back on the attack without even looking for a tag, he’s the Superior One, he’s in charge, he’s not about to tag out. Flesher takes advantage of the fact that Bloodshed already has his hand raised, holding his jaw and quickly reaches around Bloodshed’s neck to trap the arm while trying to slide his free arm up by Bloodshed’s head to trap him in a Million $ Dream. “NOT SO FAST!” Mak yells out as Bloodshed instinctively lashes out the second he feels Flesher’s trap closing in on him, a back elbow right to the eye of Tom Flesher breaks the hold and sends Flesher back against the ropes holding the side of his head in a tremendous amount of pain, a pain that’s only amplified 3 seconds later as Bloodshed distracts Nick Soapdish. “Son of a bitch!” King curses as Wayne once again makes his presence felt by punching Flesher in his unprotected kidneys as the Superior One hung in the ropes. The crowd once again give Wayne a hard time for his cheating interfering ways and he even draws a very annoyed “You better watch it” look from the Charlie Matthews. Soapdish didn’t see the infraction with his own eyes but he knows something is up and quickly admonishes Wayne to stay over in the Dead Precedent’s corner. Instead of focusing on Tom Bloodshed runs across the ring and throws a wild punch at Charlie Matthews, the punch is easily ducked but it also draws the ire of the Grappler, and when his ire is drawn he’s GOT to kick some ass! “Here comes the former champion!” Mak says as Charlie puts a leg over the middle rope and gets ready to jump in the ring and tear Bloodshed a new one. Alas it is a plan that Nick Soapdish isn’t too fond off as he rushes over to keep the Grappler from entering the ring. “Don’t tell me he fell for that?” King says with a mixture of disappointment and surprise as the distraction by the Grappler allows Bruce to sneak into the ring to double team Flesher. Bloodshed and Blank each grab a leg and hoist the Superior One straight up in the air before falling backwards dropping Flesher rather unceremoniously right on his face. Then Bruce gets up behind Nick Soapdish and loudly claps his hands together to simulate a tag. When Nick turns around he sees Bloodshed whipping Flesher towards Bruce who takes the Superior One down with a big boot to the face One!! Two!! “No, no, no you idiot don’t count – it wasn’t a tag!” Mak laments as Nick Soapdish beings the five count thinking that a tag had taken place only moments ago. Moments after Tom hits the ground Bloodshed steps out of the ring and grabs the tag rope while actually pointing to it. “Even as gifted an athlete as Tom Flesher buckles under combined forces of two men – THREE men actually!” King comments as Bruce begins to lay the cowboy boot to the Superior One showing just how technical Bruce’s repertoire has gotten with each kick to the back, ribs or shoulder by the King of Pain. The big man just can’t help but smirk as he drags the former multiple times world champion and hall of famer to his feet and then hooks Tom in a front face lock. “Oh the irony!” Mak exclaims thinking that Bruce was actually going to employ such a hold “Oh wait, he’s just setting him up for the suplex” the Franchise says as Bruce raises the Superior One up in the air holding him upside down for a stalled Suplex. And just holds him there With a grin on his face, Bruce’s not Tom’s. Bloodshed holds onto the tag rope and then reaches as far as he can into the ring and tags Bruce on the shoulder as the big man still has Flesher up for the delayed suplex. Having tagged in Bloodshed is up the ropes before Nick Soapdish can reach the 2 count and has leapt off by 3 *THUD!* Bloodshed’s boot strikes Flesher mid section causing Bruce to drop the Superior One to the canvas before leaving the ring. “You have to admit that they’ve really been working well together King” “I don’t have to admit ANYTHING! That’s one of the privileges of being the Suicide King” King states as he clenches his fists and hopes that Flesher is able to get to his own corner soon to give the Grappler a chance to get in the match as well. With Tom down on his back Bloodshed swiftly runs across the ring, leaps up on the middle rope and then springs backwards for a Lionsault. Flesher’s survival instincts kick in and the Superior One manages to roll a bit closer to the ring ropes causing Bloodshed to overshoot the target and come down on the canvas face and chest first in a heap. Bruce stretches out his hand and bellows to Bloodshed demanding that he tags in right this moment. Flesher eyes an opening as he manages to drag himself up onto his feet by holding onto the ropes and then he turns in Grappler’s direction. “Go on Tom, tag out!!” King cheers on in encouragement of Flesher’s idea, unfortunately Wayne has a different idea in mind and quickly reaches in to trip Flesher up keeping the Superior One from his corner. “OH THAT’S IT!!” Mak says as the Grappler has finally had enough of Wayne’s interference as he gets off the apron with a very pissed off look on his face and heads straight for the small weasly man from Alabama. With a 6’5’’ Grappler coming for him Wayne quickly back peddles and then hides behind his big brother as Bruce jumps down on the floor to confront Matthews. “Oh, ho, ho, ho” King chuckles in anticipation as the two brutes get face to face for the first time in the match “The fur WILL be flying!” King then adds as the Grappler points to Wayne who’s peaking out from behind Bruce’s back. The only real draw back to the Grappler getting in Bruce’s face is the fact that now that Flesher is actually able to make it to his corner it’s empty! The confrontation of the two massive maulers has naturally drawn Soapdish’s attention so the otherwise vigilant and alert referee misses a blatant low blow from Bloodshed and the neckbreaker that follows so closely after it that Flesher doesn’t even have time to adjust his junk before being taken down. Meanwhile out on the floor Bruce decides to take the first shot at Grappler by hitting him upside the head. Grappler staggers a bit but quickly raises a clenched fist to return the favor only to be struck in the chest by a drop kick from Wayne Blank as he leaps off the ring steps and OVER his big brother “HOLY SHIT!!” Mak blurts out almost falling out of his chair in surprise as the Drunken Dragon displays his flying ability with an impressive leap. As impressive the move was it was also totally illegal and done more or less in front of Nick Soapdish’s eyes causing the referee to leap to the floor while yelling at Wayne, threatening to disqualify the Dead Precedents. When Nick raises his hand to call for the bell the Grappler stops him and in no uncertain terms tells him to let the match go on instead. Nick eyes widen as the big man holds him by the wrist, shooting him a menacing glare – then Soapdish turns towards Wayne and motions for him to leave the ring “YER OUTTA HERE!!” The Franchise Mak Francis yells out like he was calling a baseball game as Nick Soapdish orders Wayne to leave the arena, a decision that draws a huge roar of approval from the crowd and a pleased little nod from the Grappler before the big man returns to his corner, although not before giving Bruce a little “this isn’t over yet” hand gesture. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! “About damn time! Flesher and Matthews are SKILLED WRESTLERS! They shouldn’t be subjected to such rampant cheating” King claims causing every single “Irony Meter” to max out and explode in an instant. Wayne reluctantly walks away from the ring with his head hung low, upset that he got caught and ejected, upset that he let his brother and Bloodshed down. Bruce doesn’t look happy at all as he walks up the ringsteps and gets back in his corner although his mood is quickly lifted as Bloodshed tags him in letting the big man take over on Tom Flesher while he takes up residence on the apron. Bruce rubs his hands as he goes to work on Tom Flesher after the Superior one has been put on the defense by the Dead Precedents rampant cheating. Bruce grabs Flesher by his short hair and then brings his massive forearm down across Tom’s back with a hollow thud. Seeing that Tom is totally at his mercy Bruce gets confident, cocky – arrogant even as he rakes the Superior One’s back HOGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANAAAAHH!! “What the hell?” Seeing Tom so out of it Bruce can’t help but rub it in as he goes for a front head lock and then wrenches Flesher’s head to the side while pushing forward revealing that he actually DOES prepare for matches by going for the Cement Drop. Not being well versed in submission wrestling or really versed in it at all Bruce leaves himself open for a counter as Tom rolls with the momentum, sliding his legs between Bruce’s legs, pulling the big man forward causing his head to strike the canvas before Bruce can figure out what was going on. “That’s what you get!” King yells out and then adds “Never try to play Tom’s game, you’ll always loose, ALWAYS!” The moment Bruce releases the front headlock Flesher wiggles out from under the big man and then heads for his corner and the tag that he REALLY needs right about now. He leaps, arm outstretched… DENIED!! …Bruce has Flesher by the boot, holding on to the Superior One, preventing him from tagging by no more than six inches. Flesher jumps a few times on one foot, trying to keep his balance as Bruce keeps a grip on Flesher’s left foot – at least until Flesher leaps up, twists around and then kicks backwards with a mule kick straight into Bruce’s chest. The kick makes Bruce release his grip on the Superior One and Flesher is finally able to make contact with the Grappler as Bruce takes a few steps backwards from the kick. “YES!! Flesher makes the tag!!” King hollers as the Grappler quickly enters the ring looking straight at the big man already in the ring. Bruce and Charlie go head to head as they both start talking trash to each other, jawing as they stand there face to face, nose to nose like a couple of bulls ready to hit each other, the tension between the two is palatable as everyone in the arena are waiting for the two big men to hit each other. “You can tell the crowd has been waiting for this one for a while, they’re on the edge of their seats here waiting for a hard hitting fight – not a wrestling match but a fight!” Mak says possibly transferring some of his own anticipation onto the crowd as he’s eager to see the two big men go at it. Grappler starts off by putting a hand on Bruce’s face and then pushing the big man backwards, his way of saying “Get out of my face hayseed”. The shove is quickly repaid with a forearm shot to the chest, but the Grappler’s massive, furry chest takes the impact without the big man even stepping a full step backwards before he retaliates with a forearm of his own that knocks Bruce back a step, Bruce uses his momentum to fall back into the ropes like a kid pulling back on his slingshot and then he sprints forward (well “sprints” for him) and then tries to bowl over the Grappler with a running shoulder tackle *THUD!!* “OH MAN it’s like a Mac and a Semi hitting each other on the Interstate” Mak exclaims as the two men collide but with no noticeable effect on either man as Grappler braces himself and takes the impact full on. Bruce points to the ropes, inviting the Grappler to give it his best shot. The Grappler appears to be taking the invitation as he runs towards the ropes while Bruce takes a step forward instead of waiting for Matthews to come at him and then raises his foot looking to drive his cowboy boot into the side of the Grappler’s face as he bounces off the ropes. HE MISSED!! Grappler ducks under the big boot, bounces off the ropes on the other side and then takes Bruce down with a flying shouldertackle that knocks the big man from Alabama off his feet. Grappler follows up with two massive elbows to Bruce’s chest hoping to keep the big man down and under control. When that’s not enough to stop Bruce from trying to get back up Grappler grabs Bruce by the hair and. . . *BONK!!* “RIGHT ACROSS THE NOSE!! Man that sounded sick!” King says as the Grappler strikes Bruce square on the nose with enough force to bloody it. Grappler follows the headbutt with a kick to the side of the head before he pulls the staggered Bruce Blank back to his feet and then whips him into the corner with FORCE! Bruce strikes the corner back first with enough force to shake the entire ring, the ring is shaken once more as Charlie Matthews runs at Bruce and drives his massive shoulder into Bruce’s ample mid section. Grappler puts his big paws around the middle rope to trap Bruce in the corner and then he proceeds to drill Bruce’s mid section with his shoulder over and over If the Grappler had been well liked the fans might have even counted along. But he’s not so they’re not, but that doesn’t stop him as he delivers a good 6 or 7 heavy blows to Bruce’s midsection and chest as Tom Flesher yells encouragements such as “Hit the bastard again” and “He ain’t nothing Grappler”. After he’s satisfied that Bruce is much worse for wear he stops the onslaught and instead drags Bruce into the middle of the ring where he quickly applies the dreaded, the devious, the boring Bear Hug “Well I’m off for a cup of coffee” Mak quips as Charlie Matthews wraps his arms around Bruce’s ribcage and then manages to lock his hand behind Bruce’s back, since Bruce is so wide Charlie isn’t able to grab his wrist like he usually does but has to be content with locking his hands together as he squeezes with every ounce of power in his body. “Don’t look away, something is going to happen any minute now” King admonishes Mak. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!” “Any minute now” King repeats almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. The Grappler squeezes tighter each time Bruce takes a breath, constricting the chest, slowing pushing Bruce into a state of oxygen deprivation just like the bear hug is supposed to be, then again it’s also supposed to be around the chest and not the waist/abdomen that most people do it. The strain of holding on to the big man as he tries to break free of the hold is obvious as Matthews face is all red and he’s sweating profusely from the strain but he’s not about to give up “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!” “Yep any minute now something. . . anything will happen” King mumbles Bloodshed leaps over the top rope and tries to rush over and break up the Bear hug but Nick Soapdish is alert tonight and quickly cuts him off before he can make contact with either Bruce or Grappler. While Bloodshed threatens the referee Tom quickly steps through the ropes with a big grin on his face and then gets up on the second rope as the Grappler turns Bruce around so that he’s got his back to Flesher. “SEE!! I told you something would happen!” King says as Flesher leaps off the second rope and drills a knee into Bruce’s back, followed by a Spine Buster from the Grappler that bounces Bruce a foot or so off the canvas from sheer power. Grappler quickly covers while Flesher slides out of the ring, a second later Soapdish sees the pinfall, forgets all about Bloodshed and then leaps over to count Bruce’s shoulders down One!! Two!!! TH- But at the last moment Bloodshed grabs Bruce’s foot and places it on the bottom rope as he leaves the ring so that the referee has to break the count. Charlie Matthews gets to his feet, massive arms raised in the air, thinking that he’s won the match – a misconception that Nick Soapdish clears up by pointing to Bruec’s foot. The decision doesn’t sit well with Charlie Matthews who complains loudly to the referee, what he should have been doing was keep an eye on Bloodshed who’s slid back inside the ring and is coming at the Grappler from behind “WATCH OUT!!” Fortunately for the Grappler he doesn’t need to keep an eye on Bloodshed, Flesher did it for him and warns his partner just a moment before Bloodshed strikes. Heeding the warning Matthews ducks out of the way and a surprised Bloodshed ends up rushing head first into Nick Soapdish, bouncing his skull off Soapdish’s skull “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!” “Double bell ringer!” King quips as both Bloodshed and Soapdish collapse on the ground from the impact. The second Soapdish hits the canvas Flesher is in the ring again giving Bruce a boot scrape that does NOTHING for his looks, but then again what would? Flesher seems to be directing traffic a bit as he tells Grappler to pick Bruce up for a pile driver, a request that Grappler is more than happy to grant as he places Bruce’s head between his legs and then raises the King of Pain’s ample body up in the air while Flesher gets back up on the second rope, looking at the crowd with a sadistic grin before leaping off “SPIKED PILE DRIVER!!” Mak yells out as Flesher grabs Bruce by the boots and helps drive his body down as the Grappler lands a pile driver on Bruce. Flesher has a lot of payback to give after the early parts of the match so the Superior One wastes no time gloating but instead turns Bloodshed over on his back and then points up to the air. Matthews quickly nods before Flesher runs at the ropes for momentum, the Grappler grabs Flesher as he comes off the ropes and presses him up him in the air, twisting his body so that he comes down with both feet right on Bloodshed’s stomach. “The Dead Pre-whatevers aren’t the only ones that have great teamwork Mak” King gloats “Yeah and they cheat about as much too, funny how you’re not complaining now” Mak replies as the Grappler picks up Bloodshed and places him on the top rope with his back to the ring. “Cheating? Do you see the referee complaining? Is he calling for the bell or anything?” King counters conveniently ignoring the fact that Nick Soapdish is still out after Bloodshed bonked heads with him. Flesher traps Bloodshed’s feet under the top turnbuckle and then pulls his opponent backwards locking him in the Tree of Woe while Charlie Matthews goes back to working over Bruce Blank. Flesher puts one of his ASICS on Bloodshed’s face and then viciously scrapes it downwards causing the cut on Bloodshed’s forehead to widen and bleed more, a lot more. Flesher drops down and slides under the bottom rope, then he reaches around from both sides of the ringpost, locks his hands around Bloodshed’s jaw and begins to pull back putting a serious amount of pressure on Bloodshed’s neck and knees as he’s trapped upside down in the corner. “You know I’ve missed seeing Tom in the ring, he just brings such intensity you know” King says as he reminisces about the old times as the Grappler hooks his arms around Bruce’s waist and then raises the big man up in the air before dropping the King of Pain down on top of his knee for a rarely seen Atomic Drop, followed by grabbing Bruce by the hair and shirt and throwing him shoulder first in between the turnbuckles so that his shoulder strikes the ringpost with a hollow thud. “WELL IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME” Mak yells out as he sees Ced Ordonez come out with a referee’s shirt on running to the ring to hopefully get the match under control. The moment Ced slides under the bottom rope Tom lets go of his neck twisting hold on Bloodshed and just walks off, hands in the air, whistling like he was the epitome of innocence. “You know I don’t think I’ve EVER been happy to see Ced Ordonez and tonight is no exception” King moans as the wrestler-slash-referee breaks up the rampant double teaming, helps Nick Soapdish leave the ring and then goes over to untangle Bloodshed’s legs from the top rope so that the match can regain some semblance of order. The moment Tom gets back up on the apron in the appropriate spot the Grappler tags him in while keeping a boot firmly planted on Bruce’s back keeping the Trailerpark Messiah trapped in their corner primed for the Superior One to show the hayseed just how it's really done in the ring. As Ordonez begins to count for Matthews to exit, Tom quickly replaces the boot across Bruce’s throat with a stiff chop, the loud shot causing a bit of spit to fly from the big man’s mouth as his body dips forward, putting him in perfect position for the slightly smaller Flesher to wrap his arms around the head and upper-arm of Blank before quickly falling back, drilling him into the ground with a vicious DDT, putting another shot of pain through the already throbbing shoulder. “Even if Bruce could manage to get to his corner right now, it seems Bloodshed is in no shape to tag in after the bootscrapes from Flesher brought forth even more crimson” Francis’ comment comes as the camera follows Flesher returning to his feet, unsatisfied with the punishment Bruce Blank has received, the scene showing Bloodshed on his knees on the apron, his hand holding onto the tag rope. As Bruce tries to regain his senses, a hard slap from Flesher causes an “ooooooo” from the crowd, which the Superior One ignores as he falls to the mat, driving his knee down into the aching shoulder of the big man. The shot puts Bruce back down on the mat, but Flesher is relentless in his actions, standing back up and snapping back down with authority, his knee like a dagger between shoulder blade and socket. This time, Bruce’s free arm shoots out, looking for the ropes, but a quick and dirty stomp to the fingers retracts the hand and causes referee Ordonez to warn him of his actions. “This is exactly what it’s like to be in total control of the situation. If you want to know what’s it is like to be Tom Flesher, you are watching about as good as an example as I can come up with that isn’t X-rated!” The Suicide King seems pleased as Flesher falls to the mat, keeping his upper-body pushing down onto Bruce’s back as he wraps his arms around the arm and neck of the Trailerpark Messiah, pulling back hard with a picture perfect crossface. “If Tom Flesher can keep Bruce Blank grounded as he has so many other big men over the years, this match might not go on much longer” Mak remarks quickly as Bruce looks to be fighting, his arms and legs thrashing, his right foot finally able to stretch far enough out to fall onto the bottom rope. “And Bruce Blank is able to---HEY!” As Ordonez catches sight of the rope break, Charlie Matthews kicks the foot away. “Break it! Break the hold!” Ordonez yells to Flesher as he stands and points his finger towards the Grappler, who looks none-too-happy to have been caught in the act. Flesher reluctantly breaks the hold and stands up, wiping his hands on his singlet as Bruce crawls toward the ropes, his right hand grabbing at the bottom and trying to pull himself up, all with the Superior One standing over him, waiting. As Ced finishes checking over Bruce, he can barely get himself out of the way in time of another hard kick, the bottom of Tom Flesher’s boot connecting once more to Blank’s aching shoulder. “No rest for the weak, rope break or no rope break!” The Suicide King calls as Blank manages to get to his feet against the ropes, fighting through the pain building in his arm as Flesher grabs him by the wrist and aims for an irish whip… REVERSED~! Bruce manages to use his size to his advantage, turning the tables on Tom and sending the veteran into the ropes with a hard bounce, only for Flesher to return with a jolt, spinning himself sideways and raising his foot to the sky… *SMACK* ..sending a hard Yakuza type kick into Bruce’s chest, the shot causing the big man to stumble backwards into the ropes himself before firing back, his right arm swinging out like a baseball bat, nearly decapitating the Superior One with a clothesline! *THUD* Both Flesher and Blank fall to the canvas in a heap, and for the first time in minutes Bruce is almost close enough to his own corner to make a tag. As Tom fights to get up from the lariat behind him, Bruce throws himself forward, his hand lunging out… *WHIFF* …and finding nothing but the air! “Bruce Blank has no idea where he is!” Mak calls as Bruce pulls himself up and looks to the corner he thought his partner was in, only to hear the sounds of Bloodshed calling from just a corner away, his hand outstretched as he sits on his knees, blood caked onto his white shirt and face. “Bruce has very little chance to make it now, Flesher is almost up!” cries the Gambling Man as Bruce stands and stumbles toward his corner as Tom gets to his feet, turning himself around in time to see Bruce take one more desperate dive… *SLAP* …and make the tag! Ordonez signals the clean tag as Bloodshed pulls himself into the ring, his eyes concentrating on the Superior One as the two men collide in almost the middle of the ring, Flesher looking for a front waistlock as Bloodshed drills his fists into his back, warnings from the referee be damned. Getting nowhere, Flesher releases his hold and spins his body, pulling the wrist of Bloodshed with him and sending him sailing across the ring and straight into the corner of the Grappler! As his body snaps against the turnbuckles, Matthews takes his opportunity to swing his left arm out, slamming it violently into Bloodshed’s face as his partner keeps Ordonez busy on the other side of the ring. “What a shot from Charlie Matthews! Now it looks as though even more blood is beginning to seep from that open wound, if that is even possible at this point!” “See, that’s teamwork!” replies the King as Flesher steps past the referee and makes his way across the ring, denying his partner a tag as he pulls Bloodshed away from the corner and slams him back once more, the whiplash effect sending a shockwave of pain through the body of the self-proclaimed and currently literally bloody prophet. “It seemed Matthews wanted a tag there, you’d better hope Tom’s ego isn’t getting the best of him right now. Say what you will about Alan Clark, but when he’s in this mindset, and when that crimson flows as we’ve seen time and time again, there’s something that just clicks in his head and takes over…” “Yeah, the answering machine, because I don’t think there’s anybody ever home in that empty skull of his!” King laughs to himself a bit as Tom pulls Bloodshed out of the corner and drives Bloodshed down with another quick DDT before going for a cover… One!! Two!! KICKOUT!! Bloodshed is barely able to kick out, his legs buckling and his right shoulder shooting up from underneath the Superior One just before the three count. With a bit of a sour looking on his face, Tom wipes the bit of blood from Bloodshed’s face across the canvas so as to not soil his attire before pulling Bloodshed back up by the hair, making sure to keep his hands away from the face before hooking in a facelock and lifting Bloodshed into the air, holding him upside down and turning him to face Blank, who has just gotten to his feet in the corner. With a quick smile from Flesher, Bruce can only watch as Bloodshed drops, his body spun in the air before smacking against the canvas back-first with a loud smack… “The Superiority Complex! You had better believe it!” King calls as Tom reaches out, clutching onto Bloodshed’s legs and pulling him into a pinning predicament… One!! Two!! Thre---NO!! Bloodshed again is able to kick out just in the nick of time, leaving Flesher slamming his fist against the mat in a bit of frustration. As he stands back to his feet he looks to the Grappler and the camera can see him mouthing “no” to the big man’s outstretched palm before he turns and sends another hard boot to Bloodshed’s crimson face, but before the aptly named superstar can even so much as flinch, the Superior One grabs onto his legs and holds them up, weaving his hands between them and folding them down… “Could it be…this could be it…” …before quickly turning Bloodshed over and sitting back, latching onto the hold like a predator to it’s prey… “..The Superior Stretch is locked on!” Mak calls and King lets out a bit of a yelp of joy as the pain seering through Bloodshed’s body amplifies tenfold, his back being folded in a way mother nature never intended. “It doesn’t matter if you have the strongest back in the world, Tom Flesher will not release that hold until you scream for mercy and slap that mat with defeat!” The King seems on top of the world, only for a large angry redneck to rain on his parade as Bruce Blank rumbles into the ring, pushing himself past Ced Ordonez and driving his boot into the back of Tom Flesher’s head, the shot breaking the hold and sending Tom falling forward, his upper body catching on the bottom rope. “Bruce Blank was not going to let it end that way!” Mak calls as Ced tries to push the big man back to his corner, only for Charlie Matthews to slip in behind his back and lift Bloodshed up and throw his head between his legs… “Bruce Blank might have only been able to save his partner for just a few precious seconds…because look who has him now!” The King exclaims as the Grappler lifts Bloodshed into the air, flipping him up into perfect powerbomb position and … *FFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT!* “BLOODMIST~!!” Mak screams as Bloodshed unleashes his viscous mist straight into the eyes of Charlie Matthews, causing him to drop Bloodshed from his grasp, the lightweight landing on his feet and immediately stepping back and firing forward, slapping the big man across the chest with a hard superkick, sending Matthews reeling backwards and through the ropes to the outside! “Bloodshed has just sprayed his own blood right into Charlie Matthews eyes and then blasted him with a kick that put him all the way out to the outside!” “I could see that a thousand times, and it will still be one of the sickest, most disgusting, putrid things I’ve ever witnessed!” King dry-heaves slightly as he finishes his comment, only for Bloodshed to turn back around in time to see Tom Flesher waiting for him, sending a hard kick to his midsection and hooking in another facelock before also grabbing Bloodshed’s left leg and quickly snapping his body backwards, driving his opponent over and down into the canvas and into another cover! One!! Two!!! ThreeeeeeNOOOO!! “A perfect Fisherman’s Suplex from Tom Flesher and still Bloodshed will not stay down!” “And neither will the Grappler, look!” King calls as he points into his monitor, showing the big man, his eyes wiped clean and an evil look burned into his face as he waits for a tag, but Flesher’s back is turned to his partner and is completely unaware as he pulls Bloodshed back up and whips him into the ropes, the Dead Precedent bouncing off and coming back at full speed… Leapfrog! WAIT! Bloodshed ducks underneath a Flesher leap and slams on his brakes, ending up behind the Superior One as he lands and turns around, expecting to see Bloodshed bouncing off the ropes… *SMAAAAACK* “ANOTHER SUPERKICK!!” Mak exclaims loudly as Tom Flesher’s neck snaps back and his body spins with recoil and sends him crashing to the canvas almost completely face-first. The smile seems to return to Bloodshed’s face as he quickly pulls Flesher up to his knees and drags him toward the ropes, pushing him between the bottom and second rope and pulling up, wrapping his arm around the Superior One’s throat and pulling back, putting all of his weight down hard onto Tom’s back, and nearly causing The Suicide King to choke on his drink. “AAACKK!!!” “Superior Stretch Beta!! …Applied by Bloodshed!! …IN THE ROPES!!” Mak calls out what his partner was trying to as Tom Flesher is trapped between the ropes in his own submission maneuver. Referee Ordonez is quick to start the count to break the hold.. One! Two! Three! Four! *SMAAACK* …but he can not get to five as Charlie Matthews’ right foot interjects into the situation, catching the wide-open right temple of Bloodshed and sending him falling back into the ring, the hold breaking mid-fall. Tom also falls back into the ring, holding his neck and trying to gasp for air as he rolls to his knees and begins to stand up, his head throbbing from the kick and his eyes on fire as he pulls the groggy Bloodshed up and drags him by his upper-body across the ring, placing him dead in the middle before wrapping his own arm around Bloodshed’s throat and slamming his thigh across the bloody prophet’s back, latching his momentarily stolen submission on for himself! “That’s how it’s done! Right there! Not by some bloody punk!” “…and now Tom Flesher with the Stretch Beta applied to Bloodshed in the center of the ring, and Bloodshed does not look to be enjoying himself one bit!” “That’s what he gets for stealing from greatness!” King yells angrily as Bloodshed writhes in the hold, his arms flailing and trying to get himself free, only for a large man in a white jumpsuit from Alabama to save the day, his foot doing to the Superior One what the Grappler’s did to Bloodshed, once again breaking the hold and putting both men down on the canvas. Charlie Matthews, who seems to be more angry than ever, steps over the top rope and into the ring, moving as quickly as he can toward Bruce, only for referee Ordonez to step in between the two monsters, much to the dismay of the Budokan crowd… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “These fans just can not get enough of those two monsters going at it. Like Godzilla and Rodan!” Mak calls as Ced sends each man back to their corner, only for Bloodshed to smack Bruce on the wrist just as his hand wraps around the tag rope. “NO!” “Ordonez signals the legal tag, and now Bruce Blank is the legal man, giving Bloodshed some much needed time to rest” comments Francis as Bloodshed drops and rolls onto the apron. Blank steps over his partner and into the ring just as Flesher gets to his knees, his mind regretting not tagging his partner when he had the chance. As the camera makes a quick check on Bloodshed, the Suicide King can be heard groaning. “Do you see what I see, Francis?” “What?” “Check out the bottom corner of your screen, steel wheels.” King says as Mak stares into his monitor, only to notice a familiar face standing just over the barricade in the first row, his hands resting on the plastic as he watches the action in the ring. “Is that Wayne Blank? What is he doing out here! He got ejected!” “That’s what I’m trying to say!” “Well, I guess until Ordonez actually notices him and he doesn’t try to get involved as he is known to, he’ll be sitting there with all of the other fans.” “Yeah, sitting there, his head down as he watches Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews beat his brother to a pulp!” “That isn’t exactly what I see in the ring right now, King” Mak replies as Bruce brings his meaty fist down across Flesher’s back, putting the Superior One onto his knees and grounded once more. On the apron, Matthews paces back and forth, waiting for his chance and continuing to wipe the dry blood from his face as he watches the action in front of him, his partner being thrown into the turnbuckles like a ragdoll at the hands of the Trailerpark Messiah. As Flesher bounces back, Bruce clutches onto his body and lifts him into the air, a loud southern grunt emanating from somewhere deep down as he extends his arms, holding Tom above his head in a magnificent gorilla press. “Tom Flesher is almost nine feet off the canvas right now, and there is nowhere to go but… *THUUUD* “…down.” Francis finishes as Tom is released, his body falling toward the mat, only for his face to be implanted into the top turnbuckle, his body going limp after the five foot fall to the pad. “He’ll knock his teeth out!” The Suicide King yells, but Francis notices something more. “Tom shouldn’t be worrying about his teeth, I think that fall just knocked HIM out!” Bruce pulls Flesher up and walks across the ring, the outstretched palm of Bloodshed waiting as he anxiously shakes the tag rope. The two men seem to share a few words as Bloodshed makes the tag and runs down the apron, sliding through the ropes into the same corner Tom Flesher was just imprinted into. As the crowd watches on, Bruce lifts Flesher up, setting him down on the top turnbuckle facing out into the crowd. “Oh no…no no no!” King mutters, his voice becoming more emotional as Bruce gets underneath his partner, who has climbed to the second rope and hooked the Superior One into a waistlock. With Bloodshed on his shoulders, Bruce pushes his body up, balancing the weight of his partner as Bloodshed tries to position Tom on the top rope, the crowd almost silent as they see what is going to happen next. “The Lasting Memory, King!” Mak yells as Ordonez begins the count on the double-team, only to catch the body of Wayne Blank standing on the apron in his peripheral vision! “What’s that drunken idiot doing now?” “Wayne Blank on the apron now, and Ced Ordonez does not look happy!” replies Mak as Ced turns his attention to the smaller Blank brother, only for the cameras to pick up on what it is that Wayne has leapt the barricade for. With the Precdents’ backs facing the ring, neither man can see Charlie Matthews coming up behind them… “Here comes the Grappler!” King calls out, but it’s too late as Bloodshed lifts up with all his strength, pulling Flesher off the top turnbuckle and over his head, releasing the Superior One in mid-air… ...and right into the arms of Charlie Matthews!” “He caught him!” the King shouts as Flesher lands onto the Grappler’s shoulders, the sudden impact of the weight jarring his body and dropping him down on one knee, putting him at eye level with the upside-down Bloodshed, who hangs off of Bruce’s shoulders by the legs… *FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT!* “A SECOND DOSE OF BLOODMIST!!’ *THUUUUD* “NOO! NOOOO!” the Suicide King’s elation turns to depression as Charlie takes a second shot of Bloodmist to the eyes, causing him to fall backwards to the canvas from his knees, only for Tom Flesher to wind up crashing into the mat right on the back of his neck!!” “The Lasting Memory might have been missed, but Tom still ended up taking a nasty fall courtesy of his own tag team partner and that nasty mist!” Mak yells as Bloodshed backflips off Bruce’s back and lands on his knees, leaving Bruce to pull the Grappler out of the ring, both men sliding under the bottom rope as Wayne drops from the apron and Ced spins just in time to see nothing but Tom Flesher’s body upside down in Bloodshed’s grasp… *THUUUUUUUUUD!!!!* The sound of Tom Flesher’s head and neck crashing into the canvas echoes throughout the arena, Bloodshed spiking the Superior One down with authority. On the outside, Bruce rests on his knees, with one pinning down the back of the neck of the blinded Grappler. “BAD ACID TRIP! BAD ACID TRIP ON FLESHER! THE COVER!!” One!! Two!!! Threeee!!! *DING DING DING* “IT’S OVER!!” “Ladies and Gentlemen…the winners of this bout by pinfall…THE DEAD PRECEDENTS!!!!” Funyon’s voice rings out and “Welcome Home” explodes from the PA system as Bruce releases his weight from Charlie Matthews’ neck and slides into the ring as Bloodshed rolls from off Tom Flesher’s body and stands, his body battered as Ced holds the two partner’s hands high in the air. “I don’t believe what I just saw! Those two fools just defeated two former World Champions!” “Both of those two men are also former champions, if you remember, King.” “Who cares about some stupid ultraviolent garbage!” King huffs as Bruce and Bloodshed roll out of the ring and into the aisle where Wayne waits, the three men leaving Tom Flesher recovering in the ring while Charlie Matthews sits on the outside, wiping even more blood from his face. “It might not have been the cleanest fight in the history of this fine pay-per-view, but once again you might say that Alan Clark, Bloodshed, has pulled out on of the biggest upsets ever right here at 13th Hour!” “Thanks to Wayne Blank just happening to be standing at ringside after he was ejected!” “I said it wasn’t the cleanest fight, King, but if that’s what you are looking for you might want to take a coffee break for our next bout, as “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins gets set to defend the once Hardcore Gamer’s, then Ultraviolent, now once more Hardcore Gamer’s Championship against none other than Sean Davis…INSIDE A STEEL CAGE!!” As the Dead Precedents exit through the curtain, the camera pans above the ring to show the steel cage looming before fading out into a commercial for the SWF’s next PPV… Ground Zero. 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King Cucaracha 0 Report post Posted June 15, 2006 Landon/Toxxic continued... ---------------------------- ropes, but there's too much riding on this for it to be settled by mere fatigue. It's going to take a knockout, or worse, to decide this one." predicts Mak. As Stephens leans across the chair trying to shake himself back to his senses, Maddix notices the count has stopped and comes back up, climbing to the apron. Holding in his hand a long, thin black bag. "What the hell is that?" "I dread to think, King." Struggling over, Stephens looks to catch Maddix on the apron but The Next Generation is able to beat his opponent to the figurative punch by snapping off another forearm. A second forearm leaves Stephens dazed, before Maddix deposits the bag in the corner. Striding back over, Landon then exposes the chest... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and lands a knifedge. Already weakening and growing more and more fatigued, the strike leaves Stephens floundering. And as he staggers away he ends up sprawling back into the steel chair in the middle of the ring, giving Landon time to climb carefully up the centre of the ropes in front. The ropes are much more unsteady in the centre and Landon looks notedly unsteady, but he does manage to get to the top and springs off as best possible, getting just enough height and length to slam into Toxxic with a diving forearm! The chair topples back, sending Stephens toppling back with it and hard on the back of his head on the canvas, as Maddix rolls away to safety. "Landon barely got him on that one." calls Mak. "I think if Landon could have springboarded to the top he would, but he seems sapped of energy." "He's probably got broken ribs because of that Toxxic Shock Syndrome on the chair, of course he's sapped of energy." "Well, as you well know it's not the 'Toxxic Shock Syndrome' anymore, but about half of that sentence was valid." Maddix uses the ropes to help him back up and to guide him back over to the corner... "ONE!" ...grabbing the black bag he'd retrieved earlier and undoing the cord tie at the top. "TWO!" Stephens is still being counted down as Maddix finally gets the bag untied and stumbles over to where his challenger lies, paying no regard to referee Hardcastle who he bumps out of the way. "THREE!" Wearily, Maddix looks down on Stephens. And suddenly, all the hatred and all the painful memories come flooding back to him, bringing a seldom seen look up from his inner reaches and onto his face for all to see. Stephens is moving, but he doesn't seem too aware of his surroundings, reaching out groggily...and finds Maddix's ankle, getting booted in the head as a result. Shrugging Stephens away, Landon raises the bag over his head again before tipping it up... "ONE!" "Wait, Hardcastle just started the count over!" states Francis. "Maddix just broke the count by kicking Stephens, what a mistake that could be." "TWO!" ...and from the black bag, come what must be a dozen LIGHTTUBES!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Somehow, I don't think he cares." sneers King. Looking down at the glass sticks with a curious expression, Landon glances back to Stephens momentarily...before shrugging Hardcastle away and bringing Stephens back to his feet. Despite Hardcastle's best protests, Maddix then lands a succession of three quick forearms to the jaw before going to the gut with a knee. Doubled over, Stephens is prone, as Maddix scoops up one of the lighttubes. And despite it seeming strangely misplaced in his hands, Landon's swing is pretty assured... *KE-RAAAAAASH!* "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AS HE SMASHES THE LIGHTTUBE ACROSS MICHAEL STEPHENS' BACK!!!! "Wha...I know this is Last Man Standing, but...this isn't like Landon at all!" Mak gasps. "I don't think Landon's ever seen a lighttube before, let alone used one...my God he's snapped. He's snapped!" "He snapped LOOONG ago, Mak! Hell, he had to have planted the lighttubes himself. Either him or Stephens..." "Well it wouldn't be Stephens, would it!" "I don't know, I could see Toxxic using a lighttube or two." Blood begins to trickle from a number of small cuts in Stephens' back, as well as one larger cut where the lighttube itself struck. Shards of glass lie around the challenger and a select few lie in Maddix's forearms, irritating him only slightly. Falling to his hands and knees, Stephens grits his teeth in pain as Maddix swats away the Spooky Toxic Lighttube Gas™ and glares down at the writhing Sensation with satisfaction. For a first time effort, this was a pretty good one. "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" The Tokyo crowd try to will Stephens back to his feet but they needn't bother as Landon gives them what they want anyway, helping Stephens back up. Not as accustomed to glass cuts as he once might have been, Stephens has no answer as Maddix then brings him into a standing headscissors, positioning him in front of the remaining lighttube pile! Still with a disturbed look in his eyes, still looking slightly crazy, Maddix savours this final moment of anticipation, before he finally puts Stephens into a glass filled world of agony... ...FOR A LITTLE TOO LONG, as Stephens lifts his head, catching Maddix over his shoulders and dumping him out onto the apron. "Wow...I thought he was gonna backdrop him right on those lighttubes, but he passed the opportunity up I think!" "That's why morality sucks." preaches super-heel King. Draped over the ropes, Stephens still favours his back. Which is why when Maddix digs his pedicured little nails into Stephens' back and grates away, the challenger shows rare emotive pain as he screams out in agony, all the little glass wounds being dug into and torn further open. After a couple more back scratches, Landon then quickly wraps on a front facelock and looks to hang himself from the ropes, applying some Hanging Wet Cement. Before he can be hung on the ropes though, Stephens despairingly throws his arms over the ropes, able to catch Landon's leg. Still the hold is applied and still Stephens is being choked on the rope, but it means Landon can't apply the body scissors... "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" ...and with one, HUGE, incomprehensible (even by the Japanese) Godzilla like roar of intensity, Stephens puts all the energy he can muster into lifting Landon from his draped position, over and onto his shoulder, cradling the leg and the head!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "OH MY GOD...CAFFEINE BOMB!?" Fighting frantically, Landon uses his free left hand to rain down punches across the head. None of them connect with any noted force because of his body position, but eventually the rapid fire of the punches takes it's toll on the bloody forehead and Stephens stumbles forward, dropping Maddix back onto the apron and earning himself a forearm to the jaw. "Man, Landon fought out of it...we'll never know if Stephens was going for his once patented Caffeine Bomb or not!" gasps Mak. "Sure we will, because OF COURSE HE WAS NUMBNUTS! HE'S TOXXIC!!" Draped over the ropes, Stephens is suffering now and can't prevent being dragged out through the ropes and onto the apron with the World Champion. Another forearm connects, and another, before Landon looks to go to the old Puroresu mainstay, the 'death move off the apron onto the thin pads on the floor'. Hooking under the head, Maddix is either going for a Complete Shot (which kill them both) or an Exploder (which would...uhm, kill them both). But Stephens fights back, elbowing his way out of oblivion and locking on THE CRAVATÉ!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Cravate! Cravate! The Champion's own pethold has been locked in by Stephens!" "God, it's even worse when he does it!!" Stephens hangs onto the cravaté for mere moments, as Maddix goes back to the nails in the glass cuts, scraping his fingernails down the bloodied back of the challenger until he relents and lets go of a now fuming Maddix. And, fuming, Landon lands a boot to the gut, pulling Stephens in. Double underhooking the arms. "NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Oh...oh shit no, not on the apron!" Venomously and yet quite blankly staring in the distance, Maddix's half smile tells the world that Stephens is in serious trouble. Maddix adjusts his footing on the apron, all the while staring away, before finally deciding it's time to cripple Stephens once and for all... "DDIIIIIIEEEEE TOOXXXIII..." ...NO! Stephens wraps his foot around the bottom rope and blocks the lift, preventing the Demonstar. Shocked, Landon loses momentary focuses and allows Stephens time to lift his head up sharply, headbutting Maddix in the nads! And again! A third time, weakening Landon up. Still the underhooks remain though, so knowing he has to escape, Stephens snaps the head up again and backdrops Landon over... ...but he holds onto the arms... ...FLIPPING STEPHENS OVER... . *CRUNCH!* "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND BRINGING HIM OVER, SPIKING HIM HEADFIRST INTO THE APRON, SENDING STEPHENS FLIPPING TO THE ARENA FLOOR BELOW FOR GOOD MEASURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "DANGEROUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~!" Hardcaslte leaps at least 3 foot up in the ring in shock as Stephens settles on the arena floor, one arm limply hanging at his side, the other over his head. Sat on the apron, Landon looks down at his opponent in semi-shock, semi euphoria. Toxxic's down. And he's not moving. "ONE!" In the ring, Hardcastle starts his count, eerily quieter than at any other time in the match. "TWO!" "My...my God. It seemed like Maddix knew the counter was coming and he managed to... "THREE!" "...to manouevre Stephens over, into almost a Riot Act Plus, the Canadian Destroyer, the pet move of his former partner and rival Todd Cortez... "FOUR!" "...only, with a double underhook. On the APRON!" "FIVE!" "Stephens couldn't get his arms up to protect his neck either. He's done." "SIX!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" "TOXX - IC ICH - EE - BAN!" The chants start up again, in hope more than anything, the Japanese crowd still hopeful that Stephens has some fight left in him. "SEVEN!" Maddix drags himself up on the ropes and continues to stare down at the motionless challenger, almost as if he is expecting Stephens to have fight left in him. Nay, fearing he has. "EIGHT!" But as the count reaches eight, Stephens still hasn't so much as stirred. "Hardcastle is at eight!" cries Mak. "Stephens needs to get up now and get up quick, or else "That's kind hard to do if your neck's broke. You, as a cripple, should know that." "NINE!" "Come on King, show some damn compassion for once!!" yells Mak. This is the last chance now... ...but still, nothing. Maddix turns to Hardcastle, waiting for that final count... "TEN! RING THE BELL!" *DINGDINGDING!* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "It's over...damnit, it's over!" Dropping to his knees on the apron, sixteen months worth of emotions flood out of Landon as he clutches his hands to his face before throwing them toward the big man upstairs. Tears streaming down his face, Landon then rushes over to the timekeeper's table and grabs the World Championship belt, cradling it in his arms as he lets out a mighty cheer of victory! "Ladies and gentlemen, Michael Stephens has failed to answer the count of ten...and, therefore, your winner of this contest. And... STILLLLL!" booms Funyon, in unison with another gleeful yell from Maddix. "Your SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!" If this celebration is vomit-enducingly overstated, in stark contrast is the scene on the floor, as Hardcastle has exited the ring and kneels down beside Stephens, leaning in to check if he's conscious. Whether he is or not we don't see though, as Hardcastle is promptly kicked away by Landon, who stands over Stephens. The venom from before hs subsided. Now, it's the usual, familiar, smug cocky Landon, as if all his recent demons have been exorcised. Hardcastle pleads with Landon not to do anything stupid. But Maddix ignores his, because all he wants is one thing. "YYEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~!~!!~!!!" A photo opportunity, standing over Stephens like a hunter posing with his fallen prey. "After sixteen long months, Landon Maddix got the match he wanted. He got the result he wanted. And I think it's safe to say, he got payback for From The Fire tonight. Something inside of me hopes this is the end of Landon's evil streak...but look at him, showing no remorse whatsoever! Has Landon Maddix finally put the demons to rest, or is he simply embracing them more than ever before!? Has he gone over to the darkside, like Stephens predicted!?" Still weeping away, Maddix raises his World Title belt high over his head, EMTs rushing down the ramp behind him ready to tend to the still barely moving Michael Stephens. Paybacks are a bitch. So are fades to black. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
