Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 Opening promo of extreme magnitude to go here... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 (Send all marked matches, promos etc to Toxxic) The Homecoming Tour continues, and for the 1st December the SWF rolls into ‘Landon Country’. Doubtless the Commissioner will have stopped off at Huron to sample his mom’s famous lemon pie, but there’s no such delights in store for the roster as they line up for another round of blood and bruises. Class Is In Session was one of the best SWF shows in recent memory - can Ashes 2 Ashes live up to it? We’ve had the welcome (Christian Blackwell), the emphatic (Kibagami) and the truly unexpected (Scott Pretzler), but can these three winning returnees keep their momentum going? And just to top it all off, we have one of the World Title matches of the year… SWF WORLD TITLE Toxxic © VS. Tom Flesher Tom Flesher is truly one of the greats of the SWF. He basically owned the fed in 2003, he was the leader of the Magnificent Seven, he has beaten everyone there is to beat and humiliated most of them along the way… …except one. Whenever Tom Flesher and Toxxic have gone head-to-head in a singles match, the Superior One has come off worse. Now Flesher is no longer constrained by his Commissioner’s role, and his back is certainly good enough to beat Johnny Dangerous. Flesher has his eyes set on the World Title, perhaps not so much to secure a third reign for himself but to demean the belt he once treasured and ruin any hope Landon Maddix has of keeping the SWF together with any sense of heritage and prestige. In his way is the man who beat Jay Hawke last show; can this be right, where it’s Toxxic fighting to protect Landon Maddix’s interests? Will he win? Will Tom become the person to have probably the longest gaps between World Title reigns? If he does win, will he follow through on his threat to ‘show how worthless’ the belt is? Word Limit: 7000 Rules: Standard Singles Send to: King Cucaracha LOSER’S LOTTERY SOUTH DAKOTA STREET FIGHT Jay Hawke vs. Johnny Dangerous Both these men wound up on the wrong end of a loss last show - Hawke proved to be third time unlucky in his quest to bring home the SWF World Title, while Johnny fell foul of the newly-returned Tom Flesher. But this isn’t just a case of throwing the two losers together, oh no - there has been heat between these two since the final International Title match earlier this year, and Landon knows just the way to help them cool off! It's worth bearing in mind that the winner of this match might find a way to nudge themselves back into the title picture relatively soon, while the loser will have longer to wait... Word Limit: 6000 Rules: Street Fight - all weapons are legal, no DQ, the winning pin or submission must take place in the ring. Please note that ‘street clothes’ rather than wrestling attire is encouraged (Johnny, if that means you wear a tux, so be it). Send to: Toxxic SWF NEW BLOOD TITLE - LADDER MATCH Michael Alexander© vs. Aaron Starr Oh, Michael Alexander. The Mad Scientist of the Mat has racked up two New Blood defences, and getting one more will allow him to challenge for any belt he so pleases. Will Wildhild’s Cruiserweight Title be under threat? How about taking MANSON with him and going after the Tag Titles? Perhaps the winner of Toxxic vs. Flesher should be looking over their shoulder… well hold your horses Alexander, because there’s a new Starr in town! No, not him. No, not him either. Aaron has come to the SWF on the recommendation of our talent scouts (and when have they guided us wrong? Well, apart from Candice. And Ghost Machine. And… eh, you get the point). Anyway, he’s thrown into the deep end against the a man who has looked very impressive of late. Will he sink, or will he swim? There’s one thing that might just tip the balance in his favour… …the belt’s at the top of a ladder! Michael Alexander lost out to Fulminatus in a ladder match in the final of the original New Blood tournament - is this his bogey stipulation, or will he exact a form of revenge on the hapless Aaron? Only time will tell… Word Limit: 5000 Rules: Ladder match. The New Blood Title is hanging above the ring and the only way to win the match is to retrieve it. The most obvious solution (ladders of various sizes) will be scattered around and under the ring, although feel free to try just jumping if you want to look like a moron. No DQ, no countout, etc etc. Send to: Muzz Dace Night & Va’aiga vs. Revolution Zero (Austin Sly & The Fabulous Jakey) Night and Va’aiga are back, as the Andersens found out to their cost. Landon’s interested in revitalising the Tag Division, at the top of which currently sits Austin Sly and Toxxic. Simple logic dictates that should Night and Va’aiga (don’t ask me to pronounce his second name) beat this incarnation of Revolution Zero, which includes one of the current Tag Champions, they should get a shot at both Champions next show! Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Tag. Use the ring ropes or suffer my wrath Send to: Ace309 NON-TITLE MATCH Wildchild© vs. Christian Blackwell Wildchild went to a draw with Dance Dance Dragon last show, while Blackwell showed his ability to overcome a powerhouse as he beat Arch Griffon. Now Wildchild takes a step outside his division while we find out if the ageing Blackwell has still got enough pace to keep up with those damn cruisers… Wildchild may not be going for the World Title but he’s still recognised as top talent, and a win here would do wonders for Christian’s momentum Word Limit: 5000 Rules: Standard singles Send to: King Cucaracha SUBMISSIONS MATCH Scott Pretzler vs. JJ Johnson Does anyone remember the day JJ Johnson ‘arrived’ in the SWF? It was in the middle of 2005, when he stepped up his game to beat Scott Pretzler for the SWF Cruiserweight Title and handed Pretzler the first submission loss of his career. Now the dreams of marks have been realised and Pretzler’s back… and revenge seems to be a theme. What better incentive to give the master of the Snowflake Clutch than a chance to redeem himself against his former stablemate? It might be the second Submissions Match in as many cards, but you know it’s going to be worthwhile… Word Limit: 5000 Rules: Disqualifications and countouts are in effect, but the only way to actively win the match is by making your opponent submit, whether verbally or by tapout, or by making them pass out in a hold so that the referee can raise and drop their arm three times. Send to: Mr. S£im Citrus Nathaniel Kibagami vs. Spike Jenkins Spike wanted this match. Kibagami’s always open to… well, he usually open to alcohol. Actual wrestling generally seems fairly low down on his list of priorities recently, but he came back for long enough to knock Christian Fury into next week. Assuming we can get both men to the arena, this should be a bout to remember! Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Standard singles Send to: Toxxic HARDCORE MANSON vs. Christian Fury Poor, poor Fury. He struggled and failed against Craig McLennan, he got knocked the fuck out in just over a minute by his old enemy Kibagami. Now he’s in the yard of the Raging Bull, and MANSON isn’t look friendly. The Savage Messiah got a win over Austin Sly last show and who knows where a winning streak might take him in this new SWF? If he goes over Fury, he’ll likely find out… Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Hardcore. No DQ, no countout, falls count anywhere. Send to: Toxxic CRUISERWEIGHT RULES Dance Dance Dragon vs. Insane Luchador DDD narrowly, narrowly failed to beat WC in their match last show, while Insane Luchador narrowly, narrowly failed to avoid being chokeslammed by a 12 year-old at All Hallows. Now Rickmen apparently wants another go - and he’s welcome to one, but he’s going to have to take on Dance Dance Dragon! IL is a former Cruiserweight Champion, DDD took the current champion to the limit... let's have Cruiserweight Rules! Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Cruiserweight - 20 count on the outside, no throwing over the top rope. Send to: Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 DANCE DANCE DRAGON vs INSANE LUCHADOR "Well King, we kick things off tonight with some Cruiserweight action. Last month at Class Is In Session, recent OAOAST acquisition Dance Dance Dragon was given the opportunity of a lifetime as he took on World Cruiserweight Champion Wildchild, non-title, in only his second SWF match. And he so, so very nearly made his career overnight as he seemingly had DubCee beaten, before the time-limit expired on him in dramatic fashion. As if pushing the Champion to the limit wasn't enough to stake a claim for a shot at the Cruiserweight gold, tonight is a chance for DDD to impress again against an SWF veteran." "The Insane Luchador. You know, IL's really more of a hardcore guy than a cruiserweight, but since Landon's decided that since he can do whatever he wants now, he's going to keep the Hardcore Gamers Title for himself..." "I really don't think that's the case." "...I suppose IL has to take what he's given." King continues, completely ignoring Mak. "Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains begins to play as we go to the ring for our first action of the night. A surge of red and the ever mysterious black pyro goes up in smoke, smoke which The Insane Luchador emerges from, energetically throws his arms up into the air to rally the crowd. IL then makes his walk to the ring, slapping a few of the fans’ hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your opening contest of ASHES TO ASHES 2007, a contest scheduled for one fall and to be contested under Cruiserweight Rules! A strict twenty count will be observed at ringside and the throwing of an opponent over the top rope will result in an automatic disqualification. Introducing first, he hails from Easton, Pennsylvania... weighing in tonight at two hundred, twenty three pounds... he is YOUR IIIIIIIIIIINNSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAANNEEEEEEE... LLLUUUUUUUUUUUCCHHHHAAAAAAAADDOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!" Insane Luchador enters the ring and gets the going over from referee Sexton Hardcastle. Meanwhile it's countdown time as "Hung Up" by Madonna begins to play, the stage being covered by one large, holographic DDR stage. Eventually the intro runs to a close and as the song picks up and so does the ACTION~ as the stage is filled with a bevvy of scantily female dancers. The lights in the arena strobe out as The Dance Dance Dragon steps through the entrance doors and busts out some hot ass moves! "And his opponent. From Osaka Japan, he weighs one hundred, ninety nine pounds... "THE STRONG STYLE PARTY ANIMAL"... DANCE! DANCE! DDRRRRRRRRAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOOOOONN!!!!" "YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "How the hell did this guy get his own dancers!? He's only been here five minutes! Besides, I thought we were supposed to be trimming the budget." Having danced his way down the aisle, Dragon slides into the ring. Off comes the jacket as Dragon is ready to go. Presumably. We can't see his face under the mask (duh!) but one can only presume he's ready to go. The Insane Luchador watches on from the corner as Dragon watches his dance troupé leave. As Dragon begins to get his mind back off of dancing and onto wrestling though... ...he takes his mind and eye portal off of IL, who immediately pounces on him before the bell!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Alright!" cheers King, suddenly perking up a little. "Insane Luchador wasting no time here tonight, I guess that dance routine did nothing for him." *DINGDINGDING!* Despite the referee's protests, Luchador pounds away on the back of The Dance Dance Dragon repeatedly before setting him up for an irish whip. Back shoots Dragon and into a hard back elbow. Down he goes as Luchador drops to his knees and follows up with a blatant choke which earns him another reprimand from the ref. "ONE!" "TWO!" "THRE...!" IL releases the choke, only to re-apply it... "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FO..." Another break by Luchador, right on time, keeps him from being DQed but earns him no fans in South Dakota. "Looks like Luchador's got some built up frustrations." Mak says, sounding a little surprised. "Well, the belt he won three times is probably holed up down the road in Huron on Landon's mom's mantelpiece. Wouldn't you be pissed?" Luchador puts the boots to Dragon now, stomping The Masked Dance Assassin with a scowl etched across his face. "It seems like certain members of the SWF roster have a real chip on their shoulder over Dance Dance Dragon. It's almost as if the likes of IL don't think he belongs in the same ring as them, which as he proved against Wildchild couldn't be further from the truth." With a handful of tassels Luchador drags Dragon back to his feet and hangs his arms up over the top rope. A couple of quick punches to the gut soften Dragon up before IL pins back the head and... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...connects with a knifedge chop. Dragon's top absorbs some if not all of the blow though. And being the Strong Style Party Animal that he is, he fires right back... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...with a chop of his own to IL's bare chest! "Now THAT's a chop!" gasps Mak. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...a second! "And so was that." *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and a third, backing IL up across the ring. IL tries to cut Triple D off as he follows after him, flinging himself at his masked opponent with a spinning backfist attempt. That is ducked though, leaving Luchador wide open for an elbow strike to the jaw! With IL staggered, Dragon now hits the ropes, coming back with a flying, spinning wheel kick that takes The Ill One clean off his feet! Luch' is left clutching his jaw, but he's got no time to nurse injuries this time around, as Dragon follows up with a pin... 1... 2... Kickout. Allowing Insane Luchador up, Dragon jukes and jives a little before setting up an irish whip. IL spins out in front though, landing a boot to the gut and swatting away Dragon's hand. A forearm eventually follows, Luchador loading up Dragon and sending him into the turnbuckles. In he follows... but right into one of The Dance Dance Dragon's dancin' feet! "YYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!" Quickly Dragon vaults up onto the middle rope. And the Dragon flies, prompting Luchador to duck his head anticipating the dive, only for Dragon to soar overhead and take IL over with a sunset flip... 1... 2... IL slams his feet together and breaks the pin, before rolling back and out of the ring. "Absolutely nothing seems to be going right for Insane Luchador so far..." "Well, he decided to start striking with Dragon and I guess he didn't take too kindly to it. What with him being 'strong style' and all." calls King, voice dripping with sarcasm. As he stumbles around ringside, Insane Luchador looks fully intent on using the referee's ten count to it's fullest advantage to get his bearings back. Dragon has other ideas though as he bursts across the ring. Luchador doesn't notice until the last moment. And by then it's too late, as Dragon soars through the top and middle ropes and wipes IL out with a topé!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" "Suicidal dive from Dragon and he got it all!" "DANCE DANCE DRA - GON!" *clap clap clapclapclap* "DANCE DANCE DRA - GON!" *clap clap clapclapclap* Dragon drags himself back up. And, as the Dance Dance Dragon, he of course dances to celebrate his dive! "Was that the Running Man?" asks Mak. "I know dancing isn't one of the easiest past-times for you nowadays Mak, but you weren't seriously asking me that and expecting an answer, were you?" Back inside we go and Dragon picks Insane Luchador back up, executing a quick snap suplex in the centre of the ring. Setting IL in place, Dragon then sets off into the ropes at full speed. Inexplicably, he gradually slows to a stop on the rebound though, shaking off the shoulders and dusting it off before putting all his weight behind a kneedrop to the chest. "That's The Strong Style Shuffle!" Lateral press by Dragon... 1... 2... Shoulder up! As Luchador looks to get right back up, Dragon clasps on a headlock to try and maintain control. Insane Luchador goes to the gut with an elbow though. A second. And a third elbow, IL sliding behind and lifting Dragon up for a back suplex. Dragon manages to float over top though and lands behind The Ill One, swiping at the back of the legs with a kick that drops him down to his knees. With his usual panache Dance Dance Dragon dance dances his way in front of IL and lines him up... *THUD!* ...for a stiff kick to the chest... *THUD!* ...and a second... "Looking for the Combo..." Slamming his fists into the canvas, Dragon now takes aim and whips out with a kick to the head... ...DUCKED! Luchador avoids the Combo completing kick and snatches a rear waistlock. Panicking, Dragon tries to punch the hands apart to free himself from the waistlock, but Insane holds firm and takes Dragon over with a Release German Suplex! IL quickly scrambles after DDD to make the pin seconds later... 1... 2... NO! "Excellent suplex, but not enough to slay the mighty Dragon." "I was hoping you'd avoid those puns." "You obviously don't know me very well, King." Luchador keeps the pressure on as he puts the boots to the Dragon, Dragon retreating to the corner as the kicks rain down. In follows Insane Luchador and he pins Dragon down against the bottom turnbuckle, foot plainly placed across the throat which draws in referee Hebner. "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FO..." Breaking on four, IL pulls Dragon to his feet and out of the corner. An elbow strike rocks Dragon back a step and leaves him wide open for IL to stoop in, lifting Dragon off the canvas and with a quick 180, Hotshotting Dragon across the top rope! The whiplash sends Dragon stumbling back and IL is on the move, bouncing off the ropes and clocking him up under the mask-strap with an MMA style flying knee strike! That series of moves gets the crowd back on IL's back, but also leaves Dragon in position for the cover... 1... 2... Kickout! "DRA - GON!" "DRA - GON!" "DRA - GON!" "DRA - GON!" The crowd rally behind Dance Dance Dragon as IL turns him over and applies a Camel Clutch to try and slow the pace of the match down. "These people... I guess this explain a lot about Maddix, if this is what South Dakota is willing to support." "How can you not love a dancing masked dragon from Japan, King?" "The way I am. Justifiably." Dragon starts to feel the groove, bopping along to the crowd's beat as he climbs back to his feet. As he reaches his feet Luchador adjusts his positioning and cuts him off with a knee though, grabbing two handfuls of mask and throwing Dragon down to the mat, hard. He follows up with the cover... 1... 2... But Dragon kicks out. Pulling Dragon back up off the canvas, IL executes a quick snap suplex and just as quickly rolls out of the ring. Scaling the turnbuckles, The Insane Luchador looks to live up to at least one, if not both, of his names as he reaches the top rope and sets in place. Dragon climbs to his feet and into the path of the soaring IL, knocking Dragon off his feet with a beautiful Top Rope Crossbody... 1... 2... Kickout! First up, IL looks to keep the pressure on and bring Dragon right back up again. But Dragon brushes him off and throws away the arms of The Insane Luchador, trying to take his head off with a violent LARIA... ...NO! IL ducks the line! A knee to the kidneys softens DDD up for an irish whip, IL measuring Dragon as he comes back off the ropes and leaping up for a Hurricanrana... but he gets caught! Dragon catches the legs and as the back of Luchador's head strikes the canvas, back leans DDD, propelling IL across the ring with a slingshot. He executes the move a little too far away from the ropes to send IL directly into them, but the momentum takes IL forward off his feet, landing throat-first across the middle rope. "Ooh!" grimaces Mak, as IL's head whiplashes off the ring rope. "That looked nasty." IL is left dazed as Dragon gets to his feet, but recovers enough to charge at that point. For what little good it does him. Armdrag by Dragon! Armdrag again! And a third, Japanese armdrag this time, turning Insane Luchador for a complete loop! IL is reeling now and finds himself pushed up against the turnbuckles by Triple D, in no position to fight back as Dragon unloads with a right hand. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...chop. And a right hand. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...chop. Right hand. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" Chop, Right hand. "It's a Violence Party in Vermillion!" With IL slumping down the turnbuckles, Dragon brings the party to an abrupt halt. Instead, he hoists Luchador up and sits him on the top turnbuckle, running his thumb across the throat to singal that it's OVAH~! "We may be about to see the Bemani Buster!" "The what!?" Sure enough, Dragon pulls down the head and tries to muscle him up for the buster, but Insane Luchador is clinging onto the ropes for dear life. Dragon lands a forearm before trying again, but again Luchador won't budge. And eventually IL is able to fight back, slamming his elbow into the back of Dragon's head and fending him off. IL now grabs a front facelock and leaps off the middle rope, looking for a Tornado DDT. He's pushed off by Dragon, but lands safely on his feet in the centre of the ring and as Dragon charges him, he counters, taking Dragon over with a snap Powerslam! 1... 2... 3- NO! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "Dragon almost got caught there, but the shoulder did come up just in time!" insists Mak. Luchador storms back up but has no time to take issue with the referee, with Dragon recovering from the sudden counter. With a front facelock applied, IL reaches out and looks to grab onto the waist of DDD's bodysuit for leverage on the Implant DDT... ...but before he can do so, Dragon spins his way out of the hold with a wring of the arm! Dragon then beats him to the attack with a quick forearm strike. Another. And a third. Boot to the gut by Dragon doubles The Ill One over and Dragon turns back to back with IL, cradling up the arms and looking for the Newbie Killer (Vertibreaker)! Standing upright, IL is able to block that, sending Dragon tumbling over the back. He lands on his feet and with a waistlock he runs for the ropes, trying to bring Insane Luchador over with an O'Connor roll. Luchador hangs onto the top rope and pushes Dragon off though, then turns and tumbles over top with a sunset flip... ...attempt, countered, Dragon leaping up and landing a big legdrop across the throat! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Rolling back to his feet Dragon gives Insane Luchador a kick and keeps on kicking, nudging Insane Luchador over until he's facedown on the canvas before stomping him in the back of the head. Dragon then leaves the ring and heads up top, bringing the fans to their feet. "The Dragon is about to spread his wings!" The Dance Dance Dragon reaches the top and carefully stomps his foot on the buckle, building up a good score before he soars off the top, aiming his Perfect! double stomp at the back of The Ill One's head... ...BUT THERE'S NOBODY HOME!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Well, that was less than Perfect!, that's for sure." "Dance Dance Dragon could have blown both his knees out there, very easily." Limping back to his feet, Dragon turns right into a quick kick to the right knee from IL. Dragon manages not to go down, just yet, but IL quickly picks the leg and leaves Dragon hobbling uneasily on one foot. Before IL can act further however, Dragon suddenly throws himself backwards, kicking out with his free leg and catching Luchador in the chest with enough force to send him flying. Luchador is able to roll through the landing though, enabling him to get back to his feet before The Masked Dance Assassin and grab him by those pesky mask tassles again. Dragon shrugs him off though, throwing a LARIA... ...ducked, again... ...but this time, the left arm LARIAT finds the mark!! "YYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" "No quite Va'aiga, but not bad." concedes King. Grabbing onto IL's ankle, Dragon rolls him backwards and through to his feet... *SLAP!* ...before smashing him up under the jaw with a Running Palm Strike! "Big two-strike combo, here's the cover..." 1... 2... Kickout! "Nah, Luchador's harder to put away than that." King calls. "You're pretty much going to have to knock him out to put him down." With IL just beginning to stir, away walks Dragon. He comes to a stop at the nearest corner and starts to climb the turnbuckles facing out into the crowd. Luchador gets to his feet just as Dragon gets his own feet planted onto the top rope, looking through his legs and trying to time his next move out. His timing is off though, allowing IL enough time to rush forward, crotching Dragon on the top rope and stepping back as he subsequently falls backwards trapping himself in the tree of woe. "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Jogging back across the ring, Luchador takes up post in the opposite corner of the ring and measures up the eye portals on Dance Dance Dragon's mask. "It may be Game Over... or, whatever slogan they use on DDR games. I dunno. Where's Thoth when you need him?" Luchador gets full run-up before charging in, diving towards Dragon's head with both feet... ...but Dragon reaches up and grabs the middle rope, using it to lever his head up and out of harm's way! IL's legs end up crashing into the bottom turnbuckle and he pulls himself up, while Dragon bridges back up. He gets his footing back on the top rope and this time gets his timing spot on, soaring backwards with a Moonsault Press that wipes IL out seconds after reaching his feet... 1... 2... 3!!!!! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Woah! Big win for Dance Dance Dragon!" Hopping out through the bottom and middle ropes, Dragon still nurses his groinial region a little, but finds it within in him to bust some moves in celebration of his victory. IL sits up in the ring, a little groggy, wondering what just happened as he looks out at the ongoing celebrations. "Here is your winner of the match... THE DANCE... DANCE... DDRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOOOOONN!!!!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Hung Up" pumps back through the arena as Triple D dances his way back up the aisle, slapping out at outstretched hands from his newfound fans. "How about that King?" "I think you can chalk that down as a lucky win Mak. Dragon caught Luchador napping. I don't know if he got cracked in the head with a knee or all that pudgy baby-fat crammed into that bodysuit hit him in the temple or something, but that was an opportunistic victory if ever I saw one!" "It was certainly out of nowhere. Prove positive again, this Dance Dance Dragon is an unpredictable character. And I think the SWF is going to have to sit up and take notice if they haven't already, you can't underestimate DDD for a second, or it'll cost you!" Dragon continues his dance dance dancing celebrations, as we fade away. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 MANSON vs CHRISTIAN FURY At Vermillion, South Dakota's Dakota Dome, the instrumental of "Booyaka 619" by POD begins, as the arena lights dim. The crowd rises to their feet, cheering as pyro explodes from all sides of the stage. From within Chris Fury makes his way down the ramp, cool and confident as he walks, and prepared for the task at hand. "…the following is a hardcore rules match, scheduled for one fall! First, making his way down to the ring, he hails from Tacoma, Washington, and weighs in tonight at two hundred and thirty-two pounds… CHRIS FUUUURRRRRRRYYYYYYYYY!" "Here comes Christian Fury, he's had a rough go of it since returning," begins Mak, "and as confident as he may seem, he's up against an inferno here." "It's definitely nothing good that Fury has to look forward to, as seen in Manson's effort against one half of the Tag Team Champions in Austin Sly." "However, Fury is no slouch. Chris will surely take advantage if Manson makes a mistake. I mean, he kept himself together in the fight with Austin, but something has to give eventually." In the ring, Fury continues to pump the crowd up, now at a fever pitch, as sparks rain down from the rafters above. However, the festivities come to an end, as the steady stream of sparks trickles to a stop. As the crowd murmurs amongst themselves, the pause gives way to a low, guttural growl, kicking off 'Scientific Remote Viewing' as strobes begin to pulse and spotlights roam the arena, while smoke pours out over the stage. The curtain soon parts and from the back comes Manson amidst the chaos, as the jeering crowd heralds his arrival. "And his opponent, hailing from Denver, Colorado, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds… MMMAAAAANNNNSOOOONNNN!" He slides into the ring on his approach, standing and backing into his corner, opposite of Fury, where he flings his leather jacket over the post and leans back against the turnbuckle. "Well, it was an impressive win against Austin, no doubt," says Francis, "but the question is whether he can live up to his previous showing and establish himself as a force in yet another hardcore match versus an equally game opponent." *DING!* Both emerge at the bell, the Raging Bull the more aggressive of the two, as he rushes Fury. The two begin swapping rights and lefts, with Manson eventually gaining the advantage. With Fury dazed, Manson ducks behind and puts on a waistlock from under the arm, hoisting Fury up, and dropping him behind with an early saito suplex! The vet Fury ducks out of the ring, rolling underneath and holding his neck as Manson grips the top rope from inside. "Great saito suplex to start by Manson and he's already forced Fury to the outside!" "As bad as he is inside, Fury definitely doesn't want to be outside the ring with him." As Manson prepares to launch himself over, Fury quickly dodges out of harm's way, causing his opponent to abandon the attack and follow Fury to the outside. Out on the floor, he follows Fury and attacks from behind with clubbing blow across the back. As Fury stands, he receives a European uppercut, knocking him a few steps back. Following another uppercut, Manson grabs Fury by the arm and goes for the Irish whip, but he holds his ground and reverses, changing the momentum. As Manson comes back, Fury goes low and launches Manson up into the air, dropping him on the floor with a back bodydrop! He hits with a thud, tingling as he stands and rounds the corner, heading toward the announce table. "Dumped on the floor by Fury from seven feet in the air, he looks out of it as he heads right toward us!" Fury heads up onto the apron, where he waits for Manson. He leaps off as Manson turns from the table and begins to head back, catching him with a headscissors, and launching Manson over the table, as King manages to move out of the way. Manson tries to catch himself, but it's to no avail, as he slides off and lands in a mess on the concrete. "He nearly took both of us out, but thankfully King, at least, was able to move out of the way" says Mak in a rush, attempting to regain his composure, "but Manson is much worse for wear!" "You always worry only about yourself! Have some heart, Mak… and break Manson's fall the next time around, please. What do you think you're here for?" replies Suicide King, as he rushes over to Manson's aid. "Put those few inches you can move in that chair to good use, Wheels." "Eat a dick, Brian… You're the devotee, I didn't see you helping him until after he hit, and you're not supposed to partial to someone to the point of helping them out, anyway." "I'm more valuable to the booth than you are." As Suicide King helps Manson to his feet, Fury brushes past him and grabs Manson by the hair, but with a quick swing, the Bull blasts Fury with a microphone in hand! "He grabbed a microphone from nearby and just jabbed Chris Fury with it! So I don't know what you're complaining about, King!" Fury goes down, now with his nearest arm over his temple and ear, as Manson drags him out into clear view and pulls him up to his feet. Taking him by the arm, Manson once again tries for an Irish whip, this time succeeding, as he sends Fury right into the post! Chris bounces off, hitting face first, and landing on the ground, as Manson rushes into a cover. "ONE! TWO!" "Kickout by Fury!" Pinning Fury down with a knee in the chest, Manson begins wailing on him with rights, putting him out of commission momentarily, while he rolls off and begins rummaging beneath the ring. "He's the clear aggressor here, now using this opportunity to head beneath the ring and find what he can." Manson emerges a moment later, pulling out a pair of chairs with him. Placing one beneath Fury, he raises the other above his head to the rising boos of the fans. But as he brings the chair down, attempting to sandwich Fury's skull between, the wily vet manages to roll out of the way! The two chairs collide with a loud crash, while the sting in Manson's fingertips causes him to drop the chair, as Fury approaches. Wrapping his arms around Manson's body, under the arm and over the shoulder, with a hook of the leg, he pulls Manson down with a reverse STO onto the hard ground! "Complete Shot by Fury! Cover!" "ONE!!! TWO!!!! T-- NO!!!!!" "The Complete Shot doesn't get it done, Fury couldn't put it away!" Fury stands, bending down to take Manson up with him, but in desperation, the Bull strikes with a thumb to the eye! Fury swipes at Manson, already into the ring after pulling himself in. After gathering himself, Fury follows, only to catch a low boot to the face! "There's a low boot after a poke in the eye, and here's a cover!" "ONE! TWO!" Another kickout by Fury prompts Manson to head outside again, where he digs under the ring and emerges with his trademark crooked, metal baseball bat. He stares at the instrument with a gleam in his eye and rolls into the ring, where Fury stands and stumbles back into the ropes. The Messiah charges Fury and swings with the bat in hand, but he deftly maneuvers out of the way, ducking out of the way of the attack. His back to Fury, the opponent quickly grips Manson by the head and drops down, impacting the back of his head into the mat with a sleeper slam! Fury scrambles into the cover, hooking the leg as Kivell counts. "ONE!!! TWO!!!! T-- NO!!!!" Fury rolls off Manson, heading toward the bat and taking it in his hands, and raising it in his hands as the fans cheer. Holding the back of his skull, Manson comes up to his feet, catching Fury in his line of sight. He backs away, cornered, as Fury approaches. As Fury raises the bat above his head once more, ready to strike, his opponent quickly rolls underneath the bottom rope and out of the ring. "Chris Fury has Manson's bat! The Bull is in for it now!" "I say, that's blasphemy! No mortal or unclean person is allowed to lay hands on Manson's personal effects!" Outside, as Fury exits the ring, Manson comes upon a chair. With the folding chair, as Fury takes a swing with the bat, he manages to block, earning a reprieve for the time being. However, the chair bounces away, leaving Manson defenseless as he continues to back away. Near the post, though, he lands a kick to the stomach of his approaching foe, following that up with an uppercut. Finally, Fury drops the bat, and Manson takes Fury up on his shoulders. He keeps Fury up for a moment, as much as his body can give, then drops down onto his back and drives his knees into Fury's stomach and chest! "Double Knee Gutbuster from up high by Manson!" Fury breathes hard in and out, the wind knocked out of him, as Manson wearily approaches. However, as Manson bends over to lift Fury back up, he finds himself on his shoulders as Fury rolls him up into a pin! "SMALL PACKAGE! COVER!" "ONE!!! TWO!!!! THR-- NOOOO!!!!!" "KICKOUT! Kickout by Manson at two and a half!" Manson and Fury stand, but Manson is the first to strike, landing a hard knee to the gut! Fury goes down to a knee, the air knocked out once again, and Manson bends down, wrapping his arms around the midsection from above. With a monstrous heave, Manson pulls Fury up off the ground, but even with his breathing labored, he manages the strength needed to pull Manson over with a headscissors! "I don't know what he had planned there, but the end result is another headscissors managing to take Manson off balance!" Up to his feet, Manson grips the back of his head, going through his own problems, as Fury closes in with a short run. However, with a push up into the chest of Fury, Manson takes him into the air, then drops him back down with force as he hits a Rydeen Bomb, the impact driving the spine and rear of the head into the hard mat! "He calls the Rydeen Bomb the Rocky Mountain High and it pays off as he keeps Fury down for the cover!" "ONE!!! TWO!!!! THR-- NOOOO!!!!!" "SHOULDER UP! Fury JUST gets a shoulder up off the Rydeen Bomb by Manson!" "No! That SHOULD have been it! Some strong, evil magic must be afoot to have kept the win away from Manson there!" "He's the evil one, but I'm inclined to agree. Even if it is just will and determination, something is driving Fury here." Despite the pain shooting through, Fury manages a series of punches to the abdominals of Manson, stalling him slightly. A number of forearms to the back puts a stop to this, but while continuing to pull Fury up, he manages to latch onto the waistband of Manson and with a slight pull, sends him into the post face first! Manson slouches against the post, nearly collapsed, but manages to keep himself up with the ring ropes. He pulls himself away from the post, but Fury charges from a full length of the ring away, latching onto the post and swinging toward Manson with the Dead Man's Curve! Still, he slumps out of the way, and after nearly taking a header from the momentum and the slippery post, Fury regains himself on the apron. However, with a downward chop to the base of the neck, Manson stuns Fury with a modified Burning Sword! "Dead Man's Curve attempt by Fury but Manson dodges and turns it into a Burning Sword alternation on the apron!" As Fury chokes and coughs from nearly having his windpipe crushed, Manson wraps his arm around the neck of Fury and clutching the waistband, pulls him off the apron. In the air, Fury kicks his legs in desperation as he attempts to land behind, but it's in vain as Manson drives him into the ground with the Instant Hell Murder! "It's done, Mak! Finished!" "Instant Hell Murder! Fury is spiked into the ground, this is the very same move which put an end to Austin Sly last time!" "ONE!!! TWO!!!! THREE!!!!!" *DING DING!* "Your winner… MMMAAAAANNNNNSOOOONNNN!" booms Funyon, as Kivell raises his arm. "Yes, the exact same way he put an end to Sly at Class Is In Session, he did to Chris Fury here at Ashes to Ashes!" "That's two in a row, Mak! He can't be stopped! He can't be denied! Soon he'll rule this place and it's all through manipulating what Maddix put in place! I love it!" "We all have no choice but to wait and see if that happens, since I'm not sold… but I hate to think of the state of the federation if that happens or if this should go to his head." "This place would be better than ever and you know it," says King, as we fade out with one last shot of Manson as he heads up the ramp. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 SPIKE JENKINS vs NATHANIEL KIBAGAMI The Dakota Dome lights up as SWF Ashes 2 Ashes 2007 returns live on-air! The arena lights up and the fans buzz with excitement. The camera cuts down to the special ringside commentary team of “The Franchise” Mak Francis and The Suicide King! “Coming up next, we have a match between two men that are considered the toughest the SWF has to offer. The River Dragon, Nathaniel Kibagami takes on The Hollywood Superstar, Spike Jenkins!” The camera cuts to the center of the ring, where Funyon stands with a microphone in hand. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit!” The South Dakota crowd cheers as “Let’s Go” hits the speakers and red pyrotechnics flash out from the entrance ramp. The lights turn red and dim as the familiar burning ankh appears on the SmarksTron and Kibagami comes through the curtain at the top of the ramp. He pauses briefly and assumes his traditional crucifix pose - cigarette in one hand; drink in the other - before sauntering down the ramp and into the ring. “First, making his way to the ring. Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Seventy-two pounds. He hails from Phoenix, Arizona! HE IS ”THE RIVER DRAGON” NAAAAAAATHHHHANIELLLLLL KIIIIIIBAAAAGAAAAMIIIIIIIII!!!!!” He poses again atop the turnbuckles as the music stops and the lights come up. Tossing the cigarette out of the ring, Kibagami turns his attention towards the top of the ramp. “Kibagami looks very focused tonight,” notes Mak Francis. “One of the most feared and dangerous competitors in the history of the SWF…dating all the way back to The Clan and breaking the neck of SWF legend, Edwin MacPhisto!” “AND HIS OPPONENT!” Nathaniel Kibagami circles the ring, prepping himself for the upcoming match. The crowd dies down a little bit, but they start buzzing as the lights in the arena dim down and begin to flicker. Violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” blast through the sound system. RAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I hope this is a passing phase. There is no future where I stand, Here with you! “And here comes the man who single handedly dismantled four competitors last month at Class is in Session!” This Is… …The End! With that, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins comes out from behind the curtain. Without much enthusiasm, Jenkins stomps around at the top of the stage and makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the crowd around him. “Making his way to the ring! Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Five pounds. He hails from Long Island, New York!!!!! HE IS ‘HOLLLLLLYWOOOOOOOD’ SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEENKIIINNNNSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!” Jenkins rolls in underneath the bottom rope and jumps up to his feet. Looking straight at Kibagami, Jenkins doesn’t even take his eyes off of him as he climbs the ropes and holds both arms up in the air. “Both of these men came out victorious in their respective matches at SWF Class is in Session last month. Kibagami knocked Christian Fury out cold with a kick to the back of the head while Spike Jenkins dominated four other competitors in a multi-man match.” “Now the two of them go one-on-one, finally, to see if either of them are really capable of getting another shot at the top here in the SWF!” Jenkins climbs down off the ropes and stands in the opposite corner of Kibagami. Both men stare straight at the other, allowing Referee Matthew Kivell to check each competitor. Once he is satisfied, Kivell calls for the bell! *Ding Ding Ding* “The River Dragon takes on The Hollywood Superstar! And the action is underway!” Both men stomp out of their corner and meet in the center of the ring. The River Dragon looks calm as he stares into the eyes of the Straight Edger. Jenkins stands face-to-face to the man once known as Silent, no sign of emotion anywhere across his face. Both men stand eye-to-eye for a few moments…before Jenkins lashes out with a slap across the face! “Jenkins slapping Kibagami across the face to open this match!” “There is defiantly no love lost between these two men, but slapping the River Dragon like that may not have been the smartest thing Spike Jenkins has ever done in his life.” Kibagami doesn’t waste a minute and quickly (and violently) responds with a double leg takedown! Driving Jenkins to the mat, Nathaniel stays on top of him and unloads with a series of rights and lefts! “Kibagami explodes on Jenkins with strikes! He’s swinging for the fences with those shots!” Jenkins maneuvers his weight around and is able to roll Nathaniel over. With Kibagami now on his back, Jenkins starts to pound away at his opponents’ head with rights and lefts. Jumping up to his feet, Jenkins takes a step back but moves in with a swift kick to the rib cage! He grabs Kibagami by the back of the neck and pulls him up to his feet. Locking his hands around the neck of The River Dragon, Jenkins flips him over into a sitting position with a snapmare. Taking another step back, Jenkins dives forward with a stiff kick straight to the back! Kibagami cries out, but is quickly forced to the mat as Jenkins covers him, making sure to place a forearm over the side of Nathaniel’s face. ONE! TW—NO! Kibagami kicks out! “Kibagami kicking out after Jenkins nails him with that kick to the back.” “Spike looking for a quick cover, but if you want to defeat Nathaniel Kibagami, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.” Jenkins climbs up to his feet and pulls Kibagami up with him. Pushing Silent back into the ropes, he grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ropes. Nathaniel bounces off the ropes and charges back towards Jenkins, who ducks his head for a back body drop. Kibagami stops dead in his tracks and cracks Spike across the face with a kick! Jenkins holds his jaw as Kibagami circles around to his opponents’ side and connects with a stiff kick to the back of the thigh that knocks Jenkins down to the mat. Sitting up, Spike continues to hold his jaw as Kibagami takes position…and cracks Jenkins across the back with a stiff kick, similar to the one Jenkins just did! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHH!” The crowd gets behind Kibagami as Jenkins shoots up to his knees, yelping in pain. Spike grabs at his back as he crawls towards the ropes. Kibagami grabs Jenkins by the back of the head and pulls him up to his feet and back into the corner. With Jenkins laid out in the corner, Kibagami snaps off a kick straight to the chest…followed by another…and another! “Kibagami not taking it lightly on Jenkins! The River Dragon is unloading with those kicks to the chest of Spike Jenkins!” The Silent One grabs Jenkins by the wrist and Irish whips him out of the corner…but Jenkins reverses and sends Kibagami into the opposite corner. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Spike charges towards Nathaniel…who ducks his head and back drops Spike over the top rope! …But Jenkins grabs the top rope and lands on his feet on the apron! “Jenkins with cat like ability as he lands on the apron.” Kibagami turns around and throws a wild right hand, but Jenkins blocks it and responds with a forearm to the side of the head. The Silent One stumbles back, giving Jenkins enough time to climb up to the middle rope and on his way to the top. Kibagami shakes off the forearm and charges towards the ropes. He leaps onto the middle rope and springboards off…clipping Jenkins in the back of the head with a gamingiri! “Springboard gamingiri to Jenkins! Kibagami kicked Spike right in the back of the head!” Jenkins falls over onto the apron and drops down to the floor. Kibagami gets to his feet in the ring and poses in the center to the ovation of the crowd. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHH!!!!” “Kibagami showing that he still has some high risk maneuvers in his arsenal,” says Mak Francis. “He just knocked Spike Jenkins loopy!” “The old veteran must have some gas left in the tank to have pulled that off,” begins the Suicide King. “When was the last time we saw Kibagami actually use the ropes, let alone springboard off of them?” Kibagami climbs through the ropes and out onto the floor. He stalks behind Jenkins, who is now climbing up to his feet. Kibagami grabs him by the back of the neck and drags him towards the guardrail. Pointing towards the fans to get out of the way, Kibagami grabs Spike by the wrist and Irish whips him into the corner… …But Spike reverses it and sends The River Dragon back first into the steel guardrail! “Spike Jenkins just sent Nathaniel Kibagami straight into the guardrail!” cries out Mak Francis. “…And he doesn’t look finished yet!” Kibagami leans up against the guardrail, prone to the charging Spike Jenkins, who speeds towards him and cracks him in the side of the face with his boot! *CRACK* “Running Yakuza Kick straight to the face of Kibagami!” Jenkins wastes no time and grabs Kibagami by the wrist. He drags him away from the guardrail and Irish whips him towards the opposite side right back into the guardrail! Jenkins charges towards him again and for a second time, cracks him in the side of the face with another running yakuza kick! *CRACK* “And a second kick to the face of the former leader of The Clan!” shouts Francis. Kibagami stumbles forward, but doesn’t get very far as Jenkins grabs him by the back of the head and shoves him to the ground. Jenkins looks down at the fallen Silent one and spits a slimy, snot-ridden wad onto his back! The crowd comes to life with jeers as Jenkins places one foot on top of the guardrail, posing for the fans around him. “Spike Jenkins has a personal score to settle here tonight with Nathaniel Kibagami,” begins Mak Francis. “…And so far, he has done nothing but try to kick Silents' teeth down his throat!” “I don’t really blame him, Mak,” the Gambling Man responds. “There have been countless times where I have wanted to kick Silent in the mouth.” Jenkins stalks over Kibagami, pulling him up off the ground and rolling him back into the ring. Silent tries to roll away, but Spike follows him in suit and rolls him onto his back. Placing his forearm across the face of the former World Champion as he holds him down for the cover. ONE! TWO!! TH—NO! Kibagami kicks out! Jenkins looks at the referee and slaps his hands together three times, annoyed that he only got a two count. Jenkins climbs up to his feet and pulls Silent up along with him. Cracking Kibagami in the stomach with a kick that forces the former Clan member to kneel over; Spike charges into the ropes and bounces back, grabbing his opponent around the neck and viciously twisting it around with a spinning neckbreaker! Jenkins rolls on top of Kibagami and hooks the leg! ONE! TWO!! THR—NO! Kibagami gets a shoulder up! “Spike almost picking up the win there, but Silent is such a old, tough bastard that he just won’t give up!” “To touch back on history, King, Kibagami gave Spike Jenkins his first ever loss here in the SWF six years ago.” “Really? Well, I’m sure he remembers that while kicking him in the head.” Jenkins climbs up to his feet and pulls Kibagami up with him…but Kibagami suddenly comes to life! He throws all of his weight into Spike and pushes him back into the corner! He grabs Jenkins around the neck as the Hollywood Superstar tries to fight him off, and fires off a knee to the gut! *THUD* …And another! *THUD* “Nathaniel Kibagami getting a second wind here against Spike Jenkins!” Nathan takes a step back and fires off a huge kick straight into the chest of The New Straight Edge Sensation! *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* Jenkins falls into a sitting position, but this doesn’t stop Silent one moment. He continues to throw out those razor-like kicks at the face of the former Cruiserweight Champion. Spike covers up as best as he can and rolls underneath the bottom rope out onto the apron. Nathan reaches over the top rope for his opponent, but the referee jumps in between the two, forcing Nathan back. “Spike bought himself a few moments to catch his breath…” begins Francis, who watches on. “Or maybe not…” Nathan pushes the referee out of the way and stomps back towards Jenkins. He reaches over the top rope and grabs his opponents dirty blonde hair… …Only for Spike to grab him around the neck and drop him throat first across the top rope! “BOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “I love it, Francis! Spike Jenkins finally showing that mean streak that he has always been talking about!” Kibagami crashes to the mat, clutching his throat as he gasps for air. Jenkins sits on the apron, smiling to himself as he catches his breath. Looking at the crowd in front of him, his face lights up with a slimy grin as he points to his brain. “Spike Jenkins taking on a whole new attitude for this match here against Kibagami,” notes Mak Francis. Spike stands up on the ring apron and begins to ascend up to the top rope. Once there, he perches himself on the top rope, watching as Nathaniel Kibagami struggles to his feet. Still clutching his throat, he turns towards Jenkins…who leaps off the top rope and connects with a dropkick! Nathan is forcefully thrown to the ground, but isn’t given much time to feel the effects of the impact as Spike turns him over onto his back and hooks the leg! ONE! TWO!! THRE—NO! “Spike Jenkins has been dominating the former World Champion literally since the bell was rung. But despite the beating, Nathaniel Kibagami has refused to give in!” Jenkins rises to his knees, grabs Kibagrami by the back of the head and sits him up. Wrapping his bicep around the neck of Nathan, Jenkins slams him back down into a lying position on the mat, tearing at the notoriously injured neck with a chin lock! “Looks like Spike is now changing game plans,” notes Mak Francis. “He hit Kibagami with everything except the kitchen sink and wasn’t able to keep him down for the three count. Now it looks like he is going to try and keep Nathan on his back and tear at the neck.” “Using the mighty power of a chin lock…” “It’s simple and effective, King.” “You can really tell Spike means business because he’s using a chin lock and not a cravat. I’ve always hated that move, Francis.” Spike tweaks and rips at the neck of Kibagami. Lying prone on the mat, Nathan struggles to turn his body over and to push himself up to his feet, but Spike refuses to give him in an inch. Using his bicep to cut off circulation to the brain of his opponent, Jenkins sandbags himself, forcing Kibagami to lift an extra two hundred pounds off the ground. “Spike Jenkins has been undeniably focused on destroying that neck of Nathaniel Kibagami. He came into this match with a game plan and he is sticking to it.” “If this match continues at this pace, Spike is eventually going to put Kibagami back on the injured list!” “But you can never count Kibagami out, King. You, of all people, should know that best!” “Personally, I think it is ironic that the man who made his career off the fact that he broke Edwin MacPhistos’ neck is one piledriver away from having HIS neck broken…AGAIN!” The former Clan leader rolls over onto his stomach and begins to push himself off the mat. Spike follows Kibagami up to his feet, swiftly shifting his position and locking his opponent in a side headlock. Kibagami fires off an elbow, connecting with the midsection of The Hollywood Superstar! He fires off a second…and a third! Kibagami frees himself from the grasps of Jenkins and shoots off towards the ropes. Bouncing off of them, he charges back towards his opponent, ready to strike… …But is beaten to the punch, when Spike connects with a kick straight to the gut. Kibagami stops dead in his tracks and is prone to an attack as he is knelt over, holding his stomach. “Nathan was on the verge of making a comeback, but Jenkins refuses to give him an inch! He is all over Kibagami tonight!” “Like white on rice!” “Yeah, sure, King.” Spike takes a moment to catch his breath, but then speeds off into the adjacent ropes. Bouncing off them, he charges back towards the former World Champion. Ready to strike with a forearm, Jenkins charges towards his opponent… …And straight into Nathaniel Kibagamis’ arms! Silent catches him and viciously spins him over and drives him into the mat with a power slam! Nathan desperately hooks a leg, looking for the pin fall! ONE! TWO!! THRE—NO!! Jenkins gets a shoulder up! “Kibagami almost scored the win with that power slam!” Kibagami rolls off of Spike and begins to climb up to his feet. Jenkins follows behind, trying to shake the cobwebs off from the power slam. Up to his feet, he turns towards Kibagami, who lashes forward! *CRACK* …Left kick to the leg… *CRACK* …Right kick to the ribs… *CRACK* …Left kick to the ribs… *SMACK* …ROARING ELBOW TO THE SIDE OF THE SKULL! “Did you see that, King?” cries Francis. Spikes’ eyes roll to the back of his head as he falls backwards to the mat! Kibagami drops to the mat and covers Jenkins! ONE! TWO!! THRE—NOOO! SPIKE KICKS OUT! “The aptly named Fire and Knives striking combo by Kibagami! That roaring elbow looked like it may have knocked Jenkins clean out of his boots!” “But he still kicked out, Francis!” Kibagami rises to his feet, a look of annoyance on his face. He reaches down and drags Spike Jenkins up to his feet. The two hundred and seventy pound monster formerly known as Silent realizes that he finally has Jenkins right where he wants him and wastes no time in beating on the younger superstar. Using one arm to grab Jenkins around the neck and the other to grab him around his waist, Kibagami lifts Spike straight into the air and tosses him backwards onto his head with a T-Bone Suplex! “Big time power move by Nathaniel Kibagami!” cries Mak Francis. “He might actually have Spike down for the count!” Spike lies prone on the mat, as Kibagami rolls over and covers him! ONE! TWO!! THRE—NO! Spike kicks out! Kibagami sits up and rolls over onto his hands and knees, obvious signs of him gassing. Jenkins quickly rolls away towards the ropes, desperately trying to get away from The River Dragon. “Kibagami looked to end this match with that T-Bone Suplex, but Spike Jenkins was able to kick out right before the three!” “Personally, I think Kibagami is going to need to drop Spike on his head a couple of more times before he can get the win.” “Or maybe kicking him in the head a couple of times…” “Knowing Kibagami, it could go either way.” Nathan rises to his feet, visibly fatigued, but pushing himself to continue. Spike Jenkins crawls into the corner and pulls himself up to his knees. Kibagami rushes in, ready to strike…but Jenkins makes the first move and grabs Nathan by the waist and pulls him forward, causing The River Dragon to trip and crash face first into the middle turnbuckle! “Spike Jenkins taking advantage of the exhausted Kibagami. While being a tough bastard, the pace of this match is beginning to take a toll on him.” “That’s what happens with old age, Mak…it’s probably worse when you’re in a wheel chair!” laughs The Suicide King. “I’m going to roll over your foot, I swear.” The Hollywood Superstar realizes he bought himself only a few moments and crawls away in the opposite direction from Kibagami. Nathan shakes the cobwebs away and uses the ropes to pull himself up. In the opposite corner, Jenkins pushes himself off the ground…and charges towards his opponent. Leaping into the air, Spike drives both of his knees straight into the spine of The River Dragon! “Double knees straight into the back of Kibagami!” cries Mak Francis. Jenkins steps back, watching as Kibagami stumbles backwards out of the corner. Quickly grabbing him around the waist, Jenkins lifts Nathaniel straight up into the air…and drops him backwards on top of his head! “Backdrop Driver!” shouts Mak Francis. “He dropped Kibagami right on his head!” “It has to be over, King!” Jenkins rolls over and hooks the leg of Nathaniel Kibagami! ONE! TWO!! THREE—NO! KIBAGAMI KICKS OUT! “I don’t believe it, King! Spike Jenkins has been tearing at that injured neck of Kibagami and he just DROPPED the forty year old on the top of his head…and he still kicked out!” “Must be all the pain medication Kibagami is on for his bad hip!” “He’s not that old, King…” The Hollywood Superstar shoots up to his feet and jumps into the face of referee Matthew Kivell. Screaming at the senior official, Jenkins gives him a light shove and turns his attention back to Kibagami. Standing at full attention, Jenkins grabs at his elbow pad on his right arm and rips it off. “King, you know what this means. He’s going for the lariat!” “This move has won him plenty of matches in the past and with the weakened state that Kibagamis' neck is in, it might win him this one!” Kibagami rolls over onto his hands and knees and pushes himself up off the mat. Slowly rising to his feet, The River Dragon clutches the back of his head. Jenkins wait another couple of seconds before taking off. He charges into the ropes facing Kibagami and bounces off. Charging at the River Dragon, Jenkins speeds towards him, his arm outstretched… …But Kibagami steps forward and swiftly lifts Jenkins up into the air and onto his shoulders…and just as quickly drops him on top of his head with a Death Valley Driver! “Death Valley Driver from out of nowhere!” Spike lies spread out, no visible signs of movement. Kibagami quickly rolls over and covers his opponent! “It’s over, King! Spike is not kicking out of that!” ONE! TWO!! “He dropped him right on his head, Mak!” THREE—NO! SPIKE KICKS OUT! “Unbelievable!” Kibagami sits up, looking around in shock. Strategically planning out what move to make up next, Nathaniel turns over and stumbles up to his feet. Jenkins pulls himself up into a sitting position, visibly having a difficult time. Rolling over onto his side, he pushes himself up to his feet. “Kibagami is taking position, I think he is ready to finish The Hollywood Superstar off!” Spike climbs to his feet and stumbles around. The crowd lights up as Kibagami takes a few steps forward, just as Jenkins turns around… …And Kibagami lashes out, throwing his right boot straight at the skull of Spike Jenkins… …Who ducks underneath! The momentum causes Nathan to continue spinning, leaving his back open to Spike…who dives forward and grabs Kibagami with a half nelson! “Spike ducked the high kick and now he is going for the half nelson backbreaker! One of his signature moves!” Jenkins uses his free hand to grab Kibagami by the waist. He hoists the River Dragon up into the air, ready to snap him in half across his knee… …But Kibagami is able to break free and land on his feet behind Spike! Jenkins turns around, but is met with a quick boot to the gut by Kibagami! The former Clan leader pulls the knelt over Jenkins into a standing head scissors and double underhooks both arms! “KING! He’s going for The Demonstar Driver!” “If he hits this, not only will he end the match…but he may also end Spike Jenkins career!” “There is no kicking out of The Demonstar Driver!” Nathaniel tries to lift Jenkins up, but the Straight Edger holds his own! Struggling to get away, Spike breaks Nathan’s grip and pushes himself away. The River Dragon steps forward, not ready to give up his momentum…but is met with a standing enziguri to the side of the head! Jenkins quickly hops to his feet and grabs the stunned Kibagami by the waist and hoists him up into the air…and back onto the top of his head with a second backdrop driver! “Backdrop driver! The second one of this match! He almost defeated Kibagami earlier with this same maneuver!” cries Francis. Kibagami lands on the back of his head, but immediately rolls forward onto his knees. With a glazed over look in his eyes, Kibagami climbs up to his feet! “Did he just completely no-sell getting dropped on his head?” asks King. “Maybe…” …But as soon as Kibagami gets to his feet, he stumbles forward into a high kick straight to the side of the skull by Spike! “…But he didn’t no-sell that!” The River Dragon refuses to go down, but he nearly falls forward…but that is exactly where The New Straight Edge Sensation wants him. Pulling Kibagami into a standing head scissors, Spike double underhooks both of his opponents arms… “Is he going to do it, Mak? Can Spike Jenkins defeat the former Silent?” “Kibagami better look out…because it doesn’t look like this is going to…” …Spike leaps backwards into the air, pulling Silent up with him…and drives him face first into the mat with a pedigree! “ENDWELL!” shouts Francis. Spike rolls Kibagami over onto his back and covers him, making sure to plant his forearm on the side of The River Dragons face. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *Ding Ding Ding* “It’s over, King! Spike Jenkins has defeated Nathaniel Kibagami!” “All it took was kicking him in the face and dropping him on his head a couple of times!” “Whatever it takes, King.” Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” starts up as the New Straight Edge Sensation climbs up to his feet. Matthew Kivell hurries over to raise his hand, but Jenkins pulls away. Instead, he stomps into the corner and climbs up to the middle rope. With the crowd paying attention and the world watching at home on DVD, Jenkins slaps his chest and with a smug look on his face, poses for the crowd. “It looks like Spike Jenkins has a new attitude…let’s see how far it gets him in the new SWF!” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL vs WILDCHILD FADE IN “At our last show, we were surprised by the announcement of the return of Christian Blackwell, older brother of SWF Hall-of-Famer SACRED,” says Mak Francis. “Christian had a brief run in the fed a few years back, he’s a former European Champion, but didn’t have near the success of his younger brother. We’re still not sure why he’s come back, but we’re going to find out real quick whether or not he still has it, as he gets ready to face the Wildchild!” “We haven’t seen Wildchild step up to take on a heavyweight in a while,” says the Suicide King, “but there was a while there where he was a veritable giant killer.” “It should be a great match,” says Mak. “So let’s send it up to Funyon in the ring!” DING! DING! DING! “The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. The lights dim before Hellacopters “By the Grace of God” begins to play, and as it does, Strobe lights flash in time with the opening keyboard strikes, until the drums and guitar kick in on the first thunderous beat, when there's an almighty flash and the lights return to normal from their dimmed state. As each drum and guitar beat play, vision of Blackwell slamming some poor soul appears on the SmarkTron. “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, as Blackwell steps from behind the curtain, “from Rosslare, Ireland, and weighing in at two hundred seventy-two pounds… here is Christian… BLACKWELL!” Blackwell heads down the aisle, acknowledging the fans but declining to get too close to them; he steps into the ring and salutes the crowd as his music fades out. ATTENTION! RAAAAAAAAAAH! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKAAAAA… The crowd becomes frantic as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play; a single spotlight pulses at the entranceway as Wildchild steps out from behind the curtain! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas, and weighs two hundred fourteen pounds! He is the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he makes his way down the aisle as well. “Wildchild is on a little bit of a winless streak,” says Mak, as WC somersaults between the ropes to enter the ring, “following a loss at All Hallows, and a draw at our last event, Class in Session. He’s going to be highly motivated to try and get a win tonight!” WC hands the Cruiserweight Championship belt to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington, who delivers it to a departing Funyon, as Wildchild’s music fades out. Herrington then motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! Wildchild and Christian meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Blackwell immediately takes advantage with a kneelift into the midsection! He grabs WC by the back of the head and quickly leads him over to the corner, where he smashes him face-first into the top turnbuckle! Blackwell runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner… WHAM! … And levels him with a running elbow that sends WC tumbling out of the ring and down to the floor! Blackwell gives the fans a pose that elicits a few cheers, as Wildchild rolls around on the arena floor. “Wow!” exclaims Mak. “What an explosive start by Christian Blackwell! He didn’t waste any time, did he, King?” “Definitely not!” concurs King, as Herrington begins to deliver a ten-count. “He didn’t wait for Wildchild to get into any kind of rhythm; he set the tone right away, and that’s the smart thing to do against an opponent with Wildchild’s speed!” WC slowly picks himself up off the arena floor and climbs back up to the apron, but Blackwell runs over to the edge of the ring and knocks him off the apron with a running shoulderblock that sends Wildchild flying back into the ring barricade! “Christian Blackwell knocked Wildchild out onto the concrete,” reports Mak, “and he just did it again! He knocked Wildchild back out to the floor with a shoulderblock!” Wildchild gets back to his feet with help from the barricade, and stumbles back over to the ring. “Well, Christian has a good an inside source as you can have in this business, a brother who’s a former World Heavyweight Champion, and who has beaten Wildchild before,” remarks King. “It’s got to be a tremendous luxury to be able to call your brother for advice on how to beat your opponents!” Wildchild climbs back onto the apron, but Blackwell grabs him by the head with both hands and delivers a devastating headbutt! He then spins WC around on the apron and delivers a ferocious forearm smash that sends him back out to the floor! Blackwell grins like the cat that ate the canary, but Red Herrington begins admonishing him as he pushes Christian back away from the ropes. “Look at this!” says King indignantly. “Why is Herrington getting on Blackwell’s case?” “Because he won’t let the guy get back in the ring!” replies Mak. “So what?” asks King. “It’s his prerogative!” “King, you’re supposed to go to a neutral corner!” scolds Francis. “And if the guy gets counted out, he gets counted out; if he can get back in, he gets back in!” Finally, Wildchild is able to slither his way back into the ring. He gets to his feet, and he meets Blackwell once again in a tie-up. Blackwell easily muscles Wildchild back against the ropes, forcing Herrington to call for a break. Blackwell takes a step backwards before belting WC in the face with a stiff right cross! Wildchild retaliates with two quick right jabs, before Christian cuts him off with an eye rake and retakes control with a side headlock. Wildchild pushes him across the ring, but Blackwell bursts off the ropes and knocks him to the canvas with a running shoulderblock! “Well, so far, Christian Blackwell has dominated this match with power moves,” observes King. “If he can keep this up, Wildchild’s got no chance!” Blackwell runs back to the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber surprises him as he rebounds with a drop toehold. WC gets up quickly and grabs Christian by the back of the head before he begins to bash Blackwell’s face repeatedly into the canvas! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The Human Hurricane scrambles to his feet as Blackwell rolls over onto this back and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes and crashing into Blackwell’s chest with a somersault senton splash! WC quickly rolls to his feet and flips backwards to crash back into Blackwell with a standing moonsault splash! He applies a lateral press as Herrington dives into position: ONE! TWO! Blackwell kicks out with authority! He returns to a sitting position, but WC runs up behind him and traps him in an armbar! “Cover by the Wildchild only gets two!” reports Mak. “But give credit to the Wildchild for surviving that initial onslaught by Christian Blackwell; he’s even managed to take control of the pace of this match!” Blackwell negotiates his way back to his feet, only for WC to step into his body, twisting his hips as he falls to the canvas and taking Blackwell over with an armdrag! Wildchild plants a knee into the side of Christian’s neck as he re-asserts the armbar. “Wildchild goes back to the armbar,” notes Mak. “And look at the way he applies pressure to the neck with the knee!” “Well, you usually trick me into saying one nice thing about Wildchild every week,” says King, “but I’ll say this in his favor: he may not be the best defensive wrestler, but he don’t wrestle backwards!” “Absolutely not!” agrees Mak. “This kid is all offense, the whole way, and he doesn’t back down, even from the largest competitor!” Blackwell gets back to his feet, but WC maintains control of the armbar. Christian pushes him back against the ropes and punches him a couple of times in the belly to get him to relax his grip. He then grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring. Wildchild picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and charges into Blackwell at full speed with a running shoulderblock… but can’t even budge the big man! Wildchild runs back to the ropes and dives towards the canvas as he rebounds, somersaulting underneath Blackwell and just narrowly missing the big man as he takes to the air with a largely unsuccessful leapfrog. WC deftly rolls back to his feet and continues on to the opposite set of ropes. He picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and suddenly has to duck, barely missing a fierce back elbow smash from Blackwell. Christian lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Wildchild rebounds from the ropes a fourth time, but the Tropical Tumbler leaps over him, grabbing him by the waist as he sails past to pull him backwards into a Sunset Flip… “Can he get the momentum to take him over?” ponders Mak, as Blackwell fights to maintain his vertical base. Able to successfully stop himself from going over, Christian decides to go on the offensive, measuring WC for a fierce right punch! WHAM! Wildchild slides out of the way at the last split second! Blackwell roars in pain as his hand slams into the canvas, and WC scrambles back to his feet, catching Christian off-guard and taking him back over with another armdrag before re-establishing the armbar! “Well, after a great start to this match, Christian Blackwell has fallen victim to Wildchild’s speed,” says Mak. “He’s going to have to go back to the drawing board if he wants to regain control of this match!” “He needs to go back to that aggressive smash mouth style that gave him success,” adds King. “You know, I blame Herrington for all this; when he forced Blackwell to allow Wildchild to come back into the ring, that took a lot of his momentum away... It’s biased officiating, if you ask me!” Christian gets back to his feet and rakes WC’s eyes to break the hold. He then nails him with consecutive headbutts, before scooping him up into his arms. The irritable Irishman charges towards the corner, slamming Wildchild’s back against the top turnbuckle before tossing WC onto his shoulder and turning back towards the center of the ring as he plants WC into the canvas with his patented running powerslam! He holds Wildchild down for a pin attempt: ONE! TWO! TH— Wildchild kicks out at two! Blackwell beats him to his feet and backs into the corner, measuring his opponent as he strides back into the ring and leaps into the air to deliver a jumping elbow smash… WHAM! … But the Caribbean Cruiser rolls out of the way! Blackwell clutches his right elbow in pain as Wildchild gets back to his feet. The Bahama Bomber grabs Christian’s left leg and motions for the figure-four, but Blackwell quickly pulls himself towards the edge of the ring and grabs onto the bottom rope before he can get the move applied! “Whoa!” exclaims Mak, as Red Herrington orders a clean break. “Christian Blackwell very nearly made a very costly mistake when he went for broke on that elbow! Wildchild was going for that figure-four, but give credit to Blackwell: he still had the presence of mind to get to the ropes!” Wildchild steps back and waits for Blackwell to extricate himself from the ropes before attempting to put the pressure back on, but Christian surprises him with a European Uppercut out of nowhere, that knocks him flat on his BUTT! Blackwell gets back to his feet as WC lies back, clutching his jaw; he pulls Wildchild’s legs apart before stepping through to stomp WC in the midsection! “What a dramatic turn of events!” shouts Mak, as Blackwell traps WC in a front facelock. “With just a couple of moves, Christian Blackwell has regained control of this match!” Blackwell lifts WC into the air and falls back into a vertical suplex, only to roll over while maintaining the facelock, and lift Wildchild up again. “Smart decision by Blackwell to go back to the power moves,” says King, as Blackwell falls back for the second suplex, “and with his power, these triple suplexes will definitely take the wind out of Wildchild’s sails!” Sensing Wildchild starting to try and wriggle free, Christian falls backwards, driving WC into the canvas forcefully with the third suplex! Christian floats over into a pinning combination… ONE! TWO! … But only gets two! Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a go-behind waistlock; Christian wraps pops his hips and lifts the Bahaman off the canvas, tossing him through the air and slamming him back down with a German suplex! Blackwell crawls atop his opponent and applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Blackwell pulls Wildchild back to his feet and then hoists him into a stalling vertical suplex, before dropping him forward into a devastating sitout powerbomb! “Orange Crush!” shouts King, as Blackwell holds his opponent down for the ping. “That’s going to do it!” ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Two count only!” shouts Mak, as Christian looks at the referee in disdain. “Wildchild barely got the shoulder up… Boy was that close!” “That was close,” agrees King, as Blackwell continues to lobby for a three-count. “There appeared to be some hesitation on the part of referee Red Herrington, I think!” Frustrated, Blackwell begins to punish WC with a series of kicks! “At this rate,” says Mak, “Christian Blackwell is about two or three moves away from ending this match!” “He’s wrestled a smart match, for the most part, aside from that brief moment that Wildchild had control,” notes King. “He’s done a good job of forcing Wildchild to try and wrestle defensively and, even after five years, that remains the one glaring weakness in his game plan.” Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and forces him roughly into a corner, where he begins assaulting the Caribbean Cruiser with a battery of European Uppercuts! He then pulls WC out of the corner and scoops him up into a slam, driving him powerfully back down to the canvas! “The match is all Christian Blackwell at this point,” says Mak, as Blackwell eases on up to the middle turnbuckle. “It looks like Christian Blackwell is about to go for that patented second-rope kneedrop!” Christian steadies himself on the middle ropes… OOF! … But Wildchild suddenly surges to his feet and dives into the corner, leaping off the canvas and crashing into Blackwell with a flying headbutt to the lower extremities! As Christian doubles over in pain, WC gathers himself in the corner before suddenly leaping back off the canvas, whipping his leg sharply overhead… CRACK! … And blasting Blackwell on the top of the head with a bicycle kick! “My goodness!” shrieks Mak. “That was an unbelievable Pelé-like kick from the Wildchild!” “With that damned shin guard!” grumbles King. “They made a huge mistake in allowing him to wrestle with those on!” Wildchild drops to a knee as he gets his wind back. Suddenly he snaps up right, his eyes burning with intensity as he stares at Blackwell, who is still dazed on the middle ropes. With a snarl, WC runs over and leaps nimbly up to the top turnbuckle. “I don’t know what Wildchild has planned here,” says Mak, “but it can’t be good!” The Human Hurricane snares Christian in a front-facelock as he falls back into the ring … BANG! … And spikes Blackwell’s face into the canvas with a second rope DDT! Blackwell instinctively rolls out to the floor to protect himself from a pinfall! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Good god!” screams Mak. “That was a most vicious DDT! And Blackwell had no leverage to protect himself at all on that!” “Absolutely!” affirms King, as WC rolls out to the floor after his opponent. “Great presence of mind to roll out of the ring, but he took the full force of that DDT; like I said before, Wildchild doesn’t go backwards!” Wildchild strains to pull Blackwell to his feet and then leads him by the back of the head towards the edge of the ring, slamming him face-first into the ringpost! He leans Christian against the post and then backs across the arena floor before he takes off running, leaping into the air as he approaches the corner and crushing Blackwell’s face against the post with his patented Blue Crush splash! “My god, King,” shouts Mak, “I’m mean, we’ve seen Wildchild be aggressive before, but I can’t remember the last time he was quite like this!” WC pulls Blackwell away from the ringpost and lets him fall backwards to the arena floor before he rolls back into the ring to break up the count. “Well, he probably realizes that he’s going to have to pull out all the stops to beat a man as big as Christian Blackwell,” notes King. “He probably realizes that his normal offense isn’t likely to slow this guy down, and he’s going to have to go deep into his bag of tricks to keep Blackwell down for a three count!” WC rolls to his feet inside the ring and walks over to the corner; he climbs onto the top turnbuckle before leaping fearlessly to the arena floor… CRACK! … Smashing into Blackwell’s face with a suicide headbutt! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “What a tremendous move by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak. He went all out on that suicide headbutt!” “This kid is crazy!” exclaims King. “He’s going to cripple himself one of these days, mark my words!” WC rolls into the ring briefly in order to break up the count, and then returns to the arena floor; he strains to pull Blackwell off the floor and rolls him underneath the bottom rope. He then climbs up onto the ring apron and grabs onto the top rope, propelling himself into the ring, where he crashes into Christian’s face with a slingshot somersault legdrop! He hooks the leg as he applies a cover: ONE! TWO! THREENO! Blackwell just gets the shoulder up! WC beats Blackwell to his feet and runs to the corner, leaping nimbly to the top turnbuckle and leaping back into the ring to slam his fist into Christian’s face, courtesy of a flying fistdrop! “Boy, Wildchild’s really going to work on the head of Christian Blackwell,” notes Mak. Wildchild applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! WC pulls Blackwell to his feet and backs him into a neutral corner, where he begins hammering him with hard right jabs. He grabs Blackwell by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Blackwell has the presence of mind to reverse, sending WC crashing into the turnbuckles instead! Christian charges into the corner after him, seeking to crush him against the turnbuckles with a running shoulderblock, but the Bahama Bomber dives out of the corner as Blackwell crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles! WC runs to the edge of the ring as Blackwell staggers out of the corner and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, whipping his leg sharply through the air and flattening Blackwell with a leg lariat! The crowd begins cheering as WC pops to his feet and motions for the Wild-Driver! “Wildchild is feeling it!” shouts Mak. “And there’s the sign for the Wild-Driver; if he hits this, it’s all over!” WC pulls Blackwell to his feet and doubles him over at the waist; the Bahama Bomber stands in front of him and reaches back to grab his opponent’s arms, but Christian begins to fight back, pushing Wildchild into the ropes. Christian rises quickly to his feet to catch Wildchild coming off the ropes with a running elbow smash, but the Human Hurricane easily ducks out of the way as he continues on to the opposite set of ropes. WC picks up speed as he rebounds a second time… BANG! … And runs top-speed into a Standing Sidekick! Blackwell falls wearily to his knees, trying to catch his breath as WC rolls around on the canvas. “Standing Sidekick!” crows King. “That’ll take the wind out of his sails!” “Yes,” agrees Mak, “but does he have anything left to try and put this match away?” Blackwell crawls over to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to begin pulling himself up. Wildchild recovers enough to scramble to his feet and attempt to intercept his opponent, but Blackwell blasts him with a right cross that knocks him backwards! “Wildchild is trying to keep Blackwell down,” reports Francis, “but look at him fire back!” WC keeps trying to get Blackwell back under control, but Christian keeps knocking him back with heavy forearm swats. Finally, Wildchild makes the mistake of getting close enough for Christian to get a good grip on him, and Blackwell grabs him and heaves him at the edge of the ring, holding WC against the ropes with one hand as he pummels him with the other! The Fighting Irishman draws back and smashes WC in the top of the head with a ferocious overhand right that makes Wildchild feel like his head has been split open! “Blackwell’s a house of fire!” exclaims Mak. The fans start to rally behind Christian as he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber still has the presence of mind to reverse it; he’s not nearly strong enough to force Blackwell across the ring, so instead he hops quickly off the canvas and nails Blackwell with a dropkick to the knee! As Christian falls to his knees, WC continues to press his attack with kicks to the midsection and punches to the face. Wildchild motions for a Shining Wizard and races across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, but Blackwell suddenly rises from the canvas and snatches WC up in a military press! He carries Wildchild over to the edge of the ring… CHING! … And crotches him on the top rope! “Hah!” snorts King. “How about that; some payback from that earlier move!” Blackwell traps Wildchild in a bearhug and snatches him roughly from the top rope, tossing him overhead and driving him into the canvas with a tremendous overhead belly-to-belly suplex! He moves over to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Wow!” shouts Mak. “That belly-to-belly nearly did it; Wildchild just barely got out of that!” Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a waistlock; he pops his hips as he heaves Wildchild overhead, planting him into the canvas with a devastating high-angle Backdrop suplex! Christian bridges to hold Wildchild in place as Herrington makes the count: ONE! TWO! THREENO! WC just gets the left shoulder up! Blackwell gets to his feet and looks out into the crowd as he pumps his arms up and down, pantomiming the Psycho Driver. “Here it comes!” exclaims King. “The Psycho Driver; we’ve got a big upset in the making!” Blackwell pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him against the ropes; he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, hoisting WC onto his shoulders as he rebounds, into a torture rack position! Blackwell tries to secure his grip on the torture rack in order to follow it into the Psycho Driver, but Wildchild fights for all he’s worth; the Human Hurricane squirms and struggles atop Blackwell’s shoulders, simultaneously elbowing and kneeing the bigger man in the side of the head until he relaxes his grip, and then slipping down his back, hooking Christian under the arm as he falls to the canvas to take him off his feet with a reverse armdrag! Blackwell gets back to his feet and charges Wildchild, who ducks a rushing clothesline… CRACK! … And then blasts Blackwell in the face as he spins around with a Gamengiri! Christian staggers back woozily but remains on his feet. “Big time counter by Wildchild!” cheers Mak. WC grabs Blackwell by the back of the head and leads him over to the edge of the ring; he leaps over the top rope and drives Christian’s neck into it as he falls to the arena floor with a Savage Neck Snap! He scrambles back onto the ring apron as Blackwell falls backwards, and briefly raises his arms overhead, cuffing his wrists together, before he brings his hands back down to grasp the top rope as he waits nervously for Blackwell to get back to his feet. “Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!” shouts Mak. “This could do it!” Wildchild leaps onto the top rope the instant that Blackwell starts to stand up and then leaps into the ring, snaring Christian in a headlock as he flies past and swinging his body around as he falls back down… BANG! … DRIVING BLACKWELL’S FACE INTO THE CANVAS WITH A JUMP-SWINGING DDT! “Presumed Guilty!” shrieks Francis, as WC grapevines Blackwell’s legs to pull him into a cover. “Goodnight, Christian Blackwell!” ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to pump through the speakers as Wildchild flops over onto his back, panting like a dog as Red Herrington raises his hand in victory. Funyon rises from his seat at ringside as he lifts the microphone to his lips. “Here is your winner,” he bellows, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC crawls over to the edge of the ring and pulls himself up to his feet. He looks out into the crowd with a sense of satisfaction over his victory. “What a great match!” shouts Mak, as Herrington raises WC’s arm in victory. “Christian Blackwell gave Wildchild all he could handle but, in the end, the Bahama Bomber was able to pull out the victory!” “Well, Blackwell proved to everybody that he can press anybody to the limit,” says Mak, “but a savvy move by the veteran Wildchild was able to dig out the victory; Blackwell made a critical mistake by telegraphing the Psycho Driver, and Wildchild had enough time to counter it!” “Blackwell underestimated Wildchild’s resilience,” says King. “He didn’t have him compromised enough to go for the Psycho Driver, and it cost him!” “And on that note,” says Mak, “we need to send it backstage while we rotate the ring crew, but we’ll be right back with more action!” Wildchild faces the crowd in the center of the ring, and salutes them with a deep bow. He executes a right face turn and bows in the direction as well… As we: FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 (edited) Violence Distribution Network vs Revolution Zero BOOM! EXPLOSION! Everyone dies except Dace Night and Va'aiga. Edited December 3, 2007 by Toxxic Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 AARON STARR vs MICHAEL ALEXANDER The cameras pan back to the ring, coming into focus on a shiny belt hanging fifteen feet above the ring. Mak Francis and the Suicide King are at the announce table, both looking up at the title belt suspended above. “Well, King,” Mak opens. “It looks like we’re ready for our next match, yet another New Blood Title Defense for Michael Alexander, this time against a debuting Aaron Starr! Right here at the Dakota Dome in Vermillion, South Dakota!” Mak shamelessly employs an utterly futile cheap pop, as most in attendance can’t hear him. King snarls vituperatively. “And in a ladder match! This is conspiracy! First, giving someone a title shot in THEIR DEBUT MATCH?! Second, in the same match that cheated Michael Alexander out of this title the first time he competed for it?! I don’t suppose I should expect anything better from our ‘commissioner.’ He’s probably still mad that Alexander pinned him in that triple threat match a few months ago, and he’s abusing his power to try and put Alexander behind the eight ball.” “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it, King? Sure, I doubt Landon harbors any friendly feelings towards Michael Alexander, but you’re pushing things a bit far…” King eyes Mak suspiciously. “Sure, Francis, we hand debuting wrestlers title shots all the time. Absolutely nothing unusual about that, eh? Are you a part of this Maddix conspiracy?” “Oh, come on,” Mak begins. “Of course, you would deny it, wouldn’t you?” King cuts in smugly. “I’m not getting into this paranoid delusion of yours, King.” Referee Sexton Hardcastle leans against the ropes as Funyon clambers into the ring with his microphone to play up his one big on-camera role once more. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is a LADDER MATCH for the SWF New Blood Title! First, the challenger…in his SWF debut…weighing in at 200 pounds…AAAAAAAAAAAARON STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARR!” “White Lightning” by RZA pours from the speakers as a young man steps out on stage in full length white tights, studded with red-outlined white stars, and white boots with white-outlined red kick pads. A red and white striped hoodie covers his upper body and head. He stands a stage for a few moments before beginning his descent to the ring. As he does so, the speakers kick in with “Euphoria” by the Spiritual Beggars. He hops up onto the apron, keeping his hood up and pointing to the audience before flipping back his hood to reveal close-cropped black hair and a surprisingly youthful appearance. Given his basic boy-next-door appearance, and the indisputable fact that he is going up against Michael Alexander, the crowd’s reaction is relatively predictable. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “It seems that the folks here in South Dakota have chosen their favorite in this one, King.” “No surprise there…no one in South Dakota can appreciate an artist like Michael Alexander. Most of them probably couldn’t spell their own names, Francis.” “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron. “And the SWF New Blood Champion…from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!” Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. The crowd returns the favor, as usual. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Michael rolls into the ring, taking up a position in his corner and stretching, adjusting his boots, apparently disinterested in his opponent or the crowd, while smirking to himself. “Michael Alexander gets his normal reception,” Mak chuckles. “These people are Philistines, I tell you! Cheering some schmuck over a consummate professional wrestler like Michael Alexander is all the proof you need,” King sneers. Funyon bails out of the ring with unusual swiftness as Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell. DING! DING! Starr and Alexander circle each other to start off. Michael shoots in for a quick single leg pickup, grabbing Starr’s right ankle. Starr goes for a quick enzuigiri to counter, whipping his left foot up and across…but the Evil Genius anticipated such a move, and ducks deftly. Starr is a little taken aback by his miss, landing awkwardly, but maintains his balance through sheer agility, teetering on his one foot, his back to his opponent. “Michael Alexander starts off in classic form, with that nice single leg,” Mak observes. “Starr’s attempt at that enzuigiri was a little predictable, but he managed to catch himself.” “The kid’s got good balance,” King admits grudgingly. “But so does every other cruiserweight in this organization. Not impressed. And this is sure as hell not someone I’d toss into a title match in his debut.” Unfortunately for Aaron, his opponent is not someone to turn your back on. Michael Alexander smiles wickedly as he steps forward to cradle Starr’s right leg with his own right arm, then drops and turns whipping Aaron to the mat with an inverted dragon screw! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alexander with the inverted dragon screw!” Mak exclaims. “You had to know that was coming, Francis,” King sniggers. “The kid set HIMSELF up for Alexander perfectly.” The Mad Scientist rolls back up to his feet, quickly folding his stunned opponent’s legs around his own, clipping Starr’s right foot behind his calf, and dropping backwards, and the Gordian Knot is tied! Starr howls in pain as his right knee is bent at a tortuous angle. Alexander’s face is twisted in a cruel rictus as he wrenches on the hold. “The Gordian Knot!” King howls triumphantly. “He’s locked it on…! Only a few minutes into the match! This is definitely sending a message about the level of competition here, Francis!” Mak sighs. “However, just like in his last ladder match, this hold can’t win the match for him. Sure, it can hurt Starr, but Alexander can’t win with it.” “He knows that and we know that, Francis. Michael Alexander is doing this to send a message to Aaron Starr and our ‘management.’” “But wasting time with things like this cost him the match last time,” Mak points out. “Not this time,” King assures Mak. “He’s got things well in hand.” Starr scrambles quickly, trying to flail toward the ropes. The young cruiserweight manages to snag the bottom rope in the midst of his flailing. However, to Starr’s chagrin, he is informed that there will be no break, as this is a ladder match. Michael Alexander happily continues to wrench the hold viciously, to a round of pained snarls from Starr and a round of jeers from the crowd. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Finally, beaten down to sheer desperation, Starr gives in to the pain and taps. TAP! TAP! TAP! He is once again informed that even this cannot force a break in the hold. However, in a surprising show of something that could be mercy, but is most likely just a need to inflict more varied punishment, Michael Alexander breaks the hold. Aaron Starr slumps against the mat, his legs still contorted in the position of the hold. The Mad Scientist gets back to his feet, smiling and flourishing to the crowd. In proper Pavlovian fashion, they respond. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “How nice of Alexander to finally break that hold,” Mak snipes. “It was nice, Francis…a hell of a lot nicer than he needed to be. He could have kept on that hold until Starr’s knee popped, and ended his SWF career before it started. Then Michael Alexander could easily have sauntered up the ladder as this kid was carted off for surgery and rehab for the next year.” Alexander laughs gustily. He walks over to the ropes and rolls to the outside, going for the nearest of the ladders. The Evil Genius hoists the ladder over his head and slides it into the ring between the second and top ropes. Aaron Starr has grabbed the bottom rope in an attempt to pull himself up to a sitting position. Leaving the ladder lying between the second and top ropes, Michael Alexander proceeds over to his injured opponent. “Alexander going for the ladder,” Mak says. “It seems that he thinks the damage has been done.” “Well, it certainly looks that way, Francis. Starr did just tap, you know.” Alexander watches calmly as Starr pulls himself up into a sitting position, leaning on the bottom rope for support. A terrible smile spreads across the Mad Scientist’s face as he charges at Starr, extending his right foot into a vicious running facewash, following the move through by sliding between the bottom and second ropes himself, landing on the outside laughing at the horrified audience. Starr grunts at the impact and his head rolls limply back to the mat with a thump. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “A brutal running facewash! He nearly took Starr’s head off with that, King!” “He’ll do better next time, Francis. Seriously, though, that was perfect. Michael Alexander has nothing if not style.” The Mad Scientist basks in the howls of the crowd for few moments. Aaron Starr crawls to the corner, pushing himself back up to his knees and eventually to his feet. Alexander notices this, shaking his head in mock sadness. He rolls back into the ring, smiling cruelly as he makes his way over to Starr’s corner. The young cruiserweight has managed to recover somewhat, however, and fires a quick right hand into Alexander’s jaw. The Evil Genius staggers for a moment, and Starr follows up with a roaring elbow out of the corner, knocking Alexander off his feet. Unfortunately, Starr hasn’t recovered as much as he would like, and he slumps against the ropes. “Aaron Starr mounts a comeback, but will it be enough, King?” “Of course it won’t, Francis. This kid’s showing some guts, and that’s something you need to bring to the show. It’s desperation for him, and everyone knows it.” Michael scrambles back up to his feet, furious at his slip. Starr is ready this time, and goes for a kick to the gut. Alexander catches it, grinning. The grin is short-lived, however, as Starr brings his other foot into crisp contact with Michael’s skull with an enzuigiri! Alexander’s legs buckle and he slumps to the mat stunned. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “That enzuigiri certainly connected!” Mak yells. “You were saying, King?” “Oh, come on,” King snorts, but concern shows in his voice. “He’s hit with a kick to the head. Big deal. Alexander’s come back from much worse.” Aaron Starr gets back to his feet, only nursing his right leg a little. He grabs the ladder that Alexander left lying between the ropes and tries to set it up underneath the belt. Starr notices that Alexander is getting back to his feet, and decides that he needs work on his opponent a bit more before trying for the belt. He quickly hits a nasty dropkick to Alexander’s knee, dropping the Mad Scientist. Starr smiles at the payback as he then rebounds off the ropes to deliver a brutal dropkick to the back of Alexander’s head as the Evil Genius struggles to get back to his feet. Michael crumples back to the mat, lying on his back with a glazed look. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Aaron Starr calls that combination the Starr Scream, and it is apparently damnably effective. Alexander is flat on his back, and the ladder is set up…!” Mak shouts. “Michael’s not out yet!” King gasps hoarsely. “Come on, Michael! This can’t happen!” Aaron gets back to his feet, looking pleased with himself. He checks the ladder’s position underneath the belt and starts to ascend. His right leg still gives him trouble though, so he is not as quick as he should be. “Starr’s still slowed down by that time he spent in the Gordian Knot,” Mak remarks. “And you were insinuating that the Gordian Knot wouldn’t win him this match,” King sneers. “It looks like it’s allowing Michael to recover and catch up to this punk!” Michael Alexander has indeed recovered sufficiently to go after Starr, ascending the opposite side of the ladder. Alexander’s legs haven’t suffered quite as much damage as Starr’s, and thus the two men reach the top at about the same time. Starr fires a vicious right hand into Michael’s jaw, and Alexander responds in kind. Being the more specialized striker, Aaron manages to get the upper hand, with Alexander slumping slightly on the ladder. With lightning quickness, Starr snags Alexander in a front chancery. Before he can do anything else, Alexander fires a stiff right hand into Starr’s gut. Another one breaks the chancery, and the followup elbow shot stuns Starr for a moment. “It looked for a moment like Starr was going for the Starr Struck, but Alexander put the brakes on that,” Mak says. “That was never going to happen,” King avers. “The kid was just getting a bit overconfident.” Snarling, Michael Alexander grabs his stunned opponent in a front facelock, draping Starr’s left arm over his head, and hoists him up into a vertical suplex off the ladder. Not to be taken so easily, Starr uses his superb balance to shift his weight, and instead of being suplexed, he manages to fall directly onto Alexander during the fall in a lateral press! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “HOLY SHIT!” “HOLY SHIT!” Both men hit the mat with a brutal impact, Starr bouncing off Alexander from the sheer force. “That was incredible, King! Starr reversed that suplex in mid-move, and used Alexander’s body to break his fall!” King’s lips move silently, horror stealing his voice. Aaron and Michael both lie on mat for long moments, and the crowd picks up a chant… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” The youngster slaps the mat in time with the chant. He claws his way back towards the ladder, pain etched across his face along with dogged determination. His hand clasps the first rung… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” Aaron pulls himself up the ladder, rung by rung. He feels the rush of the crowd’s adoration. This is what he came to the SWF for. His first match, his first title shot, and it will be his first victory… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” He crests the ladder, raising his head. The SWF New Blood Belt dangles just a few feet above him. Aaron raises his hands toward it. He knows this is it, his time... “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “HA!” King crows. “I knew it!” “Alexander managed to get up just time to stop Starr from getting that belt! This looks bad for Aaron!” Mak says, chagrined. Aaron suddenly feels the ladder shift as his fingers dance across the belt, failing to find purchase. He looks down, and sees Michael Alexander pushing the ladder over, and he screams in frustration as the ladder topples and he plummets to the floor as the ladder thumps against the top rope. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Starr doesn’t land as awkwardly as he could have, given the height, but the impact is still horrific. Aaron flops against the guardrail, lying limply on the outside. Alexander looks over the top rope at his handiwork, a vicious smile spreading across his face like a lazy forest fire. He grimaces slightly as he lifts the ladder back into position underneath the suspended title belt. “Now Alexander is going for it! And that little punk is where he belongs, slumped on the floor!” King chirps happily. “YOU SUCK!” Michael Alexander steps onto the ladder. The crowd’s jeers and howls roil around him. He would laugh if his ribs didn’t ache after that suplex reversal a few minutes ago. “YOU SUCK!” Michael reaches the peak of the ladder, and takes a moment to gaze down at the slowly recovering Aaron Starr. His devilish grin returns, because he knows that Starr is out. “YOU SUCK!” The crowd knows it too. Alexander’s hands grip the title belt, and he unfastens it and holds it over his head. He has his belt back once again. Michael drapes the belt over his shoulder and climbs down the ladder. Referee Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “YES! YES! YES!” King cries orgasmically. “Alexander is still the champion! Landon Maddix’s schemes failed again! All is right with the world!” “Alexander came out on top, but it could very easily have gone the other way there, King. Starr was close.” “Starr was never that close. Alexander had this match thoroughly in hand from the beginning, Francis.” Funyon drawls out the redundant announcement. “Your winner…and STILL SWF NEW BLOOD CHAMPION…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s three successful title defenses for Michael Alexander, Francis. You know what that means.” “Yes, King, I do. But I don’t have to like it.” Michael Alexander casually stolls out of the ring, slowly making his way up the ramp. He turns back to the ring, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. Michael taps the belt on his shoulder, and raises his hand, extending three fingers. He smiles a smile that is usually only seen in a shark tank as we… FADE OUT. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted December 3, 2007 TOM FLESHER vs TOXXIC “Folks, it’s time for our main event,” Mak Francis announces, “and it’s got to be recognised as one of the biggest matches of the year, on paper at least.” “Paper?” King splutters, “what are you talking about Francis? You’ve got Toxxic, the longest-reigning, most-prolific, most-everything World Champion of all time, and Tom Flesher, a Hall of Famer who carries instant credibility and is probably the most gifted performed to ever step into an SWF ring, not to mention a two-time World Champion himself. And they’re going head-to-head for the World freakin’ Title!” “Yes they are,” The Franchise agrees, “but I think we should be honest about a couple of things here King. Tom Flesher is fat.” “What!?” “He’s fat,” Francis emphasises, “he’s out of shape and he’s lazy. He beat Johnny Dangerous, yes, but he sneaked by him, and I mean barely. Flesher is running on shortcuts, and on the day his reputation and his shortcuts don’t save him he’s going to take an embarrassing loss.” “So you think Toxxic’s going to win?” King asks. “I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out… but this is Flesher.” “Toxxic’s arrogant, and to be honest King I think he’s getting lazy as well,” Mak Francis counters. “We all saw how he viewed the other competitors in the World Title picture earlier this year-” “Yeah, and he beat them,” King reminds his commentary partner. “Yes, but Toxxic always used to be so fired up for competition, he had a burning desire to prove people wrong and prove himself to be the best,” Francis states, “it made for some interminable interviews but some damn impressive in-ring performances, but now… King, I feel Toxxic has lost his drive. He’s cruising, he doesn’t feel he has anything left to prove, and someday soon I think someone is going to shock him. It might not be Tom Flesher tonight, but it will happen.” “Way to talk up the struggling company, genius,” King mutters, “can we send it to Funyon yet?” The tuxedo’d ring announcer nods acknowledgement as production signal him through the earpiece, then raises his microphone solemnly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a one hour time limit and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title!” he booms. “Introducing first-” “Introducing first!” the voice of Allison Onita interrupts him, “is the star of the SWF, the man who single-handedly saved us from ruin in 2003, the man who took the Cruiserweight Title and demonstrated its true worth to the world in 2004 and 2006, he has championships galore, an encyclopaedic repertoire of holds and knows more moves in the bedroom than the rest of the roster does in the ring; hailing from Buffalo, New York and weighing in tonight at a lean, mean 231lbs he is your Next World Champion, ‘The Superior One’, TOM FLESHER!” …and with that the opening drums of ‘When The Levee Breaks’ by Led Zeppelin start up, followed a few moments later by the sinister guitar and menacing harmonica, and the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of blue pyro along the front of the soundstage! Tom Flesher struts through, surveys the crowd with a smug confidence and then starts to stride to the ring with Allison bringing up the rear and having words with anyone daring to talk smack to her man. “Flesher is still in great shape, I don’t care what you say,” King snorts, “he might have added a bit of muscle-” “It’s fat King, and I can’t believe Landon’s letting him get away with announcing himself at 231lbs,” Francis grumbles. “He’s not even competing in the Cruiserweight Division anymore, why does he have to pretend?” “He might not be Commissioner anymore but Tom Flesher does what Tom Flesher wants to do,” King reminds The Franchise, “and even Landon’s smart enough to know that he needs Tom Flesher in the main event more than he needs a completely accurate weigh-in.” Flesher mounts the ring steps, enters the ring without fanfare and then strips off his warm-up suit before Allison moulds herself to his body for the inevitable photo opportunity as the assembled fans take their chance to get a picture of one of the SWF’s true legends (before they put their cameras away and start booing him). Funyon looks on in slight disdain at the woman who keeps stealing his thunder. However, there is someone in attendance who wishes to ensure that Tom Flesher does not do what Tom Flesher wants to do… …and as every light in the arena hits full and the Smarktron whites out, it’s pretty clear who that man is. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn starts to ooze out of the speakers and the Smarktron starts to darken swiftly to black; as it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: “PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…” Three chords ring out; the Smarktron shows Toxxic being knocked off the top rope to the arena floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri; taken from the top rope to the mat with a Super Mark of the Beast by Gabriel Drake; chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus. Then the shot changes to one of Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with Toxxic’s smiling face, the devastating impact timed to coincide with the moment the song kicks in and the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …wearing a T-shirt bearing the face of former England national soccer team manager Steve McLaren with a strikethrough circle over it… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …Tag Title in his right hand, Stables Title in his left and World Title strapped around his waist… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes the man Tom Flesher has come to South Dakota to beat. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by his sister Amy; from Nottingham, England, he weighs in tonight at 218lbs; he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, the leader of SWF Stable Champions Revolution Zero and is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… this is ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “Oh crap, I forgot we get the drunk,” King mutters as Amy Stephens hoves into view behind her brother, swigging (as ever) from a can of Stella Artois and wearing an appropriately illustrated T-shirt bearing the words ‘I’m The Skeleton In Your Boyfriend’s Closet’. “King, I wouldn’t trust Allison Onita to stay out of a match of this magnitude, and it looks like Toxxic feels the same way,” Mak Francis notes. “Amy laid out James Matheson when these two met for the World and Cruiserweight Titles at Genesis VII and stopped him from poking his nose in, and if she does the same tonight it’ll at least ensure the match is decided on the actions of the two competitors rather than their companions.” Toxxic reaches the bottom of the entrance ramp and rolls into the ring where he pops to his feet and regards Allison Onita from out of dark-rimmed eyes. Onita sniffs contemptuously, but turns and exits the ring (perhaps remembering that Toxxic isn’t above headbutting women if they interfere in his business). Tom Flesher just regards his opponent steadily, eyes flickering between him and the belt around his waist. Meanwhile Amy takes a seat on the outside, sets down her can and pulls out a Nintendo DS. “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “ALL-I-SON SWALL-OWS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “ALL-I-SON SWALL-OWS!” Tom looks around with a faint grin on his face and nods slightly, in agreement with at least the second half of the chant. Toxxic rolls his eyes and strips off his trenchcoat, shirt and World Title, then hands his belts to referee Matthew Kivell and throws the coat and shirt over the ropes at Amy (prompting a vaguely audible off-camera expletive from his sister). Kivell hands the titles out through the ropes, then checks that both men are ready… and calls for the bell. *DING-DING-DING!* “It’s Toxxic vs. Flesher, one-on-one for the World Title!” Mak Francis reiterates as they start to circle. “Tom holds a pinfall victory over Toxxic but only in tag competition; Toxxic has defeated Flesher in their two meetings in singles matches, the most recent of which occurred over a year ago at Genesis VII.” “As ever with these two it’s going to be a fascinating clash of styles,” the Suicide King remarks, “Flesher is supremely skilled on the mat but tends to favour the big suplexes, headdrops and nasty submissions to get the match won; Toxxic is more well-rounded these days than he used to be, but I still struggle to remember another World Champion with such an emphasis on high-flying and high-risk aerial manoeuvres.” “I think one of the keys to Toxxic’s success is his high success rate at those aerial moves,” Francis puts in, “when you’re hitting them nine times out of ten, it’s not so high-risk anymore. I mentioned at Genesis how I view Toxxic to be the best proponent of a counter-punching wrestling style, of waiting for the opponent to try and beat him and then capitalising on mistakes; well, tonight I think he’s going up against the best practitioner of the other style, playing to your strengths and making the opponent wrestle the match the way you want it wrestled. Whatever I think of Tom’s current fitness level, if he can keep this match on the mat he’s got it in the bag.” “Conversely, if Toxxic can keep it moving I don’t see Flesher being able to keep up for that long,” King agrees, “the question is, will he get that kind of space?” Tom Flesher hopes not, and the Superior One starts to close the gap between himself and the grinning Englishman in front of him. Toxxic’s eyes narrow slightly, gauging distances as Flesher closes… and then Tom lunges with a blast double-leg takedown! …or at least, it’d be a takedown if Toxxic was still where he was meant to be. However the Straight-Edge Sensation dodged sideways at the last moment and is now bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of metres away, flexing his fingers. Flesher lifts himself up off the one knee he landed on and reorientes himself on his opponent. “The first sign that Tom might have lost a step,” Mak notes, “I remember last year he caught Toxxic like that a couple of-” Flesher has just tried it again as Mak was in mid-sentence, but this time Toxxic not only sidesteps his opponent but swings a black-nailed hand around to deliver a slap to the back of Flesher’s head on the way past! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Tell me he did not just do that!” Suicide King exclaims in shock. “Your eyes did not deceive you King,” Mak fires back, sounding barely able to believe his own, “if Tom has anything like his old ability still with him I think Toxxic just signed his own death warrant.” But the Englishman isn’t done. Not content with making it blatantly obvious just how much slower Flesher is than him, Toxxic suddenly launches into a forward roll, comes up to his feet, falls backwards onto his shoulders and then kips up explosively before beckoning Flesher in with an insulting flick of his fingers! Tom Flesher apparently sees red and in a rare loss of control he charges at his infuriating opponent- *BANG!* -to get taken down with a drop toehold! “I’m stunned,” Mak says, “we’ve just seen Toxxic out-cocky Tom Flesher. I didn’t even think that was possible.” Toxxic still has control of his opponent’s legs in the aftermath of the move and starts trying to lock them together in a likely setup for the Regal Stretch; Tom Flesher has had enough of being outmanoeuvred by his opponent and twists around onto his back before kicking out with his feet to send the Englishman staggering backwards. Flesher comes back up to his feet but he is again fractionally too slow, as Toxxic has had time to set himself and comes running back to launch himself into the air with a spinning heel kick that catches Flesher in the jaw and sends him tumbling back to the mat! Flesher is back up again straight away, only for Toxxic to once more beat him to the punch (and to a vertical base) and leap up into the air, snare Flesher’s head with his legs and snap backwards to take the Superior One over with a hurricanrana that sees Tom finish up rolling underneath the ropes and out to the floor of the Dakota Dome! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd appear to be pulling for whomever can impress them most, and at the moment Toxxic is that man with his blatant disrespect of someone they love to hate as well as his high speed offence. However, as the World Champion starts to bounce up and down in preparation for his notorious somersault senton to the floor Tom Flesher gets back up to his feet and, rather than staying where he is to get crushed by a ballistic straight-edger, instantly moves to the corner of the ring where he regains his breath behind the ring post. “Now that is smart,” the Gambling Man notes as the crowd noise reflects their disappointment, “you can go over the ropes, you can go through the ropes, but I’ve yet to see anyone in the SWF go over the ring post in a clean dive, and they certainly can’t go through it!” “I wouldn’t put an over-the-ring-post dive beyond Wildchild,” Mak Francis states, “but I’ll agree with you, Tom knows what he’s about. Toxxic caught him off-guard in that opening exchange and now he’s recovering his breath and preparing for a different approach.” Matthew Kivell has started counting; Tom Flesher signals that the SWF’s senior official should make Toxxic move back, then slides in under the bottom rope without taking his eyes off his opponent. When he’s satisfied Toxxic won’t barge past the referee (and therefore necessitate sliding back out to the floor so as not to get caught in a compromised position) Flesher takes his time in standing up, then casually rolls his shoulders and neck. “See? He just hadn’t stretched out,” King says. Mak’s response is largely inaudible due to a sudden and temporary microphone fault, and probably all the better for that. Tom Flesher walks slowly towards Toxxic, who keeps a careful eye on the distance between them and circles so as to avoid being backed into a corner. The Straight-Edger is considerably lighter on his feet than his non-cruiserweight opponent so Toxxic doesn’t seem to have many concerns about being at least technically on the back foot, and he is able to dodge to one side when Flesher goes for his double-leg again… …but this time the move was a feint, and Tom follows Toxxic’s movement quickly enough to close with the Englishman, take him onto his shoulders and drop him to the mat with a Fireman’s carry! Tom gets back to his feet, smirks and drops an elbow… …and Toxxic rolls away, leaving the challenger to drive his own arm into the mat. “Close, but no cigar,” Mak comments, “Tom really can’t afford to showboat!” Flesher pushes himself back to his feet, clearly in a furious temper now, but he simply eats a dropkick from Toxxic that puts him right back down! Once more he gets back to his feet and once more he finds the World Champion there before him; Toxxic grabs Flesher’s wrist and Irish whips the challenger towards the ropes, but Tom puts his new bulk to good use on this occasion and reverses the momentum to send Toxxic in instead, then readies a Shotei. Unfortunately for Tom Toxxic ducks it and heads on to rebound off the far ropes, which he accelerates off to leap into the air and latch his legs around Flesher’s head, then sends the challenger rolling out to the floor again with a satellite headscissors! “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” Tom Flesher takes a couple of seconds to get back to his feet, but when he does the Superior One is so frustrated that he slams his hands onto the apron in anger. However, he then looks up to see Toxxic running towards him across the ring and high-tails it towards the ring post again! Toxxic leaps upwards, but instead of hurtling over the top rope into empty space he lands on it, balances for a split second and then backflips into the ring, landing on one knee and inspecting an imaginary watch… then pointing into the distance with a furrowed brow while stroking his chin… then rising to his feet, putting his hands on his hips and giving the crowd his best cheesy grin! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…and Toxxic breaks out the Catalogue Poses,” Mak grunts. The crowd might get a kick out of the opponent-baiting nostalgia trip, but Tom Flesher is clearly less than impressed. From his position of safety behind the ringpost he again demands that Matthew Kivell make Toxxic back up, which he does. Flesher doesn’t re-enter immediately however, pausing for a moment as he receives a relaxing shoulder massage from Allison Onita. However, Kivell starts to count and the Superior One clearly decides that the time has come for action, so he slides in under the bottom rope and gets back to his feet. Once more the two competitors circle and jockey for position, and this time when Tom Flesher goes for a double-leg takedown Toxxic drops and snares him in a front facelock. “Tom’s been really predictable,” Francis sighs, “and lazy.” “Oh, you think?” King snickers. “Watch.” Toxxic certainly has hold of his opponent, but Flesher reaches up and manages to disengage Toxxic’s arm from around his neck, then twists out to the side and forces his way up into an armwringer that brings the lighter man under his control. “He suckered him in!” Mak says, catching on. “He can’t straight-up catch Toxxic, so he allowed himself to be caught in a position he knew he could gain the advantage from…” Tom takes a moment to exchange pleasantries with Matthew Kivell, then pulls Toxxic in towards him and jabs his thumb into the Englishman’s eye. “Oh, come on!” Mak protests as some of the crowd boo and some cheer Tom’s action, and Kivell goes berserk, “was there any need for that?” “Need? No,” King admits, “but like I said, Tom Flesher does what Tom Flesher wants to do.” What Tom Flesher wants to do right now is latch his arms around the waist of the blinded Toxxic and heave him overhead- *BANG!* -with a Railgun suplex. Having done that, the Superior One brushes some imaginary dust from his shoulder, then walks over and leans down a little way to have a conversation with his winded opponent. ‘ONE!’ It’s a small detail… ‘TWO!’ …and easily overlooked… ‘THREE!’ …but Tom’s foot just happens to be resting… ‘FOUR!’ …on Toxxic throat. ‘FI-’ Tom ‘realises’ just at the last moment and steps back as Matthew Kivell continues to go off on one at him, but the Superior One is unrepentant and leans down to bring Toxxic up (by the hair, just for good measure). There is nothing reprehensible about the suplex setup that Flesher makes, but instead of bringing his opponent up and over he hoists Toxxic vertical, then takes a couple of steps forward and brings him down gut-first over the top rope. Matthew Kivell seems to think that Flesher should leave his opponent alone since he’s in (well, on) the ropes, but that is not to be as Tom steps forward to apply a Doc Marten upside Toxxic’s head as the Englishman hangs in his precarious and painful balance, not only causing pain with the kick but also sending Toxxic toppling down to the mat. Flesher ignores the referee’s protests and starts to bring Stephens up, then grabs him in a gutwrench and hoists him up onto his shoulder. “Derailleur coming up?” Mak Francis queries, but it turns out not to be as Toxxic kicks his legs and manages to slip out of the Canadian Backbreaker Rack before Flesher can drop to his knees and complete the move. The World Champion lands on his feet behind his opponent and sets off for the ropes at a run, but even as he does so Allison Onita hops up on the apron and starts hollering at Kivell that Toxxic raked the eyes to get out of the move. The SWF’s senior official turns around and orders her to get down… *CHING!* …and as his attention wavers Tom Flesher takes advantage of this fact to dropkick the rebounding Toxxic in the crotch. “Oh, come on!” Mak Francis yells as some fans cheer and some unreservedly boo, “Tom, at least pretend to wrestle this match!” “He is pretending!” King laughs, “he’s fooling Kivell!” But for how long? Matthew Kivell may have been distracted but he’s no fool, and in a second he’s going to turn around and see Toxxic writhing on the mat and holding his crotch. Tom Flesher decides that the time has come to take affirmative action… so he walks over to Toxxic and stands on his throat to give the ref something else to concentrate on. Sure enough, as Kivell turns around Toxxic’s hands fly to his throat and Matty starts his count… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Tom stands back and spreads his arms innocently, but Kivell gets in his face and tells him he damn well knows Tom did that deliberately. Flesher starts to argue, thinks better of it, admits his guilt… and then goes back to do it again. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-GODDAMIT!’ Tom grins at Kivell, bends down and pulls the wheezing Toxxic off the mat, slips behind him and hoists him up and over for a belly-to-back suplex that dumps the straight-edger back down on the mat, then hooks the leg for a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out well before three. Tom shrugs, brings the Englishman up to a vertical base again and then locks in an abdominal stretch which he cranks back on as Kivell, relieved that Flesher is using an actual, legitimate wrestling hold, checks Toxxic to see if he wants to give up. The World Champion shakes his head but he’s clearly not comfortable, which suits Tom Flesher fine. “A simple hold, but perfectly applied,” the Suicide King notes with approval. “Yes, but look at Tom,” Mak Francis points out, “he’s already breathing a bit heavily. He might be able to take punishment, but Flesher’s cardio has taken a severe beating since he was last competing regularly. Tom is renowned for his second wind, but all the same…” The abdominal stretch is all well and good, but it lacks a little ‘bite’. Tom Flesher seems to think that the perfect way to add something to it is to cautiously, and with one eye on Matthew Kivell, reach an arm out behind him. Allison Onita hops up onto the apron ready to grip her man’s wrist and add a bit of torque- *THUNK!* -and hurriedly gets back down again as Amy Stephens appears at the corner of the ring and swings her chair into the post, then points menacingly at Onita! Allison raises her hands in a conciliatory fashion and backs off, leaving Tom Flesher looking around to see what the problem is. Amy catches his eye and then flicks him a v-sign along with an anatomically improbable sexual suggestion, so Flesher suddenly relaxes his hold, swings around in front of his opponent and refastens his left arm under Toxxic’s right before heaving the Englishman over in a head-and-arm suplex! *BANG!* Flesher sits up and folds his arms, glaring at Amy with a ‘so there’ expression; the Punk-Rock Princess shrugs and heads back to her corner, not that bothered about what happens to her brother if there’s no way of getting involved in a fight herself. Flesher snorts, then heads over to make a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out again. Flesher pulls him up and Irish whips the World Champion into the corner, then follows him in at high speed and delivers a brutal Yakuza Kick that sends Toxxic slumping down into a seated position! “I think they felt that back in Nottingham!” Francis exclaims as Flesher retracts his leg, listens to Kivell telling him to leave Toxxic alone until he leaves the corner, nods, and then places his boot over his opponent’s throat to start choking him again. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Flesher backs off as Kivell interposes himself, but continues to argue with the referee, presumably on the basis that he’s Tom Freakin’ Flesher. Finally he pushes past the protesting official and pulls Toxxic up to his feet, then performs another Irish whip towards the far corner and starts to follow the Englishman in. However, the brief break afforded by Tom’s argument with Kivell seems to have allowed Toxxic’s braincells to start firing again and the World Champion manages to vault to the top rope, then come flying back with the Role Reversal clothesline… …Flesher sees it coming and hits the deck… …but instead of crashing and burning Toxxic manages to turn his dive into a forward roll, comes back up to his feet and runs on for the turnbuckles his journey started at and leaps to the top rope again! Tom gets back to his feet and looks around for his opponent- *SMACK!* -and gets taken down with the Corkscrew Dropkick! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” That particular piece of acrobatics seems to have got the crowd behind the Straight-Edge Sensation but Toxxic is far more concerned with his opponent that the opinions of the fans, and as he gets back to his feet with a wince he cautiously starts to stalk the Superior One. Flesher begins to rise, winded but not seriously hurt… and as he turns around Toxxic leaps up, latches his legs around Flesher’s head once more and then rolls backwards with a hurricanrana; however, instead of sending Flesher tumbling across the ring Toxxic has managed to put a real ‘snap’ on this one, and the crown of his opponent’s head gets driven straight into the mat! *BANG!* Toxxic reaches back as the move is completed and hooks one of his opponent’s legs for the pin… ONE! TWO!! …but Flesher kicks out! “I know Tom has an eighteen-inch neck, but that still had to hurt!” Mak exclaims as Toxxic falls forward when the pin is broken. “Yeah, but it’s going to take more than that to put Tom away,” King says. That’s fine by Toxxic; the straight-edger comes up into a crouch, steel-grey eyes fixed on his opponent and all traces of the earlier mockery gone, deadly serious now. Tom Flesher starts to rise, but before he can fully get to his feet Toxxic darts in and brings him up, turns him around and locks his arms around his opponent’s upper chest before hoisting Tom off his feet and then kicking his legs out to bring Flesher down with a Sambo Slam that sends the challenger back-first into the mat. With Tom down Toxxic then gets back to his feet and heads for the turnbuckles, where he jumps to the second… …to the top rope… …and moonsaults back off! *WHAM!* “Raford Calling!” Mak shouts as the move hits home and Matthew Kivell dives to make a count… ONE! TWO!! …but Flesher kicks out again! Toxxic doesn’t waste any time in complaining to Matthew Kivell, instead dragging Tom up to his feet again, then Irish whipping him towards the ropes. However Tom manages to reverse the move and sends Toxxic into the cables instead before ducking his head ready to take the Englishman up and over with a back bodydrop. Bad move. *CRUNCH-WHAM!* “And that’s a Sobering Thought!” King shouts as Toxxic’s patented facebuster/DDT combo finds its mark. Tom rolls onto his back, eyes slightly glazed, and Toxxic gets back up to head to the turnbuckles once more. He vaults lightly to the top rope facing out at the crowd, kisses his fist, then leaps backwards and twists in midair to come down with a fistdrop right between his opponent’s eyes! “Toxxic’s got the match back under his control,” Mak Francis comments, “as soon as Tom gave him the space to move he was able to pick up the pace and dictate events.” Toxxic doesn’t seem to think that one fistdrop is enough, so he heads back to the top rope and comes off with another that finds its mark with pinpoint accuracy again. The crowd gives this a largely positive reaction, so on the basis that he might as well play to them while he gets the chance Toxxic raises his hands above his head and twirls his index fingers around each other. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The Straight-Edger doesn’t seem to feel up to vaulting to the top rope yet again so he steps through the ropes to the apron and starts climbing; once at the top buckle he stands up straight, raises his arms above his head in preparation for a little ‘whip’ on the move, then somersaults off down towards Tom Flesher… *BANG!* …but the extra time has allowed Flesher to recover enough to roll aside, and the Hangover misses! Both men instinctively roll further away from each other to give themselves time to recover, but it’s Flesher who gets back to his feet first and, shaking his head to clear it, heads back towards his prone opponent. Unfortunately for Tom Toxxic sees him coming with enough time to kip up to his feet, seize the surprised Buffalo native by the arm and then armdrag him over! Tom manages to more or less roll with the move and grabs the ropes to haul him back to his feet, only to be clotheslined over them by a World Champion desperate to retain the momentum! However Flesher is stubborn and refuses to go to the floor, hanging onto the ropes and remaining on the apron. The Superior One starts to pull himself back to his feet, but Toxxic charges at him again, leaps into the air and springboards off the second rope on the other side of the ring corner to leap over the top rope and snare Tom with a hurricanrana that takes the two of them to the floor of the Dakota Dome! “HO-LY SHIT!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “HO-LY SHIT!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “OK, that was impressive,” the Gambling Man admits. “Probably stupid, but impressive.” “It’s a case of playing the odds,” Mak Francis replies, “if that move helps Toxxic win the match and retain the title, it’ll be worth it!” Some people are actually starting to actively cheer for the Straight-Edge Sensation now, and that information filters into the Englishman’s brain to prompt a familiar lopsided grin. Toxxic rolls back into the ring (not without a wince) as Matthew Kivell lean over the top rope to start the outside count. Tom Flesher, back hurting and lacking breath, struggles to orientate himself and get back to his feet… …and this time as he staggers upright, he’s not behind the ringpost. “INCOMING!” Mak yells as Toxxic explodes off the far ropes, sprints across the ring and takes to the air once more to land clean on top of Tom Flesher with his running somersault senton! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Matty Kivell places his head in his hands and wonders privately what the hell he has to do to keep order in these matches, but Toxxic doesn’t seem too interested in prolonging his time on the outside. He gets back to his feet and stands on an empty chair, one foot on the guardrail, and sweeps his arms out wide, palms flat, to invite the cheers of the crowd… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …then drops back down, drags Tom Flesher up off the floor and rolls the Superior One back into the ring. The straight-edger follows him a moment later, rolls him once more to get him away from the ropes, then hooks the leg and makes the cover. ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Tom kicks out! Toxxic takes a moment to cast a glance at Matthew Kivell, but instead of castigating the referee he takes hold of Tom and pulls the heavier man back up to his feet before placing him into a standing headscissors. He then underhooks the right arm… underhooks the left arm… and then (not without some effort), hoists his opponent UP… …AROUND… …AND… …DOWN! *BANG!* “Stephens Shock Syndrome!” Mak shouts, “that could be it!” Toxxic rolls Tom over onto his back and makes the cover… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but perhaps that slight delay gave Flesher enough time to recover, or maybe he’s just too tough to be put that that easily; regardless the challenger kicks out, and the match is still in progress! Toxxic seems rather less than pleased with the development and draws a black-nailed thumb ostentatiously across his throat, then pulls the wobbly Flesher back up towards his feet. The World Champion grabs a ¾ facelock, points at the nearest set of turnbuckles and sets off at a run with a view to delivering the Sunny In England, but Flesher shoves him in the back to break his grip, then as Toxxic turns around Tom thumbs him in the eye again! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The cheers come first, but the boos linger longer; Tom shrugs, and delivers a Shotei that nearly disconnects Toxxic’s jaw before doubling his opponent over with a kick and grabbing a double underhook of his own which he uses to bring Toxxic up and over; not just that, but Flesher floats over into a pin to make it a Britishplex! ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out! “I think that may have been a subtle insult from Tom,” Francis notes. “That’s talent,” King replies, “it’s not everyone who has the presence of mind to slip an insult in as they regain momentum in the match after taking a pasting.” Tom looks up at Matthew Kivell and starts to argue about the count; it therefore takes Kivell a moment to realise that Flesher’s forearm is purely coincidentally places across his opponent’s throat… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Flesher removes his arm with bad grace, then pulls Toxxic up into a sitting position and sits behind him to apply a bodyscissors before leaning back and squeezing. “So King,” The Franchise asks as Kivell asks Toxxic whether he wants to give it up, “some people might interpret this as a simple weardown from Tom, but the way he’s breathing tells me a different story.” “So maybe Tom is a bit out of shape by his own very high standards,” King shrugs, “if the man knows his limits and can adapt to them rather than trying and failing to wrestle how he used to, why should we criticize him?” “Because he mainly adapts by cheating like a goddamn bastard,” Francis grumbles. Tom Flesher has a firm hold on his opponent’s solar plexus, and on the grounds that it can’t really hurt (him, at any rate) he starts to twist his legs and brings Toxxic over so that his shoulders are in contact with the mat… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic fires a shoulder away from the canvas in time! The Englishman tries to push himself back into a more upright position, but Flesher is having none of it and sends him down again… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out again! Tom allows the Englishman to come back up into a sitting position, then leans forwards and grabs a rear waistlock as he disengages his legs. From there he comes up to a vertical base, bringing Toxxic with him and then suddenly arching backwards to haul the World Champion over with a German suplex! *BANG!* Flesher doesn’t bridge into the pin, however he does roll on top of Toxxic afterwards and hook the leg as Kivell dives to count… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out! Tom Flesher is distinctly displeased by this verdict, and starts to let Matthew Kivell know this in no uncertain terms. The cockney referee mouths off back at Flesher, tapping the badge on his chest to remind him who’s in charge here, but Tom slaps his palms together to indicate that he is certain Kivell’s hand should have come down for the third time, then jabs his finger into Kivell’s chest to emphasise his point. “Tom needs to be careful here,” Mak says, “he’s been pushing his luck with Kivell in this match and he doesn’t want to give the referee cause to disqualify him.” However, Matty Kivell isn’t going to throw a World Title match out on these grounds; he simply waves a finger in Tom’s face to warn him, then steps aside and invites Flesher to return to the match. Toxxic has started to get up to his feet but Tom has no intention of allowing the straight-edger to continue moving under his own steam, so he takes hold of Toxxic’s arm and brings the World Champion over his shoulder and into a seated position on the mat in front of him with a judo throw. “I think Tom’s going for the King Cobra!” Mak shouts as the crowd noise suddenly rises and Flesher leans down… but Toxxic jerks backwards and brings his foot up, kicking Tom square on the top of the head! Flesher staggers back, but not for long; within a couple of seconds the Superior One is heading back towards his opponent, only for Toxxic to kip up and leap into the air, swinging his leg around at blistering speed with the kip-up enzuigiri… that Flesher ducks! “OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic manages to land on his feet, but facing away from Flesher; Tom grabs a rear waistlock and heaves, sending Toxxic flying with a release German suplex… *whump* …but Toxxic flips through and lands on his feet! “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Tom gets back up, turns around to see what devastation his throw has caused, and finds himself kicked in the stomach and then taken down with the Unfinished Business! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic rolls Tom over and hooks the leg, prompting Kivell to dive down… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Flesher kicks out! “I honestly thought he had him there,” Mak admits. The crowd seems to think the same, judging by the reactions ringing around the Dakota Dome. Even Toxxic seems to think that should have been it, but the Englishman doesn’t want to give Tom the same chance to recover that he took advantage of himself while Flesher was jawing with Kivell, so he brings Tom back up to a vertical base and hooks him up for a suplex… then reaches down to try and hook Flesher’s left leg. “He’s going for the Caffeine Bomb!” Mak shouts. However, Tom Flesher has other ideas and starts firing Shoteis into Toxxic’s ribs. The Englishman is winded and withdraws, but Tom follows up and reaches over his crouching opponent to grab a gutwrench, then starts to lift… “Ego Buster!” King shouts. But no, Toxxic has wrapped arms and legs around Flesher’s legs and is desperately sandbagging. Tom heaves with all his might but can’t hoist Toxxic up when the straight-edger is clinging on to Tom’s own base, so he pauses for a moment. In that moment Toxxic twists and manages to overbalance Flesher, bringing the Superior One down onto his front and with his legs under Toxxic’s control! The straight-edger tries once more to hook Flesher into the Regal Stretch, but Tom simply pulls himself to the ropes and forces the World Champion to break the hold. Toxxic draws back in disappointment but perhaps doesn’t give his opponent quite the break he should by pushing back past Matthew Kivell in an attempt to get back on Flesher and keep the momentum on his side. Unfortunately for the World Champion this means his body is shielding Flesher from Kivell’s view… *CHING!* …and although Kivell may have suspicions about where that headbutt landed, he can’t prove it! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic staggers away in his own private world of pain while Flesher defends his actions vigorously to Kivell and slaps his belly to show where he believes the blow landed. Then he waves the referee out of the way, lines up on Toxxic… …starts to run… …and pastes the World Champion in the head with a Yakuza Kick! *CRACK!* Toxxic hits the mat like someone who’s been shot; Flesher pulls up, turns and dives on top of his opponent, hooking the leg for the pin… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “HE KICKED OUT!” Mak yells, “I thought Toxxic was done for, I thought we had a new World Champion!” Flesher slams his hand into the mat in frustration but doesn’t waste time querying the count; instead he pulls the World Champion upright, threads Toxxic’s arm through his legs and clamps onto it with his left hand, then thread his other arm across his opponent’s chest… “Logical Disconnect!” King calls… but Toxxic has one last gasp left in him, and he starts desperately firing elbows into the side of Flesher’s head! The blows snap Tom’s head sideways and in conjunction with the damage already done, cause him to slightly loosen his grip… …enough for Toxxic to wriggle free, turn around and grab a ¾ facelock, then run up and push back off the ropes that are just within reach. *BANG!* “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak and King yell at the same time, as Toxxic desperately hooks the leg and rolls into the cover. Kivell dives to count once more… ONE! TWO!! THREE!! …and once more is all that’s needed. *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “He’s done it!” Mak shouts, “it took pretty much all he had, but Toxxic has retained the World Title against Tom Flesher! Folks, that’s all we’ve got time for but join us for the SWF Winter Funtime Show on the 19th December!” The last shot of the SWF presents Ashes 2 Ashes is of Toxxic sitting up wearily, retaking possession of the title belts handed to him by Matthew Kivell… and grinning. Bring ‘em on. ©2007 British Mafia Productions for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
