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It took only a minute after Death Adder and Tsunami were separated and shuffled back to the locker room for the lights in the arena to go dark once more, and the rhythmic Latin drums of the Iron Bull's entrance music to hit the speakers. The arena went silent for but a moment just before the guitar was set to kick in, with the spotlight emerging on one Marco Rivera, who seemed to simply appear on the entrance ramp.
Marco never made a show of his entrances. He simply made a steady march down the ramp with a look of steady determination in his eyes and a water bottle in his hands. It allowed him time to think. Why was a match featuring two stalwarts of the company, one of them the newly crowned champion, no less, so low on the card?
He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the ramp to glance at the crowd before climbing the ring steps and wiping his boots on the apron before swinging himself into the squared circle. It was a very old fashioned thing to do. Perhaps it was one of the very few traditions of lucha libre he still kept to. He made one pass on a turnbuckle before he began his usual stretching exercise in the corner, with his music cutting out not long after.
As the lights went out in the Monda Center, the ruckus crowd erupted into a wave of jeers and boos. As the sultry saxophone began to play through the speakers and the dry ice permeated across the stage, a silhouette emerged, shrouded in darkness. The lights flickered blue and purple as lasers scanned face of the new AWE champion. Gethin broke away from the retro wave light effects just in time for them to turn blood red and brighter, fully illuminating his chiselled out of stone physique. The entire entrance was designed to evoke fear and discomfort on those viewing it. He was a killer, there had to be no question. Gripping his new title by his side, The Ogre made the slow deliberate walk to the ring, his eyes locked on tonight’s prey.
Marco was a journeyman. He was a great worker, who could get a good match out of anyone really. Tonight he was being used to make the new champ look strong. Gethin truly appreciated it. He would make sure to shake his hand after the segment was over. Sliding into the ring, The Human Torture Device held his gold aloft as the crowd rained down its opinion.
Marco was probably one of the few men on the roster who had the sheer bullheaded determination and lack of fear to look the Welsh Dragon in the eye and not be intimidated. He'd seen his fair share of lethal killers before. It wasn't until Gethin had entered the ring, when he was only a few feet away from him, raising the AWE Heavyweight Championship into the air, that Marco broke eye contact.
He knew it was a non-title match. Everyone knew it was a non-title match. But Gethin Rhys currently had what every wrestler in the AWE killed themselves on a nightly basis trying to get. Before the referee signaled for the bell, Marco approached Gethin very closely, nodded at the title in question, and backed away into his own corner in anticipation. No words. Just body language. He knew that Gethin knew what he was saying.
Gethin handed his belt over to the red and put in his gum shield. He cracked his neck as he glared intently at Marco. ”Time to retire, old man” As the bell rings, Gethin immediately took off running and rushed Marco into the corner with a high knee strike to the chest. He follows with several slaps to the head and neck and finally a spinning back fist straight to the jaw, dropping Marco to the floor. Of course being the two professionals they were, Gethin and Marco never touched each other and the Iron Bull’s selling of the assault was brilliant.
The vicious new heavyweight champion dove atop his opponent and fired downwards with a series of palm strikes, showcasing the martial arts style he had become quite well known for. Gethin jumped off of Marco and stood above him. ”This is supposed to be my challenge? PATHETIC!”
Marco barely had enough time after the bell to raise his hands in a mostly vain effort to block a knee strike before he found himself on the ground. He didn't immediately rise back up to his feet to rush the Welsh Dragon either. Rather, he pulled himself back up with the turnbuckles, looking out into the sea that was the crowd. Time to retire, huh?
Marco didn't respond to any of Gethin's goading. He wasn't the kind of competitor to lose his composure at such things. Instead, he turned around and delivered a knife edged chop to Gethin's exposed chest with as much force as he could get behind it. It was probably a little stiffer than needed, but the sound that reverberated throughout the ring was music to Marco's ears. He continued until the two were in the center of the ring and grabbed Gethin into a collar and elbow tie up.
"Alright, how do you want to do this? It's your call."
Time to see what the new champion could do.
The chops stung like a motherfucker but Gethin wasn’t going to complain. He was a very stiff worker himself, it made everything just that little bit more real and the fans would buy into it that much more. ”Stay competitive. Get your moves in, I’ll get a few in and then take over for the finish. Let’s show them you’ve still got some fight in you” Of course this was going off script. The Cardiff Psycho was supposed to go straight in with a squash and look dominant. Yet there was still a way to do that and let the fans know that Marco still had a great run in him. Gethin has a great amount of respect for the Iron Bull and so did the fans, they had just forgotten it.
Leaping in the air, The Ogre brought the Bull down chest first across his knees in a lung blower before transitioning into a cattle mutilation double underhook hold, padding out the match run time. ”Have a think if you want the headbutt spot towards the end” The Brutal Artists headbutt spot was dangerous. You had to be a brave soul to accept it hence why he always asked first. He legit crushed his skull against your skull and often drew blood. Normally he’d save it for bigger matches but he felt Marco deserved a moment to show his toughness.
Gethin broke the submission and got to his feet, still holding onto one of Marco’s arms. He started kicking him with pinpoint accuracy directed at his joints. ”Reverse”
Marco did as Gethin instructed and rose his own foot to block the Welshman's incoming kick with one of his own. The following forearm to the jaw freed Marco's other hand from the Dragon's grip and nearly turned the man around on his feet. Marco contemplated Gethin's words while he hooked one of his opponent's arms over his shoulder to set up his signature Gloria powerslam. The headbutt spot was one of the rarest in the company, and for good reason; crashing skulls together wasn't exactly a very good way to prolong a career, but damned if it didn't make a match seem larger than life. It wasn't what creative had called for when they pitched the match, but if Gethin was willing to do Marco that sort of favor, who was he to say no? He lifted Gethin into the air for a split second before slamming him back down and hooking his outside leg. It couldn't of been more than thirty seconds before his mind had been made.
"Just make sure to give me a signal."
The Ogre rolled out of the cover, a look of shock on his face. How could this old mutt get a two count on him. That wouldn’t happen again. As Marco pulled Gethin back to his feet, the Welshman struck him in the throat with a palm strike, creating some space between them. He followed this with combination stiff strokes, left palm to the face, right palm to the face, spinning back fist, low kick to the shin and a rising knee strike to the jaw. Gethin pulled the Bull into a tight headlock before lifting him up and with one swift elation bringing him back down to the mat with a twisting brainbuster.
Switching positions instantly, Gethin wrapped Marco’s arm up in a vice with his strong legs and grabbed his opponents hand. He manipulates the joints and bent them into directions they shouldn’t go with a Jim Breaks special before holding a single finger up to his lips to shush the crowd. Without any further warning, the psycho killer pulled the journeyman’s fingers apart as the snap was heard across the area.
”Get your signatures, then we’ll go home”
Marco let out a guttural yell and writhed in pain as he felt the bones in his fingers snap. He could do little more than flail his legs and, in the split second of opportunity before his opponent applied an armbar, use his free hand to clasp his fingers together to prevent his captured limb from being fully extended. It was hell on his newly broken fingers, and he frantically rolled himself into the Dragon's grasp to get his feet firmly planted into the mat. All in all it took nearly ten seconds for him to get a vertical base, but once he had, Marco inhaled and used all the might he could muster to lift Gethin into the air and slam him back to the ground with as much force as he could get out of what was essentially a deadlift powerbomb.
The maneuver had freed his arm, but rather than create space, the Bull brought Gethin up one more time, instead positioning the new champion in a fireman's carry. He looked into the sea of the crowd for a split second to let the Welshman prepare, and subsequently flipped the man over, driving his adversary's neck into his own knee.
He could hear the crowd swelling at his comeback, but Marco didn't waste any time before hitting the ropes in front of his now seated opposition and delivering a sliding lariat straight to his throat. It was a sudden flurry of offense they no doubt hadn't expected from a wrestler like the Iron Bull. At least, not on the show directly after a pay-per-view.
The onslaught would continue for a number of minutes afterwards. In fact, the bull rush involved Marco throwing nearly everything he had at the Ogre. Suplexes. Strike exchanges. Even a top rope hurricanrana. But Gethin always seemed to force himself to kick out or get a shoulder up through sheer force of will. Marco was frustrated, and everyone in the arena could tell just by the look on his face. They were edging closer and closer to a time limit draw, and there was nothing more disheartening than an inconclusive finish.
Now, with the two of them sprawled out in the center of the ring, the Bull grabbed his opponent by the hair to help bring him to his feet.
"Let's show these people just how much of a killer you can be."
”You got it. Headbutt”
Gethin allowed the veteran chance to prepare before going in for the shot. There was no need to hush the crowd to get the desired effect. The clash of skulls was loud enough to be heard throughout the arena. Marco crashed down to the sweat soaked mat clutching his forehead while the AWE champion stood in a light daze. As a single line of blood began to drop down his face, Gethin turned to the hard camera and grinned from ear to ear, the blood trickling down onto his mouth guard. He let out a guttural howl of satisfaction as the crowd began to chant;
YOU SICK FUCK! YOU SICK FUCK! YOU SICK FUCK!
Seizing the moment, the Welsh striker shoved his fingers into the roof of the Latin hero’s mouth and began dragging him across the ring and into the corner. Slamming Marco’s head against the bottom turnbuckle, Gethin followed it with multiple kicks to the head and chest of his opponent. Sprinting to the opposite corner, the killer growled as he set off again like an unstoppable juggernaut and booted The Iron Bull in the chest with a PK.
The Ogre did not relent as he pulled Marco to his feet and blasted him quickly with a snap German suplex. Keeping hold of the waistock, the champ repeated the move another two times before releasing him on the third lift. Spinning on his palm, Gethin did not let up the pace; driving Rivera into the ropes and hooking his arm around the top one. Without any wasted movement, Rhys continued to overwhelm his opponent with a rapid side elbows to his temple before pulling him free of his entanglement and picking him up on his shoulders. It was time to end this. The Ogre positioned Marco downwards and slotted his head between his knees before he leapt into the air, span and dropped down with the kneeling reverse piledriver known to the world as Hollow Point 87.
1-2-3!
