“For this match, we’re joined on commentary by the one and only, Oscar O’Sullivan himself. He has a particular interest in this match, as whichever competitor wins, he will face in the next round of the tournament. Who would you like to face of the two?”
”Well, Wade. I’ve done my research on both guys. I already know a lot about Savaka. I mean, he is the Intercontinental champion. He’s no slouch in the ring, but c’mon. He’s a peace-loving monk. And Ludwig von Moltbag? What was his name? Never heard of him before. Sounds like a clown with a name like that. I don’t think either really pose a threat to me, but who knows? I could be proven wrong tonight.”
“Don’t get cocky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my years calling matches — and I’ve got a few years under my belt — it’s that exactly what you don’t expect to happen… will. You’ll find yourself getting locked in one of Savaka’s holds before long, and then what? You tap.”
“What? That isn’t being cocky. That isn’t being over-confident. Ain’t nobody got time to think less of themselves. To be a star, you gotta’ believe you are one and Oscar sure as hell believes he’s one. The one and only.”
The jobber got the first entrance. Ludwig von Moltbaug was the wrestling persona of a local fixture of the indie scene, a heel complete with monocle, pocket watch, and gold and black trunks. The Praxeological Pugilist, the Arch Grappler of the Austrian School marched his way to the ring with an air dignity and derision for the common men of the arena’s audience, literally turning up his nose at the sight of them as his entrance music played. He stood there in the ring, playing up his mannerisms until his arrogance was practically seeping out of him.
”Jeez, Wade, look at this guy. Somebody call the circus. They’ve got an act missing!”
“Hey, he’s a competitor just like you.” In a surprising lack of professionalism from Wade, there were chuckles laced into what he was saying.
“Damn exhibitionists. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Ludwig von Moltbaug got some things up his sleeves, but I’m with Oscar on this one. The guy looks ridiculous.”
Savaka’s music kicked in with the sound of Sanskrit chants, and the fog machine induced cloud gave way to show him rising from his prostration at the top of the entrance ramp. He walked to the ring in a measured fashion, eyes closed and hands clasped together, the sign of someone at peace with the world. After both competitors were in the ring, the lights turned on to full brightness and the bell rung, signaling the start of the match.
“Here comes the champion. What an awesome run from him we’ve seen over the past few months. Savaka has a unique fighting style that is unlike any other, and he wows crowds everytime he comes out here, with his ability to grapple like no other can.”
”Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge.”
“Those were some fightin’ words! Wade doesn’t think you can get out of Savaka’s Tripitaka Lock, Oscar. You gonna’ let him believe that? You gonna’ let him underestimate your skills?” If there was one thing Kane had a natural talent for, it was egging people on and being a massive troll. But hey, at least he knew how to make the wrestlers look good. All in a day’s job.
”Let him believe what he wants to believe, Kane. Next round of the tournament, I will show him by example how easy it is for the One! And! Only! Oscar O’sullivan to slip out of a Tripitaka Lock!”
Savaka wore a bemused, calm expression on his face, keeping his eyes on Ludwig as both circled. Ludwig threw a wide punch and Savaka ducked it, the follow up also failed to land. Then he grabbed at Savaka’s robe, balling up a portion of fabric in his hand. Savaka grabbed Ludwig’s forearm behind the elbow, and pulled in. A simple wristlock ensued, forcing Ludwig’s palm to hyperextend, and causing him to wince in pain. Struggling got Ludwig a little more distance, but Savaka held onto the wrist and flexed it again, turning it into a different lock. Flipping and rolling around the ring looked impressive, but Savaka followed every move of Ludwig’s and kept the lock on, all showing no emotion. When Ludwig stopped to catch his breath, Savaka pulled the arm wide and snuck his foot behind Ludwig’s legs, then sent him down to the mat with a gentle push from his other hand.
”Nothing Ludwig von Moltborg is doing is working! He just cannot get out of that hold! I guess they didn’t teach him how to escape a wristlock at the nineteenth century steam train museum!
“I don’t think that’s the case — I think you, Mr. O’Sullivan, have been doing nothing but underestimating Savaka all night long. I think that Ludwig von Moltbaug, as it’s properly pronounced, is locked in holds by an expert grappler, and that he’s never faced someone who can lock it in quite like Savaka can. You can’t beat what you’ve never experienced before!”
“Are you insinuating that Oscar won’t be able to take him down? Both of them have been in the business for a long time. The golden rule of life is to never underestimate your rivals, but is it underestimating when you know who you are and what you’re capable of? Hell, Savaka probably doesn’t think Oscar has what it takes either.”
With Ludwig on the ground, Savaka wrenched the arm harder, using his legs and getting low. When Savaka got close, Ludwig saw an opportunity, and kicked him right in the forehead. Savaka staggered and held onto the arm, rolling back and turning it into an arm drag just as Ludwig was using the opportunity to stand up. While on his back, Savaka changed his grip and wrapped his legs on either side of the arm, setting up a cross armbreaker on Ludwig, who anticipated the move and rose to his feet, then pushed down to try and stop Savaka from extending the arm.
”Both men seem to be at an impasse. Savaka’s a fluid, scientific, precise grappler, no doubt about that, but look how he’s been stopped in his tracks from such a simple act of resistance from Ludvig Von Meatbag!”
“Let’s wait and see how this turns out, don’t count the AWE’s premiere submission specialist out quite yet!”
“Hah. Meatbag. I like that.”
”Thank you, Kane. Somebody here gets it.
For a brief moment, Ludwig leaned enough weight on Savaka to get both shoulders down and the referee started to count a pin. Not disturbed at all, Savaka simply pushed out and wove one of his legs around the arm, then sat up to break Ludwig’s posture down. One slight adjustment with his other leg and the Tripitaka Lock was complete, with Savaka sitting in his meditative posture until the quick tap from Ludwig let him know the match was over. He thanked the pouting Ludwig for the match, then did a slight bow before leaving the ring.
“And just like that, we have our final quarterfinals match on lockdown. Next week it’ll be Oscar O’Sullivan vs Savaka, and Gethin Rhys vs Owen Sparks. Still to come tonight: Thunderbird vs Zachary Wake and Chaos Clayton vs the Initiate. Stay tuned!”
“Oh!” Kane wiggled his pencil in between his fingers, before finishing the match with a sell, “If you’re currently subscribed to the AWE network, we’d like to get you and your friends involved in the heat. If you refer a friend to the AWE network, and sign up yourself, both of you will receive a twenty five dollar gift card to aweshop.com! Though, if I were you, I’d refer TEN friends. That’s 250 dollars worth of merch. Yeahhhh boi.”
”Well, Wade. I’ve done my research on both guys. I already know a lot about Savaka. I mean, he is the Intercontinental champion. He’s no slouch in the ring, but c’mon. He’s a peace-loving monk. And Ludwig von Moltbag? What was his name? Never heard of him before. Sounds like a clown with a name like that. I don’t think either really pose a threat to me, but who knows? I could be proven wrong tonight.”
“Don’t get cocky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my years calling matches — and I’ve got a few years under my belt — it’s that exactly what you don’t expect to happen… will. You’ll find yourself getting locked in one of Savaka’s holds before long, and then what? You tap.”
“What? That isn’t being cocky. That isn’t being over-confident. Ain’t nobody got time to think less of themselves. To be a star, you gotta’ believe you are one and Oscar sure as hell believes he’s one. The one and only.”
The jobber got the first entrance. Ludwig von Moltbaug was the wrestling persona of a local fixture of the indie scene, a heel complete with monocle, pocket watch, and gold and black trunks. The Praxeological Pugilist, the Arch Grappler of the Austrian School marched his way to the ring with an air dignity and derision for the common men of the arena’s audience, literally turning up his nose at the sight of them as his entrance music played. He stood there in the ring, playing up his mannerisms until his arrogance was practically seeping out of him.
”Jeez, Wade, look at this guy. Somebody call the circus. They’ve got an act missing!”
“Hey, he’s a competitor just like you.” In a surprising lack of professionalism from Wade, there were chuckles laced into what he was saying.
“Damn exhibitionists. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Ludwig von Moltbaug got some things up his sleeves, but I’m with Oscar on this one. The guy looks ridiculous.”
Savaka’s music kicked in with the sound of Sanskrit chants, and the fog machine induced cloud gave way to show him rising from his prostration at the top of the entrance ramp. He walked to the ring in a measured fashion, eyes closed and hands clasped together, the sign of someone at peace with the world. After both competitors were in the ring, the lights turned on to full brightness and the bell rung, signaling the start of the match.
“Here comes the champion. What an awesome run from him we’ve seen over the past few months. Savaka has a unique fighting style that is unlike any other, and he wows crowds everytime he comes out here, with his ability to grapple like no other can.”
”Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge.”
“Those were some fightin’ words! Wade doesn’t think you can get out of Savaka’s Tripitaka Lock, Oscar. You gonna’ let him believe that? You gonna’ let him underestimate your skills?” If there was one thing Kane had a natural talent for, it was egging people on and being a massive troll. But hey, at least he knew how to make the wrestlers look good. All in a day’s job.
”Let him believe what he wants to believe, Kane. Next round of the tournament, I will show him by example how easy it is for the One! And! Only! Oscar O’sullivan to slip out of a Tripitaka Lock!”
Savaka wore a bemused, calm expression on his face, keeping his eyes on Ludwig as both circled. Ludwig threw a wide punch and Savaka ducked it, the follow up also failed to land. Then he grabbed at Savaka’s robe, balling up a portion of fabric in his hand. Savaka grabbed Ludwig’s forearm behind the elbow, and pulled in. A simple wristlock ensued, forcing Ludwig’s palm to hyperextend, and causing him to wince in pain. Struggling got Ludwig a little more distance, but Savaka held onto the wrist and flexed it again, turning it into a different lock. Flipping and rolling around the ring looked impressive, but Savaka followed every move of Ludwig’s and kept the lock on, all showing no emotion. When Ludwig stopped to catch his breath, Savaka pulled the arm wide and snuck his foot behind Ludwig’s legs, then sent him down to the mat with a gentle push from his other hand.
”Nothing Ludwig von Moltborg is doing is working! He just cannot get out of that hold! I guess they didn’t teach him how to escape a wristlock at the nineteenth century steam train museum!
“I don’t think that’s the case — I think you, Mr. O’Sullivan, have been doing nothing but underestimating Savaka all night long. I think that Ludwig von Moltbaug, as it’s properly pronounced, is locked in holds by an expert grappler, and that he’s never faced someone who can lock it in quite like Savaka can. You can’t beat what you’ve never experienced before!”
“Are you insinuating that Oscar won’t be able to take him down? Both of them have been in the business for a long time. The golden rule of life is to never underestimate your rivals, but is it underestimating when you know who you are and what you’re capable of? Hell, Savaka probably doesn’t think Oscar has what it takes either.”
With Ludwig on the ground, Savaka wrenched the arm harder, using his legs and getting low. When Savaka got close, Ludwig saw an opportunity, and kicked him right in the forehead. Savaka staggered and held onto the arm, rolling back and turning it into an arm drag just as Ludwig was using the opportunity to stand up. While on his back, Savaka changed his grip and wrapped his legs on either side of the arm, setting up a cross armbreaker on Ludwig, who anticipated the move and rose to his feet, then pushed down to try and stop Savaka from extending the arm.
”Both men seem to be at an impasse. Savaka’s a fluid, scientific, precise grappler, no doubt about that, but look how he’s been stopped in his tracks from such a simple act of resistance from Ludvig Von Meatbag!”
“Let’s wait and see how this turns out, don’t count the AWE’s premiere submission specialist out quite yet!”
“Hah. Meatbag. I like that.”
”Thank you, Kane. Somebody here gets it.
For a brief moment, Ludwig leaned enough weight on Savaka to get both shoulders down and the referee started to count a pin. Not disturbed at all, Savaka simply pushed out and wove one of his legs around the arm, then sat up to break Ludwig’s posture down. One slight adjustment with his other leg and the Tripitaka Lock was complete, with Savaka sitting in his meditative posture until the quick tap from Ludwig let him know the match was over. He thanked the pouting Ludwig for the match, then did a slight bow before leaving the ring.
“And just like that, we have our final quarterfinals match on lockdown. Next week it’ll be Oscar O’Sullivan vs Savaka, and Gethin Rhys vs Owen Sparks. Still to come tonight: Thunderbird vs Zachary Wake and Chaos Clayton vs the Initiate. Stay tuned!”
“Oh!” Kane wiggled his pencil in between his fingers, before finishing the match with a sell, “If you’re currently subscribed to the AWE network, we’d like to get you and your friends involved in the heat. If you refer a friend to the AWE network, and sign up yourself, both of you will receive a twenty five dollar gift card to aweshop.com! Though, if I were you, I’d refer TEN friends. That’s 250 dollars worth of merch. Yeahhhh boi.”
There’s little in the way of fanfare as the pounding bass and hard hitting flow drones out, announcing the presence of someone who was clearly not one the gathered crowd was interested in seeing. Standing on the ramp, basked in the singular spotlight illuminating her, was a woman whose first identifiable feature was the crimson of her lips against the pale tone that was her skin. Her attire caught the light as well, making the all black outfit shine thanks to its sheen.
The black jacket with engraved white sleeves was hanging off her already, more for style than function, and her style was certainly on display; from the sleeveless top that rested above her navel, to the equally black pair of shorts that matched the near thigh-high boots; as far as attire went it was hardly conventional, but it was clear from the makeup and accessories that this was a woman who cared more about the style than the usability.
There was purpose in her stance, as she stood there in the spotlight listening to the thumping notes of her music. The thin fingers of her right hand were curled around a microphone and she lifted her left hand, closing it into a fist to kill the music. She had all the time in the world between here and the ring, and she was going to use every moment of it.
"I don’t know about you all but I’m bored. I’m bored of what passes for talent in the women’s locker room - though let’s not pretend the men are doing much better. How could I NOT be, with what slim pickings there are. Never in my life have I seen a larger gathering of basic bitches and fakers failing - or sleeping - their way upwards. And I come from Los Angeles, where every corner coffee shop or restaurant has ten women waiting for the casting call before deciding to take the backroom casting couch call. You all know the one.”
Death Adder was slowly making her way to the ring, having the audience’s attention if not their approval. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t here to garner applause.
"Of course we all know someone that’s very familiar with backroom couches. Honey, just because you’re a champion at throating doesn’t make you a champion of a division, title or not. When the boss of a company has his secretary take some dictation under a desk, she doesn’t get a promotion. Hell, she doesn’t even get respect. Calling yourself a queen doesn’t make it true, no matter how many metaphors or overpriced chairs you buy. People don’t boo you because they’re jealous or they’re haters, or whatever garbage you tell yourself to pretend it doesn’t bother you. They boo you because the most interesting thing about you is Drayden. The only thing you bring to the ring, queenie is something they can get better with a Google search, some privacy, and a box of Kleenex; and it’d be more stimulating and interesting than anything you’ve done in what you call your ‘career’.”
“But of course, one can’t talk about the wannabe queen without bringing up the other girl playing like this is high school politics and cliques all over again. For every preppy whore there’s the gothic creep that just discovered that ankhs and crosses go great with a helping of angst. The two of you can’t seem to co-exist, between the petty jabs of princess plastic and the poor-man’s bdsm styling of miss mixed metaphors. And you’d think they’d get along so well, what with them having so many things in common. Lack of talent, inability to enthrall, deep rooted daddy issues expressing themselves in different ways… Honey, no one’s afraid of you or your elementary use of mix-matched imagery. Here’s an idea. Go hook up with the rest of your little wiccan friends and conjure up an original personality. At least your dad had the good sense to rip off Jason Voorhes - people actually liked those movies.”
Though she was now circling the ring, Death Adder was not done. There were more than just two of the easiest targets possible. Who hadn’t had a go at the top slags of the company?
"Of course, I mentioned that I was bored of the division and nowhere is that more obvious than the personification of boredom that is miss can’t choose a career path. What, was the military too normal for you? Was it too hard to get beaten senseless by people who actually care enough to do something they believe in? How long is it going to take before you decide that the AWE isn’t for you? As soon as you start to lose over and over again? I thought the military was supposed to instill discipline and responsibility, yet did I not hear you go on and blame Jennifer’s Frumpy Body for you losing to a damn mute and Sailor Moon. The big strong soldier can’t fight her own battles. Boo hoo. I give it six months and continued losses before you move on to something else you can get bored of because of a lack of competence. You don’t care about this place, G.I. Jane. So do us all a favor and muscle your way out of here.”
“Oh, I’m not done. Not at all. Because for as utterly devoid of originality that the terrible trio might be, at least they do something, which is more than I can say for the god damn kindergarten class that exists back there. I thought this was a wrestling company, not AnimeCon with special guest literally who and the cosplayer with an alias about as decent as Hot Topic’s dye job. I’m sure hurricane otaku and still illegal in all fifty states fox-girl will do something to make us all collectively snore as soon as they’re done gushing over their magical girl collection. I wasn’t aware we were in a constant state of bring your child to work day.”
“But then how else am I supposed to account for nepotism given flesh and named after the ugly girl from The Matrix. I’m sure you’re doing your family proud, dear, you’re about as mediocre as the lot of them; doing the family name proud, you are. Given your sister’s lack of charisma during interviews maybe you’re the one that got the spurt of talent from your parents. Because one of you has to live up to the legacy of being absolutely forgetful, right?”
Having made her way through the roster in various forms, Adder finally took a moment to pause and take in the negative response to her string of insults. And yet she still lifted the mic to her lips once more, complete with a lethal smirk.
"And because I have each and every one of you fraudulent, boring, basic bitches pegged, I know that none of you are going to do anything about it. Barbie can’t even jump without Ken around to catch her, Morgana’s too busy taking notes on horror movies to rip off - when she should be taking notes on how to call bitches out from yours truly, but then she’d be made even MORE unoriginal. Sydney can’t find the time between lifting a dumbbell and flipping through a job booklet and the others? They’ve got homework and a curfew to worry about. But all of them, every single one - even the weird mute - would all say the exact same thing in response to my words here. Some junk about me being jealous, or a hater, or how it doesn’t bother them, the same exact spiel they spout night after night like the broken records that is their entire careers.”
“Which is why I’m putting the entire division on blast right here and right now. Show me that there’s more to any of you than your sub-par looks and your below-par personalities. But of course you won’t. None of you will. Because, like I said at the start, you’re all so utterly boring. Prove me wrong.”
With her statement of intent clear, the venomous Death Adder dropped her jacket as well as the microphone, widening her smirk and watching the ramp for anyone. The entire division was on her notice now, it was only a matter of time before they all felt the sting.
After hearing the challenge from Death Adder, Tsunami felt her blood boil after what witnessing what she had done to her allies. No one runs in on her allies like that without getting a piece of what Tsunami did best. She stood up from her seat on the couch and made her way to the main stage. She was seeing red and quite honestly wanted to beat the living shit out of Death Adder.
Walking up to the curtain, she put her hands on her hips and waited for her music to start playing. Standing there, looking down and swaying idly, she finally heard that sweet, sweet guitar riff and dashed outside. She still had to give the crowd a show, though. Tsunami came out, her arms raised and getting the crowd amped up as she went over to the side and gave a couple of people high fives, before going to the other side and doing the same to another few lucky fans.
With her entrance ritual finally over with, Tsunami stared down Death Adder wherever she was and made her way there, knowing that all she wanted to do was to get redemption for her friends.
For a moment, however brief, there was a smile on the Adder’s crimson lips. Of all the women backstage, of all the little wannabes and try-hards this was who answered the call? Under normal circumstances Adder might even have given Tsunami the smallest of props for having the fortitude and bravery to answer the challenge. It took some sort of moxie to essentially sign one’s own death warrant. Death Adder’s smirk dropped almost as soon as her fake clapping had. There was no time to waste on words or remarks; this was a statement, after all. And when one made a statement of intent, one didn’t have the luxury of wasting time.
As the stare-off, such as it was, ended, it was the venomous snake that pounced first, practically bounding forward to chop at Tsunami hard, swift, and fierce. There would be nothing pretty about this fight if Adder had her way. As far as the snake was concerned, the other woman was merely a rat wandering too close to a hunger predator.
Death Adder lunged forward at Tsunami, tying them up into a single collar tie. She tried shifting her weight to the right side to try to get her opponent off balance. Throwing a few uppercuts from the clinch she pulled Death Adder’s arm as if she was trying to drag it down. However, she instead transitioned into a hammerlock in the standing position. Pushing forward a bit, she let go with one arm to grasp around the hip, before letting go of the grip and wrapping her arms around Death Adder’s hip.
Twisting upwards, Tsunami arced her back into a German Suplex. Just as she was about to hit the apex, she released Death Adder from her grip at the appropriate time so that she would go flying. Landing on her belly, Tsunami was quick to get up and go to the ropes. She bounded off of them, dashing towards Death Adder so that she could drop her with an elbow, hopefully.
Adder was on her back with a hard landing, only adding fuel to the fire that was slowly rising in her soul. She didn’t wait around for the follow-up elbow, spotting it coming and rolling onto her stomach in time to avoid the impact. Pressing her palms to the mat, she hoisted herself back up and kept her gaze ever locked on Tsunami. An inch couldn’t be given, nor would she give it. Still, she waited until Tsunami was getting up, only to pounce forward again - this time with a knee aimed squarely at the other competitor’s head.
Death Adder wanted Tsunami on the mat, down on the ground where she belonged.
As Tsunami went for the elbow, she failed to realize that Death Adder had rolled away before it was too late, and she landed on the mat hard. She recoiled in pain and groaned, grabbing her elbow before eyeing Death Adder.
She posted up with both hands, not even having time to get herself situated before her opponent came at her like a cobra. And then came the knee. The knee hit Tsunami and she fell backwards, lying on her back and breathing hard as she was trying to recover quick enough. But the knee had caught her off guard and she was stuck recovering from the attack.
There was no point in celebrating a hit, not when it meant it was time to follow it up. No grandstanding. No taunting. Just precision. Adder stood over Tsunami, her lips twisted in a foul grin, standing out amidst the pale complexion of her skin, like a hawk circling its prey. The serpent in the grass lifted a foot to stomp at Tsunami’s arm. What better way to make an example than by crippling such necessary tools.
As she stomped, Death Adder felt a unique sort of glee, and she wore it on her face like a badge of honor. The stomps were quick. At the moment, it was all she was focusing on. The feeling of stomping a limb beneath her boot. It took the referee stepping in and forcing Adder to stop before she backed up, still smirking, still leering towards Tsunami, daring the girl to swing back.
Watching Death Adder circle around her did not bode well for Tsunami. She was helpless at this moment, and there were a variety of things she could do to take advantage of the momentum she had just received. It could’ve ranged from a dropkick to a full press. She looked at Death Adder, but refused to show any fear knowing that it was what Death Adder wanted.
Feeling her get closer and her shadow looming over her, Tsunami didn’t know what to expect next. Then came the stomp, the loud crashing of boot to her arm. Tsunami recoiled and grabbed her arm in pain, groaning loudly going into a fetal position of sorts as she clutched her arm. Taking the pain, she rolled to a turtle position, before getting up. She was breathing hard, building up energy for her next bout of offense.
She lunged toward Death Adder with an elbow, using the arm that her opponent had stepped on earlier. Tsunami then quickly followed up with a roundhouse kick to the abdomen, before tying Death Adder up into a single collar tie yet again.
So there was still fight to be had in Tsunami - admirable, but ultimately pointless as far as the Adder was concerned. The scared mouse could take swipes but in the end it would still succumb. Adder reeled back when the elbow collided with her, then doubled over in response to the roundhouse. Exquisite. The spark of a fight, however fleeting, made all the difference in these situations. It would’ve been boring otherwise.
But the mistake was in bringing Adder so close. Though they were locked in a tie, Adder was still smiling, damn near laughing, the way one does when they know they have the upper hand. It happened suddenly, and just out of the eyeshot of the referee. When the collar tie was locked in, Death Adder delivered a shot of Venom. Quick and purple, just enough to be aggravating. Never corner a venomous snake.
The laughing from Death Adder was ominous, giving Tsunami a sinking feeling in her stomach before all she could see was purple. She let go of the tie and covered her eyes, selling it by groaning in pain and trying to get the furthest from Death Adder as she could. She still couldn’t see, and eventually she found herself on the ropes. Death Adder was definitely like a Cobra, but Tsunami was the Mongoose to the Cobra.
She glanced at Death Adder, her vision still slightly unclear from the venom attack from earlier. She rolled out of the mat and onto the floor, trying to take things out of the ring.
Running away or a tactical retreat? It didn’t matter where Tsunami went, Death was sure to follow. After taking a moment to admire the way in which Tsunami was clearly in pain, clearly feeling the effects of the Venom, Death Adder followed along, stepping through the ropes and outside of the ring in hot pursuit. Out here, the rules were different as far as Adder was concerned. She could hear the disapproval of the rubes in the audience and that only made her more eager to kill this inferior specimen.
Death Adder came up behind Tsunami, grabbing her by the neck with a loud, sinister laugh. There was no elegance or technical skill behind the hold, just a raw, brutal sort of application, and her intent was clear from the jump. Adder had every intention of using this leverage to throw Tsunami into the security barricade. Out here, this was no longer a match. It was, in the eyes of the Adder, lawless. This was a brawl now.
Landing against the security barrier, Tsunami recoiled in pain once again as she bounced back onto the floor. She lied on her belly, putting her arm up and trying desperately to get herself back up, but she couldn’t. Tsunami was stunned from the impact. She glanced up at Death Adder. She was strong for sure. But, Tsunami had been through worse. She figured that she had to change up the strategy in order to break through Death Adder’s overwhelming confidence.
Tsunami slowly mustered up strength to get back up, the crowd’s energy surging as she got back up. Breathing heavily, she summoned the energy to start sprinting. The wrestler put her leg on Death Adder’s leg, before going for the enzuigiri. If it worked, Tsunami had every intention in the world to try to pull off a gutbuster on Death Adder and reciprocate the damage and pain that she had inflicted on her.
After Tsunami hit the barrier, Adder was widening her grin. The way the body bounced and fell...the subtle sounds as the plucky little prey hit the ground...it was sweeter than any symphony. In the eyes of the predatory Death Adder, the sight of a loved member of the roster on the ground in pain was a victory in and of itself. She was reveling in the sounds of disapproval. She was taking pride in her handiwork. And she was savoring the moment before going in for the kill.
But the moment to bask in her brief success was met only with a kick to the head. The brief moment of pause was enough for the fight or flight instincts in the little mouse to kick in, and presently the switch was flipped to fight. In an instant, the predator was doubled over and then being dropped in kind, now on the floor in a bursting sting of pain. She could hear the swinging change to the crowd, happy that the hunter was being shown the floor. It wouldn’t end like that. Tsunami might have fought back and taken the advantage but in the process she made one major mistake.
She made Death Adder angry.
No more admiration. No more pausing to appreciate the aesthetics of a beaten idol. The Adder would slowly rise to one knee, eyes glaring towards Tsunami, and like a snake coiled and ready, she would make a move to strike, To pounce and to simply do whatever it took to strike at and drop this little upstart.
Abandoning the plan to hit a gutbuster, Tsunami backed up and gave Death Adder some space, after learning her lesson with the sudden venom attack. She took a deep breath, watching her and studying whatever she was doing. Watching her pounce, Tsunami failed to react accordingly and was hit by Death Adder’s burst of offense.
Tsunami stumbled back a bit, trying to make sure that she didn’t outright lose her balance. This had turned into a brawl, and Tsunami was more than willing to bring it to Death Adder. The distance between them was closed, coming in with a superman punch and then following with a rolling savate to the body. Backing away Tsunami was trying to figure out what else she could do to Death Adder, weary of the many tricks she had up her sleeves.
Whatever tricks were in the Adder’s bag remained tucked inside - ever since leaving the safety of the ring all pretense of elegance or by-the-books encounters were tossed aside. After being hit back with a hard punch and a kick, Adder only glared towards Tsunami - after gritting her teeth and grunting once the blows had subsided. One good turn deserved another and the space between them was again diminished as this time it was the coiled strike of the serpent taking her chance.
Like a sudden sting, so too did Adder jump forth - partially out of desperation - to use her momentum to bring Tsunami to the ground just to start giving mounted punches to the spry woman’s face. Adder’s brow was furrowed and her gaze murderous. Whatever it took to mop up Tsunami, Death Adder was going to find it. Or die trying.
Taken back by Adder’s takedown, she was helpless on her back. She tried to wiggle her way out of the position but she couldn't. This position usually meant she was going to be in some pain very, very soon. There was too much that she could do from this position.
Putting her arms up, she shielded herself from the onslaught of punches. Some went through some were blocked. Tsunami was now put into a position where she had to be more and more desperate. She put her arm on Adder’s abdomen, trying to get her to stand straight up so Tsunami could wiggle her way out. But just as she tried to do so, the bell rang and the referee was waving his hands as if the match was over. Tsunami was confused, but then she realized where she was and sighed in disappointment.
They had both counted themselves out, and neither had won the match.
Even after the bell sounded and the double count-out was ruled, Adder was smirking. To her it wasn’t about winning or losing, it had all been about making a statement. Her final message was a final, definitive punch before standing up to the chorus of boos. She looked over her handiwork, the young Tsunami on the ground, and again Death Adder grinned like a sinister villain. Her grin never faded, even as she walked her way back up the ramp.
Her job was done for the night.
The black jacket with engraved white sleeves was hanging off her already, more for style than function, and her style was certainly on display; from the sleeveless top that rested above her navel, to the equally black pair of shorts that matched the near thigh-high boots; as far as attire went it was hardly conventional, but it was clear from the makeup and accessories that this was a woman who cared more about the style than the usability.
There was purpose in her stance, as she stood there in the spotlight listening to the thumping notes of her music. The thin fingers of her right hand were curled around a microphone and she lifted her left hand, closing it into a fist to kill the music. She had all the time in the world between here and the ring, and she was going to use every moment of it.
"I don’t know about you all but I’m bored. I’m bored of what passes for talent in the women’s locker room - though let’s not pretend the men are doing much better. How could I NOT be, with what slim pickings there are. Never in my life have I seen a larger gathering of basic bitches and fakers failing - or sleeping - their way upwards. And I come from Los Angeles, where every corner coffee shop or restaurant has ten women waiting for the casting call before deciding to take the backroom casting couch call. You all know the one.”
Death Adder was slowly making her way to the ring, having the audience’s attention if not their approval. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t here to garner applause.
"Of course we all know someone that’s very familiar with backroom couches. Honey, just because you’re a champion at throating doesn’t make you a champion of a division, title or not. When the boss of a company has his secretary take some dictation under a desk, she doesn’t get a promotion. Hell, she doesn’t even get respect. Calling yourself a queen doesn’t make it true, no matter how many metaphors or overpriced chairs you buy. People don’t boo you because they’re jealous or they’re haters, or whatever garbage you tell yourself to pretend it doesn’t bother you. They boo you because the most interesting thing about you is Drayden. The only thing you bring to the ring, queenie is something they can get better with a Google search, some privacy, and a box of Kleenex; and it’d be more stimulating and interesting than anything you’ve done in what you call your ‘career’.”
“But of course, one can’t talk about the wannabe queen without bringing up the other girl playing like this is high school politics and cliques all over again. For every preppy whore there’s the gothic creep that just discovered that ankhs and crosses go great with a helping of angst. The two of you can’t seem to co-exist, between the petty jabs of princess plastic and the poor-man’s bdsm styling of miss mixed metaphors. And you’d think they’d get along so well, what with them having so many things in common. Lack of talent, inability to enthrall, deep rooted daddy issues expressing themselves in different ways… Honey, no one’s afraid of you or your elementary use of mix-matched imagery. Here’s an idea. Go hook up with the rest of your little wiccan friends and conjure up an original personality. At least your dad had the good sense to rip off Jason Voorhes - people actually liked those movies.”
Though she was now circling the ring, Death Adder was not done. There were more than just two of the easiest targets possible. Who hadn’t had a go at the top slags of the company?
"Of course, I mentioned that I was bored of the division and nowhere is that more obvious than the personification of boredom that is miss can’t choose a career path. What, was the military too normal for you? Was it too hard to get beaten senseless by people who actually care enough to do something they believe in? How long is it going to take before you decide that the AWE isn’t for you? As soon as you start to lose over and over again? I thought the military was supposed to instill discipline and responsibility, yet did I not hear you go on and blame Jennifer’s Frumpy Body for you losing to a damn mute and Sailor Moon. The big strong soldier can’t fight her own battles. Boo hoo. I give it six months and continued losses before you move on to something else you can get bored of because of a lack of competence. You don’t care about this place, G.I. Jane. So do us all a favor and muscle your way out of here.”
“Oh, I’m not done. Not at all. Because for as utterly devoid of originality that the terrible trio might be, at least they do something, which is more than I can say for the god damn kindergarten class that exists back there. I thought this was a wrestling company, not AnimeCon with special guest literally who and the cosplayer with an alias about as decent as Hot Topic’s dye job. I’m sure hurricane otaku and still illegal in all fifty states fox-girl will do something to make us all collectively snore as soon as they’re done gushing over their magical girl collection. I wasn’t aware we were in a constant state of bring your child to work day.”
“But then how else am I supposed to account for nepotism given flesh and named after the ugly girl from The Matrix. I’m sure you’re doing your family proud, dear, you’re about as mediocre as the lot of them; doing the family name proud, you are. Given your sister’s lack of charisma during interviews maybe you’re the one that got the spurt of talent from your parents. Because one of you has to live up to the legacy of being absolutely forgetful, right?”
Having made her way through the roster in various forms, Adder finally took a moment to pause and take in the negative response to her string of insults. And yet she still lifted the mic to her lips once more, complete with a lethal smirk.
"And because I have each and every one of you fraudulent, boring, basic bitches pegged, I know that none of you are going to do anything about it. Barbie can’t even jump without Ken around to catch her, Morgana’s too busy taking notes on horror movies to rip off - when she should be taking notes on how to call bitches out from yours truly, but then she’d be made even MORE unoriginal. Sydney can’t find the time between lifting a dumbbell and flipping through a job booklet and the others? They’ve got homework and a curfew to worry about. But all of them, every single one - even the weird mute - would all say the exact same thing in response to my words here. Some junk about me being jealous, or a hater, or how it doesn’t bother them, the same exact spiel they spout night after night like the broken records that is their entire careers.”
“Which is why I’m putting the entire division on blast right here and right now. Show me that there’s more to any of you than your sub-par looks and your below-par personalities. But of course you won’t. None of you will. Because, like I said at the start, you’re all so utterly boring. Prove me wrong.”
With her statement of intent clear, the venomous Death Adder dropped her jacket as well as the microphone, widening her smirk and watching the ramp for anyone. The entire division was on her notice now, it was only a matter of time before they all felt the sting.
After hearing the challenge from Death Adder, Tsunami felt her blood boil after what witnessing what she had done to her allies. No one runs in on her allies like that without getting a piece of what Tsunami did best. She stood up from her seat on the couch and made her way to the main stage. She was seeing red and quite honestly wanted to beat the living shit out of Death Adder.
Walking up to the curtain, she put her hands on her hips and waited for her music to start playing. Standing there, looking down and swaying idly, she finally heard that sweet, sweet guitar riff and dashed outside. She still had to give the crowd a show, though. Tsunami came out, her arms raised and getting the crowd amped up as she went over to the side and gave a couple of people high fives, before going to the other side and doing the same to another few lucky fans.
With her entrance ritual finally over with, Tsunami stared down Death Adder wherever she was and made her way there, knowing that all she wanted to do was to get redemption for her friends.
For a moment, however brief, there was a smile on the Adder’s crimson lips. Of all the women backstage, of all the little wannabes and try-hards this was who answered the call? Under normal circumstances Adder might even have given Tsunami the smallest of props for having the fortitude and bravery to answer the challenge. It took some sort of moxie to essentially sign one’s own death warrant. Death Adder’s smirk dropped almost as soon as her fake clapping had. There was no time to waste on words or remarks; this was a statement, after all. And when one made a statement of intent, one didn’t have the luxury of wasting time.
As the stare-off, such as it was, ended, it was the venomous snake that pounced first, practically bounding forward to chop at Tsunami hard, swift, and fierce. There would be nothing pretty about this fight if Adder had her way. As far as the snake was concerned, the other woman was merely a rat wandering too close to a hunger predator.
Death Adder lunged forward at Tsunami, tying them up into a single collar tie. She tried shifting her weight to the right side to try to get her opponent off balance. Throwing a few uppercuts from the clinch she pulled Death Adder’s arm as if she was trying to drag it down. However, she instead transitioned into a hammerlock in the standing position. Pushing forward a bit, she let go with one arm to grasp around the hip, before letting go of the grip and wrapping her arms around Death Adder’s hip.
Twisting upwards, Tsunami arced her back into a German Suplex. Just as she was about to hit the apex, she released Death Adder from her grip at the appropriate time so that she would go flying. Landing on her belly, Tsunami was quick to get up and go to the ropes. She bounded off of them, dashing towards Death Adder so that she could drop her with an elbow, hopefully.
Adder was on her back with a hard landing, only adding fuel to the fire that was slowly rising in her soul. She didn’t wait around for the follow-up elbow, spotting it coming and rolling onto her stomach in time to avoid the impact. Pressing her palms to the mat, she hoisted herself back up and kept her gaze ever locked on Tsunami. An inch couldn’t be given, nor would she give it. Still, she waited until Tsunami was getting up, only to pounce forward again - this time with a knee aimed squarely at the other competitor’s head.
Death Adder wanted Tsunami on the mat, down on the ground where she belonged.
As Tsunami went for the elbow, she failed to realize that Death Adder had rolled away before it was too late, and she landed on the mat hard. She recoiled in pain and groaned, grabbing her elbow before eyeing Death Adder.
She posted up with both hands, not even having time to get herself situated before her opponent came at her like a cobra. And then came the knee. The knee hit Tsunami and she fell backwards, lying on her back and breathing hard as she was trying to recover quick enough. But the knee had caught her off guard and she was stuck recovering from the attack.
There was no point in celebrating a hit, not when it meant it was time to follow it up. No grandstanding. No taunting. Just precision. Adder stood over Tsunami, her lips twisted in a foul grin, standing out amidst the pale complexion of her skin, like a hawk circling its prey. The serpent in the grass lifted a foot to stomp at Tsunami’s arm. What better way to make an example than by crippling such necessary tools.
As she stomped, Death Adder felt a unique sort of glee, and she wore it on her face like a badge of honor. The stomps were quick. At the moment, it was all she was focusing on. The feeling of stomping a limb beneath her boot. It took the referee stepping in and forcing Adder to stop before she backed up, still smirking, still leering towards Tsunami, daring the girl to swing back.
Watching Death Adder circle around her did not bode well for Tsunami. She was helpless at this moment, and there were a variety of things she could do to take advantage of the momentum she had just received. It could’ve ranged from a dropkick to a full press. She looked at Death Adder, but refused to show any fear knowing that it was what Death Adder wanted.
Feeling her get closer and her shadow looming over her, Tsunami didn’t know what to expect next. Then came the stomp, the loud crashing of boot to her arm. Tsunami recoiled and grabbed her arm in pain, groaning loudly going into a fetal position of sorts as she clutched her arm. Taking the pain, she rolled to a turtle position, before getting up. She was breathing hard, building up energy for her next bout of offense.
She lunged toward Death Adder with an elbow, using the arm that her opponent had stepped on earlier. Tsunami then quickly followed up with a roundhouse kick to the abdomen, before tying Death Adder up into a single collar tie yet again.
So there was still fight to be had in Tsunami - admirable, but ultimately pointless as far as the Adder was concerned. The scared mouse could take swipes but in the end it would still succumb. Adder reeled back when the elbow collided with her, then doubled over in response to the roundhouse. Exquisite. The spark of a fight, however fleeting, made all the difference in these situations. It would’ve been boring otherwise.
But the mistake was in bringing Adder so close. Though they were locked in a tie, Adder was still smiling, damn near laughing, the way one does when they know they have the upper hand. It happened suddenly, and just out of the eyeshot of the referee. When the collar tie was locked in, Death Adder delivered a shot of Venom. Quick and purple, just enough to be aggravating. Never corner a venomous snake.
The laughing from Death Adder was ominous, giving Tsunami a sinking feeling in her stomach before all she could see was purple. She let go of the tie and covered her eyes, selling it by groaning in pain and trying to get the furthest from Death Adder as she could. She still couldn’t see, and eventually she found herself on the ropes. Death Adder was definitely like a Cobra, but Tsunami was the Mongoose to the Cobra.
She glanced at Death Adder, her vision still slightly unclear from the venom attack from earlier. She rolled out of the mat and onto the floor, trying to take things out of the ring.
Running away or a tactical retreat? It didn’t matter where Tsunami went, Death was sure to follow. After taking a moment to admire the way in which Tsunami was clearly in pain, clearly feeling the effects of the Venom, Death Adder followed along, stepping through the ropes and outside of the ring in hot pursuit. Out here, the rules were different as far as Adder was concerned. She could hear the disapproval of the rubes in the audience and that only made her more eager to kill this inferior specimen.
Death Adder came up behind Tsunami, grabbing her by the neck with a loud, sinister laugh. There was no elegance or technical skill behind the hold, just a raw, brutal sort of application, and her intent was clear from the jump. Adder had every intention of using this leverage to throw Tsunami into the security barricade. Out here, this was no longer a match. It was, in the eyes of the Adder, lawless. This was a brawl now.
Landing against the security barrier, Tsunami recoiled in pain once again as she bounced back onto the floor. She lied on her belly, putting her arm up and trying desperately to get herself back up, but she couldn’t. Tsunami was stunned from the impact. She glanced up at Death Adder. She was strong for sure. But, Tsunami had been through worse. She figured that she had to change up the strategy in order to break through Death Adder’s overwhelming confidence.
Tsunami slowly mustered up strength to get back up, the crowd’s energy surging as she got back up. Breathing heavily, she summoned the energy to start sprinting. The wrestler put her leg on Death Adder’s leg, before going for the enzuigiri. If it worked, Tsunami had every intention in the world to try to pull off a gutbuster on Death Adder and reciprocate the damage and pain that she had inflicted on her.
After Tsunami hit the barrier, Adder was widening her grin. The way the body bounced and fell...the subtle sounds as the plucky little prey hit the ground...it was sweeter than any symphony. In the eyes of the predatory Death Adder, the sight of a loved member of the roster on the ground in pain was a victory in and of itself. She was reveling in the sounds of disapproval. She was taking pride in her handiwork. And she was savoring the moment before going in for the kill.
But the moment to bask in her brief success was met only with a kick to the head. The brief moment of pause was enough for the fight or flight instincts in the little mouse to kick in, and presently the switch was flipped to fight. In an instant, the predator was doubled over and then being dropped in kind, now on the floor in a bursting sting of pain. She could hear the swinging change to the crowd, happy that the hunter was being shown the floor. It wouldn’t end like that. Tsunami might have fought back and taken the advantage but in the process she made one major mistake.
She made Death Adder angry.
No more admiration. No more pausing to appreciate the aesthetics of a beaten idol. The Adder would slowly rise to one knee, eyes glaring towards Tsunami, and like a snake coiled and ready, she would make a move to strike, To pounce and to simply do whatever it took to strike at and drop this little upstart.
Abandoning the plan to hit a gutbuster, Tsunami backed up and gave Death Adder some space, after learning her lesson with the sudden venom attack. She took a deep breath, watching her and studying whatever she was doing. Watching her pounce, Tsunami failed to react accordingly and was hit by Death Adder’s burst of offense.
Tsunami stumbled back a bit, trying to make sure that she didn’t outright lose her balance. This had turned into a brawl, and Tsunami was more than willing to bring it to Death Adder. The distance between them was closed, coming in with a superman punch and then following with a rolling savate to the body. Backing away Tsunami was trying to figure out what else she could do to Death Adder, weary of the many tricks she had up her sleeves.
Whatever tricks were in the Adder’s bag remained tucked inside - ever since leaving the safety of the ring all pretense of elegance or by-the-books encounters were tossed aside. After being hit back with a hard punch and a kick, Adder only glared towards Tsunami - after gritting her teeth and grunting once the blows had subsided. One good turn deserved another and the space between them was again diminished as this time it was the coiled strike of the serpent taking her chance.
Like a sudden sting, so too did Adder jump forth - partially out of desperation - to use her momentum to bring Tsunami to the ground just to start giving mounted punches to the spry woman’s face. Adder’s brow was furrowed and her gaze murderous. Whatever it took to mop up Tsunami, Death Adder was going to find it. Or die trying.
Taken back by Adder’s takedown, she was helpless on her back. She tried to wiggle her way out of the position but she couldn't. This position usually meant she was going to be in some pain very, very soon. There was too much that she could do from this position.
Putting her arms up, she shielded herself from the onslaught of punches. Some went through some were blocked. Tsunami was now put into a position where she had to be more and more desperate. She put her arm on Adder’s abdomen, trying to get her to stand straight up so Tsunami could wiggle her way out. But just as she tried to do so, the bell rang and the referee was waving his hands as if the match was over. Tsunami was confused, but then she realized where she was and sighed in disappointment.
They had both counted themselves out, and neither had won the match.
Even after the bell sounded and the double count-out was ruled, Adder was smirking. To her it wasn’t about winning or losing, it had all been about making a statement. Her final message was a final, definitive punch before standing up to the chorus of boos. She looked over her handiwork, the young Tsunami on the ground, and again Death Adder grinned like a sinister villain. Her grin never faded, even as she walked her way back up the ramp.
Her job was done for the night.
Joy held her mic up to her lips and smiled at the camera, “After hearing so much talk about her in LA and Chicago, I thought it was about time for us to hear a few words from Barbie Summers herself.” Turning her body to face the door, but keeping it angled so Chance could still see her face, Joy brought her free hand up and gently knocked on the door.
As glitzy and glamorous as the star herself, the dressing room door was decked out sparkling decor. Pink, so much pink. At the center of it hung a plaque that looked like a movie director’s clapperboard, with Barbie’s name chalked in neat, elegant script. Said door swung open to reveal the devastatingly gorgeous blonde wrestler. Her hair hung in big, loose, sensual curls that reached past her shoulders and almost to her elbows. She pushed her crystal-rimmed Gucci sunglasses carefully up her forehead and atop her crown of golden locks.
She sighed dramatically upon seeing the guest at her door, playing up the “I can’t be bothered by this paparazzi” celebrity vibe that her character was written to have these days. Barbie rolled her eyes, the lids of which sported an amount of shimmering silver and pink shadow that seemed more fit for RuPaul’s Drag Race than any AWE event. Everything about Barbie Summers dripped ‘extra’, and it was meant to. Barbie is extra, more extra than anyone else will ever be, and they needed to be reminded that every day. “What is it, Joy? You’re interrupting me heading out for a walk.”
Crinkling her nose, Joy sweetly apologized, “I know how busy you are, and I’m sorry for intervening with your… busy schedule, but I just need to ask you.” and in with the hard hitting question she went, “Last week you were called out by not only one wrestler, but two. Sydney Ellis called you a coward and Morgana basically threw your words back at you and insinuated that you, Barbie Summers, are a hypocrite. As we all know, she believes you are Drayden’s shadow and could not make it out in this business without him. What are your thoughts? There seems to be a lot of heat heading in your direction.”
“First off, who even is this Sydney?” Barbara asked, flipping a curl over her shoulder gracefully and ignoring any attempt that Joy might have at responding to said question. “Secondly, I am no hypocrite. Barbie Summers stands in no one’s shadow. No man, no woman, nor deity, is on my level. I’m a star, darling, I light up the entire night sky. There is no place for shadows when you shine as bright as I do. As for Morgana, the poor thing is just jealous. Her dark heart doesn’t have any room to spare for love, isn’t that sad? She’s just a girl lashing out at a happy couple, all because she is forever alone.” The blonde didn’t even look slightest bit sad at her words, nor did she look like she regretted any of them. Instead, she wore a matter-of-fact, smug grin as she looked passed Joy, and into the camera lens.
“I don’t mind the heat, that’s what it means to stand in the light. And isn’t my tan looking great these days?” Barbie extended her right arm to display the golden glow that she spoke of to Joy, turning her attention back to the interviewer now. “Is that all?”
Joy internally was impressed. The amount of cockiness and pride that Barbie Summers had was absolutely fantastic. Standing here, inches away, Joy was enthralled. She could only imagine what the audience would think. “No actually, it isn’t.” Joy took a step closer and locked her gaze with her interviewee. This is what the audience truly wanted to hear. “Will you fight?” Her question filled the air with heavy connotations behind it, before she added, “Today, Sydney Ellis and Morgana will go at it, to ultimately get to you. And I will quote Sydney Ellis’ words, for verbatim, Barbie Summers can not and will not fight me. Is this going to be the case or…?” Joy intentionally trailed off to get Barbara a chance to chime in.
“I don’t know who this nobody thinks she is, but sure, I’m willing to put anybody and everyone in their place. Is this… is this GI Jane? The one who wasn’t even worth Morgana’s time?” Barbara acted out the false realization immaculately, and then laughed a tinkling bell of a laugh. Placing a hand to her voluptuous chest, she caught her breath in a sigh. “Oh, this is bound to be good. You can tell her this, verbatim: Come at me, honey, and I’ll have you seeing stars, just like the rest of the peasants below me.”
The glammed up dressing room door was suddenly blocking Joy’s view, as Barbie slammed it in the interviewer’s face to punctuate her final statement. The queen hath spoken.
As glitzy and glamorous as the star herself, the dressing room door was decked out sparkling decor. Pink, so much pink. At the center of it hung a plaque that looked like a movie director’s clapperboard, with Barbie’s name chalked in neat, elegant script. Said door swung open to reveal the devastatingly gorgeous blonde wrestler. Her hair hung in big, loose, sensual curls that reached past her shoulders and almost to her elbows. She pushed her crystal-rimmed Gucci sunglasses carefully up her forehead and atop her crown of golden locks.
She sighed dramatically upon seeing the guest at her door, playing up the “I can’t be bothered by this paparazzi” celebrity vibe that her character was written to have these days. Barbie rolled her eyes, the lids of which sported an amount of shimmering silver and pink shadow that seemed more fit for RuPaul’s Drag Race than any AWE event. Everything about Barbie Summers dripped ‘extra’, and it was meant to. Barbie is extra, more extra than anyone else will ever be, and they needed to be reminded that every day. “What is it, Joy? You’re interrupting me heading out for a walk.”
Crinkling her nose, Joy sweetly apologized, “I know how busy you are, and I’m sorry for intervening with your… busy schedule, but I just need to ask you.” and in with the hard hitting question she went, “Last week you were called out by not only one wrestler, but two. Sydney Ellis called you a coward and Morgana basically threw your words back at you and insinuated that you, Barbie Summers, are a hypocrite. As we all know, she believes you are Drayden’s shadow and could not make it out in this business without him. What are your thoughts? There seems to be a lot of heat heading in your direction.”
“First off, who even is this Sydney?” Barbara asked, flipping a curl over her shoulder gracefully and ignoring any attempt that Joy might have at responding to said question. “Secondly, I am no hypocrite. Barbie Summers stands in no one’s shadow. No man, no woman, nor deity, is on my level. I’m a star, darling, I light up the entire night sky. There is no place for shadows when you shine as bright as I do. As for Morgana, the poor thing is just jealous. Her dark heart doesn’t have any room to spare for love, isn’t that sad? She’s just a girl lashing out at a happy couple, all because she is forever alone.” The blonde didn’t even look slightest bit sad at her words, nor did she look like she regretted any of them. Instead, she wore a matter-of-fact, smug grin as she looked passed Joy, and into the camera lens.
“I don’t mind the heat, that’s what it means to stand in the light. And isn’t my tan looking great these days?” Barbie extended her right arm to display the golden glow that she spoke of to Joy, turning her attention back to the interviewer now. “Is that all?”
Joy internally was impressed. The amount of cockiness and pride that Barbie Summers had was absolutely fantastic. Standing here, inches away, Joy was enthralled. She could only imagine what the audience would think. “No actually, it isn’t.” Joy took a step closer and locked her gaze with her interviewee. This is what the audience truly wanted to hear. “Will you fight?” Her question filled the air with heavy connotations behind it, before she added, “Today, Sydney Ellis and Morgana will go at it, to ultimately get to you. And I will quote Sydney Ellis’ words, for verbatim, Barbie Summers can not and will not fight me. Is this going to be the case or…?” Joy intentionally trailed off to get Barbara a chance to chime in.
“I don’t know who this nobody thinks she is, but sure, I’m willing to put anybody and everyone in their place. Is this… is this GI Jane? The one who wasn’t even worth Morgana’s time?” Barbara acted out the false realization immaculately, and then laughed a tinkling bell of a laugh. Placing a hand to her voluptuous chest, she caught her breath in a sigh. “Oh, this is bound to be good. You can tell her this, verbatim: Come at me, honey, and I’ll have you seeing stars, just like the rest of the peasants below me.”
The glammed up dressing room door was suddenly blocking Joy’s view, as Barbie slammed it in the interviewer’s face to punctuate her final statement. The queen hath spoken.
Hot on of the heels of an ever-arrogant Barbie Summers, Zachary Wake grabbed a mic, then waited eagerly in the gorilla position for his match. Wake quite liked the woman’s work, but her arrogance was nothing compared to what was about to come. Zack looked over to see Roger from sound give him a smile with his unkempt goatee, then pressed a button on his computer, signifying the beginning of Zachary’s theme. Zack smiled back and nodded at the man, then walked out onto the stage. Even beyond the loudness of Zack’s epic theme, the boos were phenomenal. After all, who could forget what Zack did to Winters just two weeks ago? Not only had Caiden just lost the most intense match of his night the previous night for the AWE championship, but Wake stole away his second opportunity the very next day with a low blow.
Wake’s music died down as he stood in the middle of the ramp, and he let the boos continue for a few more seconds before holding the microphone up to his lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, the boos grew louder, and Wake had to stifle a laugh at the reaction he got.
God it was fun to be hated.
“As many of you know, two weeks ago I laid out Caiden Winters in the middle of the ring, killing his opportunity at the gold he so obviously works hard for. Now, I understand that you’re upset he lost, what smark doesn't? But the part that I don’t quite understand is that you BOO ME for it. In case all of you have forgotten, I am a tag team champion, and intercontinental champion, and I’ve worked in this business for TEN GODDAMN YEARS. If anyone in this tournament deserves to be here IT’S ME.” Zack walked down the ramp and up the steel steps, then continued. “Caiden Winters was a joke, and tonight, I’ll prove that Thunderbird is no different. After all, if you recall, last week he defeated Sexton with a roll-up pin.” Zachary laughed as he stepped into the ring. “A roll-up, huh? That is quite possibly the cheapest way to pick up a victory. I have no respect for cowards like him.”
The flurry of boos resumed here with a chant of “YOU’RE A CHEATER!” clap clap clapclapclap started up.
The Native American drums started up and A Tribe Called Red’s music came blaring over the speakers throughout the stadium. The fans in the arena were on their feet cheering for the masked hero of the masses. Thunderbird’s last opponent didn’t see the roll up coming, and after locking eyes with Sexton backstage before stepping out, he knew he’d gained an enemy for life. He just did the job he was told. Jon couldn’t help what the writers decide. He stepped out of the curtain and entered down the ramp leading to the ring.
The fans went nuts. Truth be told Redcrow was a bit nervous. This guy he was facing had twice the experience and was a little bigger. And a damn good heel. However, he looked across the crowd and knew he wasn’t there for the win, he was there for the people. The kid near the front in the Thunderbird mask. The old man in the head dress. Other fans reached out to touch their hero from the sides of the entry ramp and Thunderbird reached out to slap as many hands he could. The kid in the mask up front? Thunderbird got down and shook the kid’s hand and pulled him close for a selfie the child’s mother was taking. The Native didn’t care if he took a beating tonight, he knew that kid would remember this night for the rest of his life. Before Wake could open his mouth again Thunderbird slid into the ring quickly and his opponent dove through the ropes. Then the war dance started from the four sides of the ring ending in the wrestler standing on the second turnbuckle and beating his chest before removing the large head dress. As he did so he felt a double axe handle on his back, being hit from behind, and the ref signaled for the bell.
Wake wasted no time in gaining the upper hand in this fight. He knew Jon loved his flippy shit, and the first opportunity to do said flippy shit, he would take. Now, with Thunderbird hunched over on the top rope, Zack pointed and laughed. The crowd booed in response. Then, in an attempt to finish the match before it really started, Zack placed his head in between Thunderbird’s legs, setting up the electric chair. Jon managed to use the ropes to keep from getting lifted and in luchador-like fashion he threw the heel out of the ring through the ropes with a head-scissor. As his opponent went to the outside of the ring, Thunderbird stepped back on the top rope and after screaming a battle cry threw himself like a corkscrew at his adversary, who scrambled to his feet only to see a body flying in his general direction. Goddamn lucha-bullshit.
Zack held his hands up to catch his adversary, yet still put on a scared expression to make it appear as if he were cowering in fear. The duo tumbled to the ground, and the crowd popped at the intense move right out of the gate. Without hesitation, Thunderbird sprung up from the ground, seemingly unhurt by the move, and picked up Zack, slamming his head into the barricade a few times for good measure before leading him back to the ring. Zack rolled in and stood up on his knees, dazed as Thunderbird climbed back into the ring.
The face stared down at his opponent, then reached to pick him up, being stopped as his legs were pulled away from underneath him, and hitting the mat hard. Not to be caught off guard Thunderbird kicked up at the heel who was still low to the ground and connected to the side of his face before springing up from his back like martial artists often do. The crowd lit up and using their momentum Jon ran and hit the ropes coming back at Wake with a knee strike to the head. He grabbed him up from the ground and sent him into a totem pole suplex. If the crowd could see under the sky blue mask they’d see that smile that gets Jon Redcrow in everyone’s good graces. It was a completely different atmosphere than the Japanese circuit he’d began in. He picked Wake up again and whipped him to the ropes. Thunderbird went for a clothesline, and the heel ducked and came off the ropes with with an explosive clothesline, turning the tide of the battle.
Zachary looked down at Jon and laughed, before getting down in one knee, grabbing a handful of hair, and lifting it up before bashing The Native’s head back down with a fist directly to the nose. Wake repeated twice more before the referee forced Wake’s hand off of Thunderbird’s hair. As Wake stood up once more, then stomped a black boot onto Thunderbird’s face. Methodically, Zack paced around Thunderbird in a circle, stomping on several more limbs, before once more yanking The Native to his feet by his hair.
Wake then kicked Redcrow in the gut, and lifted him up into a stalling suplex, leaving him in the air for a good seven or so seconds before letting his opponent crash down onto the ground. Quickly after getting up, Zack grabbed both of Thunderbird’s legs and folded him overlocking in a vicious Liontamer. Jon’s back was arched such that his face was being smooshed against the ground, and his legs were up above . No cresent expect the moon could rival it, and even then the liontamer would put up a pretty damn good fight. Thunderbird struggled on the floor arms flailing to touch anything. Hit Wake, grab a rope, it didn’t matter, ‘cause it HURT. Zachary only continued to apply pressure, arching The Native’s back further and further.
Even if this was a work, the pain was sure as hell real for Jon. Nevertheless, the hold continued. Zachary looked down, then quietly said. “I’ll lift up, curl up and get out of the hold.” And though Jon was too busy practically being tortured, he heard the message. Zack then looked up, and shouted into the crowd. “YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS!” Whether he was talking to the crowd or Thunderbird, it didn’t matter, because as he did, Zack took some of the pressure off of the liontamer, allowing Jon to push up with his hand and duck his head underneath himself, then launched up into the air, grabbed Zachary’s shoulders, and leant backwards, flipping Zack over the top of him. Zack took the monkey flip well, soaring through the air, then crashing into the mat with a flat back.
Redcrow took the opportunity to climb back to his feet, using the ropes as to assist himself. As he got up, now leaning against the ropes, Zack ran full blast at him, attempting to connect a clothesline. Thunderbird, however, had a different idea. He ducked down and pushed up on Wake’s chest launching him over the top rope, with Wake landing on the apron. As Zack was flying overhead, Jon said to him: “Springboard dropkick.” Zack grabbed with both hands onto the rope, preventing himself from falling onto the hard ground below. He acted groggy, and to an extent, he was. Rassilin’ really takes it outta you. Thunderbird looked at Wake, looked at the turnbuckle, then quickly looked at the crowd, who cheered in anticipation. Thunderbird ran at the ropes perpendicular to the ones Zack was at, jumped on them, then leapt off towards Wake feet first, crashing into him with a vicious dropkick.
Zack took the kick and, with both its force and a little jump from him, he flew backwards, crashing back first into the announcer’s table. Zack dropped to his knees in pain and grasped him back, then made a show to hobble pain to the ring and roll in ever so slowly. Thunderbird wasted no time getting back in the attack, stomping on Zack once before stepping out onto the apron and up onto the top turnbuckle. The crowd started to stand up, take out phones, cheer, chant, and wait in anticipation for Wake to stumble to his feet. Wake obliged, doing the old “turn around slowly while dazed” action, then ate a big dropkick as The Bird soared through the sky. Zack fell onto his back, then rolled further backwards so he flipped around onto his stomach, in the centre of the ring. Jon got up onto his knees and pounced onto Wake, before grabbing Wake’s arm, trapping it in between his legs, and tugging on Wake’s chin, locking in a disgustingly beautiful Crossface. Wake waved his free hand around in desperation, holding close to the ground to make it appear as if it were going to tap, before going back to waving it around.
Even though the babyface had his finisher locked in in the centre of the ring, boos started coming from all directions. Thunderbird looked around, confused, only to see the Sexellence of Sexecution come running down the entrance ramp, equipped with a chair and all. The referee approached the Lovely One, who had jumped up onto the apron, trying to get the ref to let him get into the ring. The ref only responded by pointing at the locker rooms and shouting at Sexton’s face to leave.
This was it. Zack’s opportunity. Granted, they had all planned out the spot beforehand, but it still felt like it was an opportunity Wake would have taken in real life. “You gotta seize opportunity by the balls and never let go.” At least, that was how Zachary was always taught it.
Thunderbird released his hold on Wake and began to walk over to Sexton Love, but was stopped in his tracks as he, just like Caiden Winters two weeks before, got smashed in the groin with a cheating fist. He lurched over onto his hands and knees, then collapsed onto the ground. Zachary only smiled at Sexton as the Lovely One dropped off the apron and told the ref to get back to work. Zack pounced onto Thunderbird and hooked one leg, staring and nodding at Sexton with a grimace as the ref got down to pin.
“One…” The ref started counting. The crowd got up on their feet, aggravated by what was going down. Sexton laughed and bowed towards the ring as he backed away up the ramp.
“Two…” Boos flooded the arena.
“Th-” The ref was cut off. The boos were cut off and Sexton was stopped in his tracks as Redcrow’s hand flew up into the air, his shoulder getting off the mat. Cheer upon cheer, chant upon chant rose in number and volume, and Zachary Wake could only sit up in disbelief and look down at his opponent, the man who just kicked out of a low blow.
Sexton walked back over to ringside, astonished by what happened. Zack slowly stood up, turning to the referee. “Are you freaking kidding me?! Did you not see that? Are you blind or something? That was three, shoulders down, end of story!” Zack slapped his hands together three times, making sure to get all up in the referee’s face as he yelled and complained.
“Give me a break, Wake. You’re lucky I didn’t see what happened while I was arguing with Sexton or you might not have been allowed that pin at all.” Thunderbird slowly started to rise to his feet, using the ropes to assist himself.
“EXCUSE ME? Did you just accuse me of cheating?! Some official you are, ya crapshoot!” Jon quickly exploded out of the corner he was in, curling an arm in between Wake’s legs and pulling him backwards into a rollup.
The referee jumped down and quickly counted to two, but Wake stuck a shoulder up and rolled backwards out of the pin before that final number could be said. Immediately, the two wrestlers stood up, and locked up in the centre of the ring. Both knew that if they gave up now, there would be no more AWE Championship for them. Their dream was as good as gone.
Thunderbird overpowered Wake and began to push him to the ground. At first, the heel resisted, but quickly stopped and dropped to one knee. He then took one hand and hooked it under Redcrow’s left leg and yanked, pulling the hero to the ground. Thunderbird was quick to respond, getting onto his knees and striking with a blunt, brute of a forearm, sending Wake reeling. The crowd cheered as the bird boy stood up, marching forward with a series of sickening strikes. Punches, chops, knees, you name it. It was comeback time baby. A palm strike knocked Wake onto the ropes and Redcrow pressed him backwards then pulled an arm, sending Wake to the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.
As Zack ran the ropes, he looked down at ringside where Sexton Love was chatting up a lovely looking lady. The Lovely One exchanged a nod with his heel friend, and it was decided. Time to finish this thing off. Wake ate Thunderbird’s clothesline and hit the ground hard, and crawled over to a corner, but more specifically a corner where the referee stood, making sure everything was going down smoothly. Heh. Sexton caught the ref’s attention with some snarky, probably sexist remark, and Zach positioned himself in front of the referee, standing weakly on his feet.
Redcrow let out a yell, getting the crowd riled up, and ran full throttle at Wake. He leapt up into the air and tucked up his legs, then shot them out like bullets from the gun that was his body. A beautiful dropkick that would have lead to a sweet, sweet victory - if it weren’t for Zack dropping down and ducking out of the way. Those beautiful feet crashed into the referee, and pushed the poor guy back. The ref’s head bounced off the turnbuckle, and true to form, was out cold. Thunderbird stood there, shocked at what had just transpired. Zack crawled over to an adjacent corner, grinning at Thunderbird. He’d gotten away with this filthy way of battle. Again.
Redcrow was done with this shit, and his expression showed it. Zack’s smile slowly turned to a look of fear as the birdboy marched over to him. Luckily for Wake, however, a third wrestler entered the ring. Boos ensued as the crowd realised what was about to go down. “Boy, you better learn to watch your behind!” Sexton Love proceeded to thrust at the air as he waited for the One They Call Bird to turn and face him. And as soon as the bird did, he head met a new best friend - a chair. Sexton made sure the strike was a big wallop straight down the middle. Jon’s head nearly retreated into his spine.
Thunderbird staggered backwards, almost collapsing to the ground, but being caught by a head in between his legs. Zachary Wake lifted up, raising a limp, barely conscious Jon Redcrow up into the air on his shoulders. Sexton laughed at the sight, and simply said: “Drop him.” Zack pushed up and sent Thunderbird forwards, executing a picture perfect Electric Chair Facebuster. Sexton slid out of the ring, and Zachary Wake covered Thunderbird just as the referee regained consciousness. A simple one, two and three, and the match was over. Wake’s music hit once more, and he stood valiantly over his opponent. Zack looked over at the Sexellence of Sexecution, nodded respectfully at him, and left. Once more, dirty tactics secured Zachary Wake a victory.
Wake’s music died down as he stood in the middle of the ramp, and he let the boos continue for a few more seconds before holding the microphone up to his lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, the boos grew louder, and Wake had to stifle a laugh at the reaction he got.
God it was fun to be hated.
“As many of you know, two weeks ago I laid out Caiden Winters in the middle of the ring, killing his opportunity at the gold he so obviously works hard for. Now, I understand that you’re upset he lost, what smark doesn't? But the part that I don’t quite understand is that you BOO ME for it. In case all of you have forgotten, I am a tag team champion, and intercontinental champion, and I’ve worked in this business for TEN GODDAMN YEARS. If anyone in this tournament deserves to be here IT’S ME.” Zack walked down the ramp and up the steel steps, then continued. “Caiden Winters was a joke, and tonight, I’ll prove that Thunderbird is no different. After all, if you recall, last week he defeated Sexton with a roll-up pin.” Zachary laughed as he stepped into the ring. “A roll-up, huh? That is quite possibly the cheapest way to pick up a victory. I have no respect for cowards like him.”
The flurry of boos resumed here with a chant of “YOU’RE A CHEATER!” clap clap clapclapclap started up.
The Native American drums started up and A Tribe Called Red’s music came blaring over the speakers throughout the stadium. The fans in the arena were on their feet cheering for the masked hero of the masses. Thunderbird’s last opponent didn’t see the roll up coming, and after locking eyes with Sexton backstage before stepping out, he knew he’d gained an enemy for life. He just did the job he was told. Jon couldn’t help what the writers decide. He stepped out of the curtain and entered down the ramp leading to the ring.
The fans went nuts. Truth be told Redcrow was a bit nervous. This guy he was facing had twice the experience and was a little bigger. And a damn good heel. However, he looked across the crowd and knew he wasn’t there for the win, he was there for the people. The kid near the front in the Thunderbird mask. The old man in the head dress. Other fans reached out to touch their hero from the sides of the entry ramp and Thunderbird reached out to slap as many hands he could. The kid in the mask up front? Thunderbird got down and shook the kid’s hand and pulled him close for a selfie the child’s mother was taking. The Native didn’t care if he took a beating tonight, he knew that kid would remember this night for the rest of his life. Before Wake could open his mouth again Thunderbird slid into the ring quickly and his opponent dove through the ropes. Then the war dance started from the four sides of the ring ending in the wrestler standing on the second turnbuckle and beating his chest before removing the large head dress. As he did so he felt a double axe handle on his back, being hit from behind, and the ref signaled for the bell.
Wake wasted no time in gaining the upper hand in this fight. He knew Jon loved his flippy shit, and the first opportunity to do said flippy shit, he would take. Now, with Thunderbird hunched over on the top rope, Zack pointed and laughed. The crowd booed in response. Then, in an attempt to finish the match before it really started, Zack placed his head in between Thunderbird’s legs, setting up the electric chair. Jon managed to use the ropes to keep from getting lifted and in luchador-like fashion he threw the heel out of the ring through the ropes with a head-scissor. As his opponent went to the outside of the ring, Thunderbird stepped back on the top rope and after screaming a battle cry threw himself like a corkscrew at his adversary, who scrambled to his feet only to see a body flying in his general direction. Goddamn lucha-bullshit.
Zack held his hands up to catch his adversary, yet still put on a scared expression to make it appear as if he were cowering in fear. The duo tumbled to the ground, and the crowd popped at the intense move right out of the gate. Without hesitation, Thunderbird sprung up from the ground, seemingly unhurt by the move, and picked up Zack, slamming his head into the barricade a few times for good measure before leading him back to the ring. Zack rolled in and stood up on his knees, dazed as Thunderbird climbed back into the ring.
The face stared down at his opponent, then reached to pick him up, being stopped as his legs were pulled away from underneath him, and hitting the mat hard. Not to be caught off guard Thunderbird kicked up at the heel who was still low to the ground and connected to the side of his face before springing up from his back like martial artists often do. The crowd lit up and using their momentum Jon ran and hit the ropes coming back at Wake with a knee strike to the head. He grabbed him up from the ground and sent him into a totem pole suplex. If the crowd could see under the sky blue mask they’d see that smile that gets Jon Redcrow in everyone’s good graces. It was a completely different atmosphere than the Japanese circuit he’d began in. He picked Wake up again and whipped him to the ropes. Thunderbird went for a clothesline, and the heel ducked and came off the ropes with with an explosive clothesline, turning the tide of the battle.
Zachary looked down at Jon and laughed, before getting down in one knee, grabbing a handful of hair, and lifting it up before bashing The Native’s head back down with a fist directly to the nose. Wake repeated twice more before the referee forced Wake’s hand off of Thunderbird’s hair. As Wake stood up once more, then stomped a black boot onto Thunderbird’s face. Methodically, Zack paced around Thunderbird in a circle, stomping on several more limbs, before once more yanking The Native to his feet by his hair.
Wake then kicked Redcrow in the gut, and lifted him up into a stalling suplex, leaving him in the air for a good seven or so seconds before letting his opponent crash down onto the ground. Quickly after getting up, Zack grabbed both of Thunderbird’s legs and folded him overlocking in a vicious Liontamer. Jon’s back was arched such that his face was being smooshed against the ground, and his legs were up above . No cresent expect the moon could rival it, and even then the liontamer would put up a pretty damn good fight. Thunderbird struggled on the floor arms flailing to touch anything. Hit Wake, grab a rope, it didn’t matter, ‘cause it HURT. Zachary only continued to apply pressure, arching The Native’s back further and further.
Even if this was a work, the pain was sure as hell real for Jon. Nevertheless, the hold continued. Zachary looked down, then quietly said. “I’ll lift up, curl up and get out of the hold.” And though Jon was too busy practically being tortured, he heard the message. Zack then looked up, and shouted into the crowd. “YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS!” Whether he was talking to the crowd or Thunderbird, it didn’t matter, because as he did, Zack took some of the pressure off of the liontamer, allowing Jon to push up with his hand and duck his head underneath himself, then launched up into the air, grabbed Zachary’s shoulders, and leant backwards, flipping Zack over the top of him. Zack took the monkey flip well, soaring through the air, then crashing into the mat with a flat back.
Redcrow took the opportunity to climb back to his feet, using the ropes as to assist himself. As he got up, now leaning against the ropes, Zack ran full blast at him, attempting to connect a clothesline. Thunderbird, however, had a different idea. He ducked down and pushed up on Wake’s chest launching him over the top rope, with Wake landing on the apron. As Zack was flying overhead, Jon said to him: “Springboard dropkick.” Zack grabbed with both hands onto the rope, preventing himself from falling onto the hard ground below. He acted groggy, and to an extent, he was. Rassilin’ really takes it outta you. Thunderbird looked at Wake, looked at the turnbuckle, then quickly looked at the crowd, who cheered in anticipation. Thunderbird ran at the ropes perpendicular to the ones Zack was at, jumped on them, then leapt off towards Wake feet first, crashing into him with a vicious dropkick.
Zack took the kick and, with both its force and a little jump from him, he flew backwards, crashing back first into the announcer’s table. Zack dropped to his knees in pain and grasped him back, then made a show to hobble pain to the ring and roll in ever so slowly. Thunderbird wasted no time getting back in the attack, stomping on Zack once before stepping out onto the apron and up onto the top turnbuckle. The crowd started to stand up, take out phones, cheer, chant, and wait in anticipation for Wake to stumble to his feet. Wake obliged, doing the old “turn around slowly while dazed” action, then ate a big dropkick as The Bird soared through the sky. Zack fell onto his back, then rolled further backwards so he flipped around onto his stomach, in the centre of the ring. Jon got up onto his knees and pounced onto Wake, before grabbing Wake’s arm, trapping it in between his legs, and tugging on Wake’s chin, locking in a disgustingly beautiful Crossface. Wake waved his free hand around in desperation, holding close to the ground to make it appear as if it were going to tap, before going back to waving it around.
Even though the babyface had his finisher locked in in the centre of the ring, boos started coming from all directions. Thunderbird looked around, confused, only to see the Sexellence of Sexecution come running down the entrance ramp, equipped with a chair and all. The referee approached the Lovely One, who had jumped up onto the apron, trying to get the ref to let him get into the ring. The ref only responded by pointing at the locker rooms and shouting at Sexton’s face to leave.
This was it. Zack’s opportunity. Granted, they had all planned out the spot beforehand, but it still felt like it was an opportunity Wake would have taken in real life. “You gotta seize opportunity by the balls and never let go.” At least, that was how Zachary was always taught it.
Thunderbird released his hold on Wake and began to walk over to Sexton Love, but was stopped in his tracks as he, just like Caiden Winters two weeks before, got smashed in the groin with a cheating fist. He lurched over onto his hands and knees, then collapsed onto the ground. Zachary only smiled at Sexton as the Lovely One dropped off the apron and told the ref to get back to work. Zack pounced onto Thunderbird and hooked one leg, staring and nodding at Sexton with a grimace as the ref got down to pin.
“One…” The ref started counting. The crowd got up on their feet, aggravated by what was going down. Sexton laughed and bowed towards the ring as he backed away up the ramp.
“Two…” Boos flooded the arena.
“Th-” The ref was cut off. The boos were cut off and Sexton was stopped in his tracks as Redcrow’s hand flew up into the air, his shoulder getting off the mat. Cheer upon cheer, chant upon chant rose in number and volume, and Zachary Wake could only sit up in disbelief and look down at his opponent, the man who just kicked out of a low blow.
Sexton walked back over to ringside, astonished by what happened. Zack slowly stood up, turning to the referee. “Are you freaking kidding me?! Did you not see that? Are you blind or something? That was three, shoulders down, end of story!” Zack slapped his hands together three times, making sure to get all up in the referee’s face as he yelled and complained.
“Give me a break, Wake. You’re lucky I didn’t see what happened while I was arguing with Sexton or you might not have been allowed that pin at all.” Thunderbird slowly started to rise to his feet, using the ropes to assist himself.
“EXCUSE ME? Did you just accuse me of cheating?! Some official you are, ya crapshoot!” Jon quickly exploded out of the corner he was in, curling an arm in between Wake’s legs and pulling him backwards into a rollup.
The referee jumped down and quickly counted to two, but Wake stuck a shoulder up and rolled backwards out of the pin before that final number could be said. Immediately, the two wrestlers stood up, and locked up in the centre of the ring. Both knew that if they gave up now, there would be no more AWE Championship for them. Their dream was as good as gone.
Thunderbird overpowered Wake and began to push him to the ground. At first, the heel resisted, but quickly stopped and dropped to one knee. He then took one hand and hooked it under Redcrow’s left leg and yanked, pulling the hero to the ground. Thunderbird was quick to respond, getting onto his knees and striking with a blunt, brute of a forearm, sending Wake reeling. The crowd cheered as the bird boy stood up, marching forward with a series of sickening strikes. Punches, chops, knees, you name it. It was comeback time baby. A palm strike knocked Wake onto the ropes and Redcrow pressed him backwards then pulled an arm, sending Wake to the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.
As Zack ran the ropes, he looked down at ringside where Sexton Love was chatting up a lovely looking lady. The Lovely One exchanged a nod with his heel friend, and it was decided. Time to finish this thing off. Wake ate Thunderbird’s clothesline and hit the ground hard, and crawled over to a corner, but more specifically a corner where the referee stood, making sure everything was going down smoothly. Heh. Sexton caught the ref’s attention with some snarky, probably sexist remark, and Zach positioned himself in front of the referee, standing weakly on his feet.
Redcrow let out a yell, getting the crowd riled up, and ran full throttle at Wake. He leapt up into the air and tucked up his legs, then shot them out like bullets from the gun that was his body. A beautiful dropkick that would have lead to a sweet, sweet victory - if it weren’t for Zack dropping down and ducking out of the way. Those beautiful feet crashed into the referee, and pushed the poor guy back. The ref’s head bounced off the turnbuckle, and true to form, was out cold. Thunderbird stood there, shocked at what had just transpired. Zack crawled over to an adjacent corner, grinning at Thunderbird. He’d gotten away with this filthy way of battle. Again.
Redcrow was done with this shit, and his expression showed it. Zack’s smile slowly turned to a look of fear as the birdboy marched over to him. Luckily for Wake, however, a third wrestler entered the ring. Boos ensued as the crowd realised what was about to go down. “Boy, you better learn to watch your behind!” Sexton Love proceeded to thrust at the air as he waited for the One They Call Bird to turn and face him. And as soon as the bird did, he head met a new best friend - a chair. Sexton made sure the strike was a big wallop straight down the middle. Jon’s head nearly retreated into his spine.
Thunderbird staggered backwards, almost collapsing to the ground, but being caught by a head in between his legs. Zachary Wake lifted up, raising a limp, barely conscious Jon Redcrow up into the air on his shoulders. Sexton laughed at the sight, and simply said: “Drop him.” Zack pushed up and sent Thunderbird forwards, executing a picture perfect Electric Chair Facebuster. Sexton slid out of the ring, and Zachary Wake covered Thunderbird just as the referee regained consciousness. A simple one, two and three, and the match was over. Wake’s music hit once more, and he stood valiantly over his opponent. Zack looked over at the Sexellence of Sexecution, nodded respectfully at him, and left. Once more, dirty tactics secured Zachary Wake a victory.
Like a piece of plywood, Thunderbird got screwed. Zachary Wake was advancing in the tournament.
Sexton Love climbed back into the ring, the same steel chair in his hands and the same Lakers jersey on his back. The jersey was simultaneously a cheap shot at the Sacramento fans, while at the same time a complete contradiction to Sexton's promo last week in L.A. He didn't plan to mention anything about the jersey, but it's presence just added that nice little extra layer of "fuck you" that the Love Doctor was looking for. But by the time the night was over, he was going to be a "fuck you" tiramisu.
CRACK!
The Lovely One lined up Thunderbird again, tattooing his forehead with a vile chairshot. He turned and started aggressively yelling at the fans, chair still in hand, while the Bird lay face down on the mat. As the proud warrior attempted to somehow push himself up off the canvas it was obvious he was busted open, a long cut at the top of his hairline, just above the mask. Blood was dripping down on the mat as Thunderbird tried to stand. Sexton turned around immediately brought the chair crashing down again.
SMACK!
The King of the Road threw down the chair, as the King of the Sky lay motionless from the attack. Sexton climbed on top of his adversary and began raining down short, piston-like punches as the boos from the crowd grew louder and louder. The gash on Thunderbird's head was a bullseye, and the Sexcellence of Sexecution was determined to hit his mark. Blood continued to pour from the wound, running down Thunderbird's mask to his chest. His hair was soaked in crimson red as Sexton finally relented his barrage of blows.
"Gimme a fuckin' mic!" said Sexton, hoping this would not become a trademark phrase. He ripped the microphone from the announcer's hand at ringside, and rolled back into the ring.
"I TOLD YA DADDEH!" yelled Sexton, pausing for a moment as the crowd voiced their displeasure. "I told ya that I needed the gold. I told ya that I NEEDED the World's Heavyweight Title!"
"Boooooooooo!"
He kicked Thunderbird in the head again as the Bird began to sitr.
"I am the Sexcellence of Sexecution!"
Kick.
"The King of the Ring--"
Kick.
"And the KING OF THE ROAD!"
Kick.
"The Sexiest There Is! Sexiest There Was! And SEXIEST THERE EVER WILL BE!"
Kick. Kick. Kick.
At this point the blood was really flowing, and Thunderbird's entire chest was drenched. He looked like he had undergone some sort of bizarre baptismal ritual. Sexton couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. The Bird's outfit wasn't doing him any favors either.
"...But you STOLE it from me darlin'. You stole the World's Heavyweight Championship belt when you stole that match last week. You're a THIEF daddeh, and I can't let that crime go unpunished. No, no, no. NO WAY darlin'."
Sexton paused for a moment, relishing in the heat of the moment.
"I'm the PIPER WITH THE PIPE..." said Sexton, pointing to his crotch. "...And EVERYBODY PAYS."
"Booooooooo! Fuck you Sexton! Get the fuck outta here!"
"...I'm the man with the plan, the man with the POWER, too sweet to be sour, too hot to handle, and too COLD TO HOLD. I am the judge... jury... and SEXECUTIONER!"
In truth, Sexton didn't expect Thunderbird to be bleeding so badly, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now. Besides, it had given him an idea. A pretty messed up idea.
He walked over to the corner and picked up Thunderbird's Native American headdress. Last week, he had tore up one of the Bird's headdresses in their match, to great effect, and he had something similar in mind for tonight.
"Birdy baby, I bet you thought when you stole that match last week, you were heading UP in the world. I bet you thought you were FLYIN' straight to the top darlin'. Straight to the Tournament Finals, and straight to the World's Heavyweight Title..."
He tore off a single feather from the headdress, and threw it down on Thunderbird's limp and lifeless body.
"Well daddeh I just clipped you're wings and brought you crashing down to Earth... And mark my words, when it's all said and done, I will put you SIX FEET UNDER!"
Again Sexton tore at Thunderbird's ceremonial garb, ripping off more feathers and throwing them down as his adversary, repeatedly kicking Thunderbird's carcas as he did so. Some fans in the crowd had stopped their relentless booing and jeering, and as the camera panned around the arena they could be seen with their hands over their mouths, looking on almost in shock at what was transpiring. Sexton Love was known for his over-the-top gimmick and promo style, but fans had seemingly forgotten just how vicious he could be. The level of violence and disrespect being shown towards Thunderbird, a legitimate hero as far as professional wrestlers go, served as a reminder.
"I am a man's man and a ladies' man...but make no mistake about it, I'm a BAD MAN darlin'. A bad, bad man. And after I'm done with you, after your price has been paid, I'm taking the World's Heavyweight Title. Because SEX....... SELLS!"
The Man They Call Love stood tall over The Man They Call Bird, as they torn up feathers from Thunderbird's head dress were now stuck to the blood all over his body. Blood that had been spilled by Sexton P.S. Love.
Thunderbird had been tarred and feathered, with his own blood as the tar.
Sexton Love climbed back into the ring, the same steel chair in his hands and the same Lakers jersey on his back. The jersey was simultaneously a cheap shot at the Sacramento fans, while at the same time a complete contradiction to Sexton's promo last week in L.A. He didn't plan to mention anything about the jersey, but it's presence just added that nice little extra layer of "fuck you" that the Love Doctor was looking for. But by the time the night was over, he was going to be a "fuck you" tiramisu.
CRACK!
The Lovely One lined up Thunderbird again, tattooing his forehead with a vile chairshot. He turned and started aggressively yelling at the fans, chair still in hand, while the Bird lay face down on the mat. As the proud warrior attempted to somehow push himself up off the canvas it was obvious he was busted open, a long cut at the top of his hairline, just above the mask. Blood was dripping down on the mat as Thunderbird tried to stand. Sexton turned around immediately brought the chair crashing down again.
SMACK!
The King of the Road threw down the chair, as the King of the Sky lay motionless from the attack. Sexton climbed on top of his adversary and began raining down short, piston-like punches as the boos from the crowd grew louder and louder. The gash on Thunderbird's head was a bullseye, and the Sexcellence of Sexecution was determined to hit his mark. Blood continued to pour from the wound, running down Thunderbird's mask to his chest. His hair was soaked in crimson red as Sexton finally relented his barrage of blows.
"Gimme a fuckin' mic!" said Sexton, hoping this would not become a trademark phrase. He ripped the microphone from the announcer's hand at ringside, and rolled back into the ring.
"I TOLD YA DADDEH!" yelled Sexton, pausing for a moment as the crowd voiced their displeasure. "I told ya that I needed the gold. I told ya that I NEEDED the World's Heavyweight Title!"
"Boooooooooo!"
He kicked Thunderbird in the head again as the Bird began to sitr.
"I am the Sexcellence of Sexecution!"
Kick.
"The King of the Ring--"
Kick.
"And the KING OF THE ROAD!"
Kick.
"The Sexiest There Is! Sexiest There Was! And SEXIEST THERE EVER WILL BE!"
Kick. Kick. Kick.
At this point the blood was really flowing, and Thunderbird's entire chest was drenched. He looked like he had undergone some sort of bizarre baptismal ritual. Sexton couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. The Bird's outfit wasn't doing him any favors either.
"...But you STOLE it from me darlin'. You stole the World's Heavyweight Championship belt when you stole that match last week. You're a THIEF daddeh, and I can't let that crime go unpunished. No, no, no. NO WAY darlin'."
Sexton paused for a moment, relishing in the heat of the moment.
"I'm the PIPER WITH THE PIPE..." said Sexton, pointing to his crotch. "...And EVERYBODY PAYS."
"Booooooooo! Fuck you Sexton! Get the fuck outta here!"
"...I'm the man with the plan, the man with the POWER, too sweet to be sour, too hot to handle, and too COLD TO HOLD. I am the judge... jury... and SEXECUTIONER!"
In truth, Sexton didn't expect Thunderbird to be bleeding so badly, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now. Besides, it had given him an idea. A pretty messed up idea.
He walked over to the corner and picked up Thunderbird's Native American headdress. Last week, he had tore up one of the Bird's headdresses in their match, to great effect, and he had something similar in mind for tonight.
"Birdy baby, I bet you thought when you stole that match last week, you were heading UP in the world. I bet you thought you were FLYIN' straight to the top darlin'. Straight to the Tournament Finals, and straight to the World's Heavyweight Title..."
He tore off a single feather from the headdress, and threw it down on Thunderbird's limp and lifeless body.
"Well daddeh I just clipped you're wings and brought you crashing down to Earth... And mark my words, when it's all said and done, I will put you SIX FEET UNDER!"
Again Sexton tore at Thunderbird's ceremonial garb, ripping off more feathers and throwing them down as his adversary, repeatedly kicking Thunderbird's carcas as he did so. Some fans in the crowd had stopped their relentless booing and jeering, and as the camera panned around the arena they could be seen with their hands over their mouths, looking on almost in shock at what was transpiring. Sexton Love was known for his over-the-top gimmick and promo style, but fans had seemingly forgotten just how vicious he could be. The level of violence and disrespect being shown towards Thunderbird, a legitimate hero as far as professional wrestlers go, served as a reminder.
"I am a man's man and a ladies' man...but make no mistake about it, I'm a BAD MAN darlin'. A bad, bad man. And after I'm done with you, after your price has been paid, I'm taking the World's Heavyweight Title. Because SEX....... SELLS!"
The Man They Call Love stood tall over The Man They Call Bird, as they torn up feathers from Thunderbird's head dress were now stuck to the blood all over his body. Blood that had been spilled by Sexton P.S. Love.
Thunderbird had been tarred and feathered, with his own blood as the tar.
The stage crew started counting down, and Sydney Ellis put her cap on. Her ring gear this time was arctic camo. It was decided that would be the best contrast to Morgana’s black ensemble. It was time to make her entrance in 3...2...1…
The three month-young ring announcer, Vivi, strutted around the ring, wearing red heels and the most divine, form-fitting black dress. Bringing the mic to her lips, the young beaut gave a pleasant grin and an enticing stare, before unleashing her melting chocolate voice to the AWE crowd, “The following match is scheduled for one fall, introducing first, from Birmingham, England, a woman on a warpath, standing at 5’8”, and weighing 140 lbs--” Her head turned toward the entrance ramp and with booming enthusiasm, Vivi cheered, “--SYDNEY ELLIS!”
As soon as her music hit and she started marching down the ramp, Sydney Ellis noticed that, instead of the mixed, lukewarm reaction of two weeks ago, she was...being cheered passionately by a good deal of the audience, and booed just as passionately by another portion, mostly Morgana fans. She slid into the ring, threw off her cap, and began stretching with the ropes.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Introducing from Fairfield, Connecticut, standing at 5’8” and weighing 120 lbs -- this woman would like to be announced as the true sovereign of the woman’s division, MORGANAAAAAA!”
The serpent of a woman was darkly clad, as per usual, and adorned with leather. Her skin was ghastly pale and shined with white glitter to give her complexion a flawless, porcelain tone. As distant as Mileena was backstage, the moment her costume was on and the screech resonated throughout the arena, Morgana took control of the surprisingly introverted woman and was nothing but ready to put on a good show.
“Wade, Marcus. Y’know what my dream is? Seeing this woman, right here, with her father on that ring, or any ring for that matter. Her promo got me so hyped. For what? For LIES. ” Kane grumbled into his mic. The Faceless’ return was all a true heel fanboy ever wanted. “Sydney Ellis is going to keep this short and clean. End it with a Jackhammer. For all my broken dreams.”
Like her father, Morgana’s act was great for storytelling. Easily manipulated to make her coworkers, wrestlers that work as hard as she has, get the praise they deserve. The strobing lights went off and in a matter of seconds, Morgana appeared at the top of the ramp. Not walked but appeared, as if she was the magical creature that everyone believed her to be, able to cross the distance by dematerializing and rematerializing in and out of existence. When the music shifted to the guitar rift, her body as still as a frozen corpse, the devilish smirk wildly grew on her eerie face, turning her into a vindictive menace, while she methodically rose her palms up in a cultist praise.
Her first moments were dedicated to her twirling her body, her long, pink hair flowing within the air. With swift, yet prominent, movements, Morgana hyped the crowd using her undeniable charisma as a weapon and then strided down the pathway. The floor burning behind her with every step. Her icy gaze met the face of the ‘Nobody’, as Barbie put it earlier this evening, in the ring preparing to duel her. The Nobody who wanted to get involved in the witch’s cobwebs and lies.
The more Morgana associated herself with her enemies, the more she took in. The way they were, their tricks, their triggers, their… transitory nature… they simply gave her an advantage of hurting them from the inside out. Perhaps not today, but Morgana never forgot what was and has been done to her. She never forgets. She made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would make anyone who dared defy her, suffer. Getting underneath their skin was only the first thing she would do to be that burden they could not bare. She was the devil within. If there was one thing the sorceress did to those who diminished her worth and expected her to respect them, most not even bothering to see if she needed a favor done or two, not even trying to befriend her, well, then she would make their nightmares, her dreams.
Worst than her father, the epitome of a monster, could ever be. The devil tipped his hat to her, as she collected the tears of those she despised as pay. A damned soul. A soldier like Sydney Ellis, but with different means, different methods, and different allegiances. In the ring now, standing on the ropes, she pointed toward her screaming fans and yelled, “Is that all you got?!” This caused the volume to rise another octave. Years of experience shined through Mileena’s performance. Blood, sweat, pain, pain, a lot of pain, since she was a child. This was her passion. Her life. She loved wrestling.
Soon enough, the ‘deadly nightshade’ crept on her side of the ring waiting for the match to begin.
Ding, ding, ding.
“And we’re off to the races, I guess we’ll see if your prediction rings true. I don’t know who’s going to win, but I do know that the fans are going to get to see a great performance from two fine athletes tonight.”
“And whoever wins tonight gets to compete with Barbie for the title, so I expect this match to be vicious. Bring out your inner demons, girls!”
Once the bell signaled off, the sorceress slithered out of the ring with agile speed and hardly any effort. Sydney leered at Morgana as she left the ring for a split second, before rolling out and giving chase around the outside. She wanted as much blood as the crowd did, and there was no way that she was going to let the gothic wrestler escape.
Of course, who said Morgana was trying to ‘escape’? If anything, the white soldier was the insect navigating toward her trap, mesmerized by the desire to hurt her, which ultimately put her in a position where the witch could…
As sudden as Morgana exited the ring, she slipped back in and charged toward the area where Sydney was en route to. Perks of being the faster one of the two. Grabbing onto the top rope, she swung her legs through the gap between the mid and bottom ropes, her aim was sharp like a razor edge, her legs flew over the apron, and went right where she wanted it to hit. Sydney’s head. With Sydney Ellis prone on the ground, all the audience needed to do was blink and the next thing they knew, the goth wrestler was by the brute of the woman looking like a hungry psychopath. There was no hesitation in Morgana’s next actions. Picking Sydney’s face up, by her hair, the spiteful fighter chuckled to herself before smashing it into the ground. Again and again.
How’s your face?
“Vicious tactics. Say what you will about the AWE women’s personalities — and there is a lot to say on that front — but there’s certainly no denying that they all know how to fight.”
Tsk. A grimace appeared in Morgana’s expression as she thought about Sydney Ellis interrupting her promo. When Morgana was satisfied with the merciless floor kisses she was giving her dear opponent (as far as Mileena and Dawn were concerned, it was a perfect illusion), the countdown had started where Sydney Ellis needed to get thrown back into the ring. The spawn of satan aggressively pulled the bitch up and like the good samaritan that she was, Morgana shoved the Nobody’s ass back into the ring and followed behind, gliding onto the stage. Her stage, where she was the star.
To make sure the blonde wasn’t going anywhere, Morgana bounded highly in the air, using nothing but the strength in her jump and the short distance between her and Sydney. Swiftly, urgently, her elbow dropped into the other wrestler’s abdominal.
Not stopping for anyone, it was time for her version of the Sharpshooter. No Pain, No Game. Picking herself up, murder written all over her pale face, Morgana looked down at her opponent who was supine on the mat, seeing nothing but stars. Stepping between Sydney’s legs, with her left, she wrapped the soldier’s legs at shin level around her own, roughly. No remorse. Only pain and suffering.
Can you feel it, now? Do you see why I’m where I am today? Why I’m NOT my father’s shadow?!
Keeping her darling ‘partner’ in place, the wicked lady stepped over the leg she had caught in a grab and flipped the blonde over into a painful submission. Sydney Ellis was back to lying face downward, while the dark mistress sent venomous stings to the blonde’s lower back.
Fucking blondes. Just another form of plastic.
Sydney gritted her teeth, and thrashed around in the hold, silently yet wildly selling the great pain that the hold was inflicting on her. She went still, and was squeezing her right arm with her left hand. Finally a mini-victory for Morgana as the powerhouse yelled out in pain.
“There’s the hold that we’ve seen so many times in the past. It’s won so many battles in the past, maybe it’ll clinch the victory here.”
“All Morgana wants is to go back to the time where she had it all. But that’s the thing, time’s a changin and like you said earlier, the women’s division is thriving with talented wrestlers. Hungry for the spotlight.”
A few seconds later, Sydney put both hands to the mat, and started to slowly and agonizingly lift her upper body up, then she took one hand away, and in one swift motion, with a quick burst of strength, reared up, reached back and grabbed Morgana’s face with her hand, before pulling her back so that her other hand could reach her, and falling front-first back to the mat, applied a crossface to the painfully bent back Morgana. They now both had each other in submission holds!
“And just like that, Sydney is back in the fight! This is what I love about this business, anything can happen and it only takes one second for the momentum in a fight to shift — or in this case, for an unstoppable force to meet an immovable object.”
“I’m on the edge of my seat. Who knows who’s going to win?! These girls are too damn good.” Kane couldn’t contain his marking out.
After a brief, painful stalemate, Morgana let go, her face tinted red from the pressure, as did Sydney, and they rolled away from each other, getting back to their feet. Sydney then adopted an MMA stance, and advanced on the taller (by centimeters) yet not as muscular woman. She threw a jab or two, which Morgana dodged, followed by a few legsweep attempts, which were also overcome, though they had the effect of keeping Morgana on the defensive.
Unfortunately for the snake, dodging Sydney Ellis didn’t last as long as she would have wanted it to. The army girl feinted to the right and smacked Morgana with a hard left, flooring her. (It didn’t actually connect. Dawn was trying to be careful about that after all the bruises she was responsible for two weeks ago.)
"And just like that, the unstoppable force has moved the immovable object!”
With both arms, Sydney then picked the prone wrestler up and put her over her shoulder. She charged to one of the corners, ramming her into it with all her might, then turned and did the same with the opposite one, before jerking Morgana up onto her shoulders and leaving her there for a while as she played the crowd a little, strutting around and flexing. Sydney then slammed her hard to the ground, and tried for a cover. 1...2. Kickout at 2. It wasn’t even a close 2 count. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy to put away the former women’s champion. Lifting Morgana to her feet with one hand, she then flung her into the ropes, waiting for her to come back, her arm ready for a devastating clothesline.
Morgana may have not been as chiseled as the powerhouse waiting to knock her over with her arm, but she was one of the most ruthless competitors on the AWE roster today. Never losing her affinity for physical torture, the perplexing enigma that was Morgana ricocheted off the ropes, evaded the clothesline, and allowed herself to be the David in David and Goliath.
"Effortless movement from Morgana, just like gravity forgot her. She never fails to impress with how easily she can move her body!”
“Both women are terrifying in their own way and you have to expect neither of them are going to let this opportunity slip out of their hands. I want to play this back in slow motion just to see how flawless Morgana’s moves are.”
Effortlessly to the crowd’s eye, Morgana threw herself onto her foe’s body, hugging her legs around Sydney’s neck. After twisting and flying on all sides of the powerhouse until her right leg naturally hooked over Sydney’s left, she trapped the blonde’s arm within her own. The enchantress used her left leg, which had already been draped over the soldier's neck, to force Sydney down to one side. This was her version of the Octopus hold. One of her remarkable finishers, a torso-twisting submission maneuver, the Anaconda squeeze. Anacondas hunt for a variety of prey, under the cover of darkness. They lurk in the murky waters, waiting for a prey to give them the opportunity to attack. Sydney Ellis was caught in Morgana’s restrain. Trapped. The former champion applied her constrictive technique to finish her prey off.
"Another submission hold from AWE’s wicked witch of the east! The military conditioning that Sydney has is surely coming into play here to keep her from tapping out immediately! It takes a lot of heart, a lot of guts, and a lot of pride to not submit when the hold is locked in like that, twisting and squeezing the life out of you — a snake looking to finish off her prey.”
“The best option for the soldier is to batter Morgana until she releases her! Children, don’t go playing with snakes now.”
In response, Sydney fell to one knee, arms shaking as she’s caught in her second submission of the night from Morgana. She roared loudly, trying to get her adrenaline pumping, while riling herself up, and then forced herself off her knee, returning to a stand. After a few more seconds of enduring the pain and gathering her strength, she grabbed Morgana’s body with both hands and charged straight for the turnbuckles, ramming her against them hard and forcing her to relinquish her grip. With Sydney free, and Morgana in the corner, the powerhouse started delivering stiff lariat after stiff lariat to the dazed goth.
Was this the end for the witch?
“Right here, right now in the corner of the AWE ring, we’re watching a witch be burned at the stake!”
The entire arena promptly went black and a compilation of noises could be heard causing the audience to go in an uproar. Wind chimes, children laughter, little girls chanting ‘ashes, ashes, they all fell down’, spine-chilling wind, and a distant, ominous piano… the she-devil was forming her next attack.
"What’s this?”
While the piano still played, but the lights flashed on, Morgana was now behind the woman who thought she was more worth fighting Barbie than she. A woman who DARED defy her. Her head was tilted and her deep, frost eyes were crazed, but what really got the crowd going was the sinister serpent had a chair in her hands and her shallow smile betrayed all innocence. The referee, however, had vanished entirely.
"Oh no, not like this! Where’s the ref!? There needs to be a stop to this before it gets out of hand! Get another referee out here to stop this!”
“Jesus. This is why you don’t mess with witches! They got supernatural powers that’ll change the whole game.”
Murder was an understatement of what Morgana wanted. With utmost force, the pink haired wrestler collided the chair with the back of Sydney’s body. Smash after smash after smash. Where was her heart? Out for blood, no longer was her sight on the reward. She wanted Sydney Ellis to regret ever stepping out of line. Soldiers were pawns, not leaders.
Climb, soldier.
"Again and again with the chair! Have you no heart, Morgana?! Have you no sense of honor!? No soul!?”
“I’m pretty sure witches sell their soul for their power…”
Breathing heavily, the sound effects coming to a close, this match definitely putting the heartless woman through one hell of an exhausting battle, Morgana tossed the chair out of the ring. Sydney was back on the floor, in massive amount of pain. Running her hand through her long, pink locks, closing her eyes to take a moment to breath in the mystic air around her, Morgana relished in the crowd’s cheers, roars, screams… the heat. Snapping her eyes back open, she returned to her opponent’s side and went to pick her up to finish this match once and for all. Meanwhile, a second referee had rushingly made their way to the ring and slid through the ropes.
"Here comes another official! Surely this is the end for Sydney.”
Before the goth wrestler could lay another attack on her, Sydney knocked away the hands that were pulling her up. Grabbing Morgana’s head, she hit her with a BFT, sending Morgana reeling.
"Sydney is getting back control, and dammit she deserves it after that despicable act from the wicked bitch of the AWE! Take over Sydney! Put her down!”
Back on her feet, and back in control, Sydney swooped down and lifted Morgana up into a Gorilla Press, before simply dropping her and letting her fall over five feet to the canvas. In a strangely uncharacteristic move, the blonde powerhouse then pointed her finger to the sky in a odd fluid and sensual motion for the military punk, that was instantly recognizable as one of Barbie’s taunts, and to complement this, she grabbed Morgana’s leg, and applied the winding and twisting hold that was equally recognisable as Barbie’s signature submission; Legally Blonde.
"That’s Barbie’s move! Is Sydney going to send a message to the women’s champion by finishing off her greatest rival with her own MOVE?”
“Oh dude, I can’t even handle this right now. It’s so weird seeing Sydney Ellis pull a Barbie. Man, I thought the match would end with a Jackhammer. But who knows?! Morgana could have more fight in her left and the Legally Blonde will not be the way she goes... again!”
Not only was Morgana stunned by this, but she was in absolute, excruciating pain and it showed in her face. Every attempt she did to try to escape only failed and reluctantly she tried to tap out. She had to. And yet, Sydney saw the hand about to tap out and forcefully grabbed it, before immediately releasing the hold and shaking her head.
Not like this.
She’s not going to win like this. Pulling Morgana up by her arm, she threw it over her shoulder, lifting Morgana up in a perfect vertical line, and delivered a devastating Jackhammer!
"Stick a fork in Morgana, she’s done.”
She makes the cover. 1...2...3!
"And just like that, we have a new number one contender! If you ask me, Barbie had better watch her back, because her perfect queendom has never been in more danger than it is right now.”
“RIP Morgana.”
The bell rang, and Sydney stood up, no longer looking at Morgana, as if, now that she has been conquered, the goth no longer existed. She let the ref raise her hand, then rolled out the ring, retrieving her cap. With nothing left to be said or proved, she marched back up the ramp to the sound of a deafening, mixed reaction.
The three month-young ring announcer, Vivi, strutted around the ring, wearing red heels and the most divine, form-fitting black dress. Bringing the mic to her lips, the young beaut gave a pleasant grin and an enticing stare, before unleashing her melting chocolate voice to the AWE crowd, “The following match is scheduled for one fall, introducing first, from Birmingham, England, a woman on a warpath, standing at 5’8”, and weighing 140 lbs--” Her head turned toward the entrance ramp and with booming enthusiasm, Vivi cheered, “--SYDNEY ELLIS!”
As soon as her music hit and she started marching down the ramp, Sydney Ellis noticed that, instead of the mixed, lukewarm reaction of two weeks ago, she was...being cheered passionately by a good deal of the audience, and booed just as passionately by another portion, mostly Morgana fans. She slid into the ring, threw off her cap, and began stretching with the ropes.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Introducing from Fairfield, Connecticut, standing at 5’8” and weighing 120 lbs -- this woman would like to be announced as the true sovereign of the woman’s division, MORGANAAAAAA!”
The serpent of a woman was darkly clad, as per usual, and adorned with leather. Her skin was ghastly pale and shined with white glitter to give her complexion a flawless, porcelain tone. As distant as Mileena was backstage, the moment her costume was on and the screech resonated throughout the arena, Morgana took control of the surprisingly introverted woman and was nothing but ready to put on a good show.
“Wade, Marcus. Y’know what my dream is? Seeing this woman, right here, with her father on that ring, or any ring for that matter. Her promo got me so hyped. For what? For LIES. ” Kane grumbled into his mic. The Faceless’ return was all a true heel fanboy ever wanted. “Sydney Ellis is going to keep this short and clean. End it with a Jackhammer. For all my broken dreams.”
Like her father, Morgana’s act was great for storytelling. Easily manipulated to make her coworkers, wrestlers that work as hard as she has, get the praise they deserve. The strobing lights went off and in a matter of seconds, Morgana appeared at the top of the ramp. Not walked but appeared, as if she was the magical creature that everyone believed her to be, able to cross the distance by dematerializing and rematerializing in and out of existence. When the music shifted to the guitar rift, her body as still as a frozen corpse, the devilish smirk wildly grew on her eerie face, turning her into a vindictive menace, while she methodically rose her palms up in a cultist praise.
Her first moments were dedicated to her twirling her body, her long, pink hair flowing within the air. With swift, yet prominent, movements, Morgana hyped the crowd using her undeniable charisma as a weapon and then strided down the pathway. The floor burning behind her with every step. Her icy gaze met the face of the ‘Nobody’, as Barbie put it earlier this evening, in the ring preparing to duel her. The Nobody who wanted to get involved in the witch’s cobwebs and lies.
The more Morgana associated herself with her enemies, the more she took in. The way they were, their tricks, their triggers, their… transitory nature… they simply gave her an advantage of hurting them from the inside out. Perhaps not today, but Morgana never forgot what was and has been done to her. She never forgets. She made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would make anyone who dared defy her, suffer. Getting underneath their skin was only the first thing she would do to be that burden they could not bare. She was the devil within. If there was one thing the sorceress did to those who diminished her worth and expected her to respect them, most not even bothering to see if she needed a favor done or two, not even trying to befriend her, well, then she would make their nightmares, her dreams.
Worst than her father, the epitome of a monster, could ever be. The devil tipped his hat to her, as she collected the tears of those she despised as pay. A damned soul. A soldier like Sydney Ellis, but with different means, different methods, and different allegiances. In the ring now, standing on the ropes, she pointed toward her screaming fans and yelled, “Is that all you got?!” This caused the volume to rise another octave. Years of experience shined through Mileena’s performance. Blood, sweat, pain, pain, a lot of pain, since she was a child. This was her passion. Her life. She loved wrestling.
Soon enough, the ‘deadly nightshade’ crept on her side of the ring waiting for the match to begin.
Ding, ding, ding.
“And we’re off to the races, I guess we’ll see if your prediction rings true. I don’t know who’s going to win, but I do know that the fans are going to get to see a great performance from two fine athletes tonight.”
“And whoever wins tonight gets to compete with Barbie for the title, so I expect this match to be vicious. Bring out your inner demons, girls!”
Once the bell signaled off, the sorceress slithered out of the ring with agile speed and hardly any effort. Sydney leered at Morgana as she left the ring for a split second, before rolling out and giving chase around the outside. She wanted as much blood as the crowd did, and there was no way that she was going to let the gothic wrestler escape.
Of course, who said Morgana was trying to ‘escape’? If anything, the white soldier was the insect navigating toward her trap, mesmerized by the desire to hurt her, which ultimately put her in a position where the witch could…
As sudden as Morgana exited the ring, she slipped back in and charged toward the area where Sydney was en route to. Perks of being the faster one of the two. Grabbing onto the top rope, she swung her legs through the gap between the mid and bottom ropes, her aim was sharp like a razor edge, her legs flew over the apron, and went right where she wanted it to hit. Sydney’s head. With Sydney Ellis prone on the ground, all the audience needed to do was blink and the next thing they knew, the goth wrestler was by the brute of the woman looking like a hungry psychopath. There was no hesitation in Morgana’s next actions. Picking Sydney’s face up, by her hair, the spiteful fighter chuckled to herself before smashing it into the ground. Again and again.
How’s your face?
“Vicious tactics. Say what you will about the AWE women’s personalities — and there is a lot to say on that front — but there’s certainly no denying that they all know how to fight.”
Tsk. A grimace appeared in Morgana’s expression as she thought about Sydney Ellis interrupting her promo. When Morgana was satisfied with the merciless floor kisses she was giving her dear opponent (as far as Mileena and Dawn were concerned, it was a perfect illusion), the countdown had started where Sydney Ellis needed to get thrown back into the ring. The spawn of satan aggressively pulled the bitch up and like the good samaritan that she was, Morgana shoved the Nobody’s ass back into the ring and followed behind, gliding onto the stage. Her stage, where she was the star.
To make sure the blonde wasn’t going anywhere, Morgana bounded highly in the air, using nothing but the strength in her jump and the short distance between her and Sydney. Swiftly, urgently, her elbow dropped into the other wrestler’s abdominal.
Not stopping for anyone, it was time for her version of the Sharpshooter. No Pain, No Game. Picking herself up, murder written all over her pale face, Morgana looked down at her opponent who was supine on the mat, seeing nothing but stars. Stepping between Sydney’s legs, with her left, she wrapped the soldier’s legs at shin level around her own, roughly. No remorse. Only pain and suffering.
Can you feel it, now? Do you see why I’m where I am today? Why I’m NOT my father’s shadow?!
Keeping her darling ‘partner’ in place, the wicked lady stepped over the leg she had caught in a grab and flipped the blonde over into a painful submission. Sydney Ellis was back to lying face downward, while the dark mistress sent venomous stings to the blonde’s lower back.
Fucking blondes. Just another form of plastic.
Sydney gritted her teeth, and thrashed around in the hold, silently yet wildly selling the great pain that the hold was inflicting on her. She went still, and was squeezing her right arm with her left hand. Finally a mini-victory for Morgana as the powerhouse yelled out in pain.
“There’s the hold that we’ve seen so many times in the past. It’s won so many battles in the past, maybe it’ll clinch the victory here.”
“All Morgana wants is to go back to the time where she had it all. But that’s the thing, time’s a changin and like you said earlier, the women’s division is thriving with talented wrestlers. Hungry for the spotlight.”
A few seconds later, Sydney put both hands to the mat, and started to slowly and agonizingly lift her upper body up, then she took one hand away, and in one swift motion, with a quick burst of strength, reared up, reached back and grabbed Morgana’s face with her hand, before pulling her back so that her other hand could reach her, and falling front-first back to the mat, applied a crossface to the painfully bent back Morgana. They now both had each other in submission holds!
“And just like that, Sydney is back in the fight! This is what I love about this business, anything can happen and it only takes one second for the momentum in a fight to shift — or in this case, for an unstoppable force to meet an immovable object.”
“I’m on the edge of my seat. Who knows who’s going to win?! These girls are too damn good.” Kane couldn’t contain his marking out.
After a brief, painful stalemate, Morgana let go, her face tinted red from the pressure, as did Sydney, and they rolled away from each other, getting back to their feet. Sydney then adopted an MMA stance, and advanced on the taller (by centimeters) yet not as muscular woman. She threw a jab or two, which Morgana dodged, followed by a few legsweep attempts, which were also overcome, though they had the effect of keeping Morgana on the defensive.
Unfortunately for the snake, dodging Sydney Ellis didn’t last as long as she would have wanted it to. The army girl feinted to the right and smacked Morgana with a hard left, flooring her. (It didn’t actually connect. Dawn was trying to be careful about that after all the bruises she was responsible for two weeks ago.)
"And just like that, the unstoppable force has moved the immovable object!”
With both arms, Sydney then picked the prone wrestler up and put her over her shoulder. She charged to one of the corners, ramming her into it with all her might, then turned and did the same with the opposite one, before jerking Morgana up onto her shoulders and leaving her there for a while as she played the crowd a little, strutting around and flexing. Sydney then slammed her hard to the ground, and tried for a cover. 1...2. Kickout at 2. It wasn’t even a close 2 count. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy to put away the former women’s champion. Lifting Morgana to her feet with one hand, she then flung her into the ropes, waiting for her to come back, her arm ready for a devastating clothesline.
Morgana may have not been as chiseled as the powerhouse waiting to knock her over with her arm, but she was one of the most ruthless competitors on the AWE roster today. Never losing her affinity for physical torture, the perplexing enigma that was Morgana ricocheted off the ropes, evaded the clothesline, and allowed herself to be the David in David and Goliath.
"Effortless movement from Morgana, just like gravity forgot her. She never fails to impress with how easily she can move her body!”
“Both women are terrifying in their own way and you have to expect neither of them are going to let this opportunity slip out of their hands. I want to play this back in slow motion just to see how flawless Morgana’s moves are.”
Effortlessly to the crowd’s eye, Morgana threw herself onto her foe’s body, hugging her legs around Sydney’s neck. After twisting and flying on all sides of the powerhouse until her right leg naturally hooked over Sydney’s left, she trapped the blonde’s arm within her own. The enchantress used her left leg, which had already been draped over the soldier's neck, to force Sydney down to one side. This was her version of the Octopus hold. One of her remarkable finishers, a torso-twisting submission maneuver, the Anaconda squeeze. Anacondas hunt for a variety of prey, under the cover of darkness. They lurk in the murky waters, waiting for a prey to give them the opportunity to attack. Sydney Ellis was caught in Morgana’s restrain. Trapped. The former champion applied her constrictive technique to finish her prey off.
"Another submission hold from AWE’s wicked witch of the east! The military conditioning that Sydney has is surely coming into play here to keep her from tapping out immediately! It takes a lot of heart, a lot of guts, and a lot of pride to not submit when the hold is locked in like that, twisting and squeezing the life out of you — a snake looking to finish off her prey.”
“The best option for the soldier is to batter Morgana until she releases her! Children, don’t go playing with snakes now.”
In response, Sydney fell to one knee, arms shaking as she’s caught in her second submission of the night from Morgana. She roared loudly, trying to get her adrenaline pumping, while riling herself up, and then forced herself off her knee, returning to a stand. After a few more seconds of enduring the pain and gathering her strength, she grabbed Morgana’s body with both hands and charged straight for the turnbuckles, ramming her against them hard and forcing her to relinquish her grip. With Sydney free, and Morgana in the corner, the powerhouse started delivering stiff lariat after stiff lariat to the dazed goth.
Was this the end for the witch?
“Right here, right now in the corner of the AWE ring, we’re watching a witch be burned at the stake!”
The entire arena promptly went black and a compilation of noises could be heard causing the audience to go in an uproar. Wind chimes, children laughter, little girls chanting ‘ashes, ashes, they all fell down’, spine-chilling wind, and a distant, ominous piano… the she-devil was forming her next attack.
"What’s this?”
While the piano still played, but the lights flashed on, Morgana was now behind the woman who thought she was more worth fighting Barbie than she. A woman who DARED defy her. Her head was tilted and her deep, frost eyes were crazed, but what really got the crowd going was the sinister serpent had a chair in her hands and her shallow smile betrayed all innocence. The referee, however, had vanished entirely.
"Oh no, not like this! Where’s the ref!? There needs to be a stop to this before it gets out of hand! Get another referee out here to stop this!”
“Jesus. This is why you don’t mess with witches! They got supernatural powers that’ll change the whole game.”
Murder was an understatement of what Morgana wanted. With utmost force, the pink haired wrestler collided the chair with the back of Sydney’s body. Smash after smash after smash. Where was her heart? Out for blood, no longer was her sight on the reward. She wanted Sydney Ellis to regret ever stepping out of line. Soldiers were pawns, not leaders.
Climb, soldier.
"Again and again with the chair! Have you no heart, Morgana?! Have you no sense of honor!? No soul!?”
“I’m pretty sure witches sell their soul for their power…”
Breathing heavily, the sound effects coming to a close, this match definitely putting the heartless woman through one hell of an exhausting battle, Morgana tossed the chair out of the ring. Sydney was back on the floor, in massive amount of pain. Running her hand through her long, pink locks, closing her eyes to take a moment to breath in the mystic air around her, Morgana relished in the crowd’s cheers, roars, screams… the heat. Snapping her eyes back open, she returned to her opponent’s side and went to pick her up to finish this match once and for all. Meanwhile, a second referee had rushingly made their way to the ring and slid through the ropes.
"Here comes another official! Surely this is the end for Sydney.”
Before the goth wrestler could lay another attack on her, Sydney knocked away the hands that were pulling her up. Grabbing Morgana’s head, she hit her with a BFT, sending Morgana reeling.
"Sydney is getting back control, and dammit she deserves it after that despicable act from the wicked bitch of the AWE! Take over Sydney! Put her down!”
Back on her feet, and back in control, Sydney swooped down and lifted Morgana up into a Gorilla Press, before simply dropping her and letting her fall over five feet to the canvas. In a strangely uncharacteristic move, the blonde powerhouse then pointed her finger to the sky in a odd fluid and sensual motion for the military punk, that was instantly recognizable as one of Barbie’s taunts, and to complement this, she grabbed Morgana’s leg, and applied the winding and twisting hold that was equally recognisable as Barbie’s signature submission; Legally Blonde.
"That’s Barbie’s move! Is Sydney going to send a message to the women’s champion by finishing off her greatest rival with her own MOVE?”
“Oh dude, I can’t even handle this right now. It’s so weird seeing Sydney Ellis pull a Barbie. Man, I thought the match would end with a Jackhammer. But who knows?! Morgana could have more fight in her left and the Legally Blonde will not be the way she goes... again!”
Not only was Morgana stunned by this, but she was in absolute, excruciating pain and it showed in her face. Every attempt she did to try to escape only failed and reluctantly she tried to tap out. She had to. And yet, Sydney saw the hand about to tap out and forcefully grabbed it, before immediately releasing the hold and shaking her head.
Not like this.
She’s not going to win like this. Pulling Morgana up by her arm, she threw it over her shoulder, lifting Morgana up in a perfect vertical line, and delivered a devastating Jackhammer!
"Stick a fork in Morgana, she’s done.”
She makes the cover. 1...2...3!
"And just like that, we have a new number one contender! If you ask me, Barbie had better watch her back, because her perfect queendom has never been in more danger than it is right now.”
“RIP Morgana.”
The bell rang, and Sydney stood up, no longer looking at Morgana, as if, now that she has been conquered, the goth no longer existed. She let the ref raise her hand, then rolled out the ring, retrieving her cap. With nothing left to be said or proved, she marched back up the ramp to the sound of a deafening, mixed reaction.
Flying out of the backdoor was a man on a mission to bring his message to everyone who would dare listen to him: Caiden Winters. With a chip on his shoulder and a vendetta against damn near everyone in this company, he froze when he saw Joy standing there waiting for him, like she always seemed to be doing. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
“Caiden Winters!” More of an informal interview introduction, but it fit the moment. Joy rushed toward him to make sure he didn’t get too far because she knew better. She knew he was a man on a mission, always. The camera followed her and then shifted from her face to his, “There seems to be some backlash with your threat at Shock N AWE Chicago for Roddy Quinn. Some people think you’re stepping out of line and need to know your place, that all you’re doing is ruining the image he helped build for you. Do you have anything to say about this?” Might as well hit him hard from the get go.
“Let’s me and you get one thing straight right here and right now. You think Roderick Quinn built my image? I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen years old. You think he came to a boy in Canada who could barely speak English and built him up? What do you think I was doing my whole life when I wasn’t here? I was in a real company, led by a real man: Misawa Baba, who helped me from day fucking one, when I arrived in Japan and he trained me and he helped me become the man I am today. Because of him, I’ve headlined the Tokyo Dome, I’ve won the Grand Prix, I’ve won the Battle of Los Angeles. Me and your brother held eight different tag titles at once — did Roddy build his image too, Joy? Idiot.” Caiden spoke with such apprehension, such anger… unbridled emotion flowed with each of his words — as always. The consummate professional, he never took the condescending looking out of his face; how dare she claim such a thing.
He’d apologize later.
Of course, Joy would rather ask other questions, but for the sake of entertainment and at Kevin’s request, she would keep egging Caiden along. Her heart did drop when he called her an idiot, but she knew better… it was all an act. Right? “Then why are you here?! In HIS empire? You want to be great. You say you are great. And yet, you allow your anger to influence your actions and all the people can see is you not keeping it under control and having a downright tantrum.” There was visible frustration and focus in Joy’s expression and her voice rose with every word. Did she agree with what she was saying? Not entirely. Many people, especially his fans, knew he was great, no, the best, and he had the whole package. But she’d play devil’s advocate if that meant he’d get more attention and… stay.
“I don’t say I’m the great, I say that I’m the best. That I’m better than the best. And Joy? I came here to bring the pain.” Behind them, a long stretch limo rolled up, and Caiden shifted his footing as it came to a stop. “You remember, two weeks ago. You asked me how I was gonna get the old man’s attention? Watch.” And then, as soon as the door to the limo opened, and Roddy stepped out of it, Caiden was on him in a flash, clubbing the old man with an elbow and then throwing him against the wall.
The old man never had a chance, as he was manhandled by the angry wrestler. Caiden threw Roderick Quinn into a random car, and when the true king of AWE slumped against the door to the car, Caiden picked him up by his shirt so they were face to face, and Caiden spoke. “I’m done with you wasting my time.” He growled at him, before he took his boss’s head and smashed out the driver side window with it, slamming Roddy’s face through the glass.
When Roddy slumped down out of the car and down to the ground, his face was dripping with the proverbial crimson mask, bleeding like a stuffed pig. Caiden turned, and walked directly toward the camera, heading toward the gorilla area, and when he passed Chance, he shoulder checked him, the camera shaking in response. What? Gotta play up the character.
Although Joy wasn’t seen on camera and Chance had focused in on Roddy’s face, the audience could hear her surprised and frantic voice, “Don’t let him pass out! Someone call the paramedics!” As calm as her voice tried to sound, it was obvious that Joy Ryder was completely shook. Her brown strands came into frame as she rushed to her boss’ side and then the camera cut to the inside of AWE, the stage camera, that aimed towards the ramp.
The music hit, and apparently Roddy had done a good job creating a hated persona for him, because even after the vicious attack on his boss, Caiden Winter’s reaction was loud and powerful cheers. Everyone wanted to hear what he had to say, and why wouldn’t they? He’d just went off on the only person that had supported him through this, other than the fans. He made his way to the ring slowly and with purpose; he didn’t have a match and to be honest, he didn’t give a damn if he did waste their time. This was his fucking show.
He rolled under the bottom rope and walked to the other side of the ring and held his hand out for a microphone — and, maybe out of fear, a mic was quickly supplied. Caiden, stomping around the ring as he spoke, his hand shaking slightly — he was hyped — began to spit the eternal fire. “Whoops, guess I beat down Morgana’s daddy; I better watch my damn back, that bitch has got daddy issues.” Snickering slightly, Caiden continued his monologue, “I’m only going to say this once, and I’m going to make it nice and clear: I hate him. I hate Roderick Quinn, and I hate everything he stands for. Now, hate is… hate’s a strong word, but I mean it. I hate him so much. And you know why I hate him? Because there’s one thing that I can’t stand, that makes my blood boil and that’s being ignored. And being ignored even when I yell AND SCREAM! For something that’s not going to happen, THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, and that’s an AWE title match… because someone back there knows that I am better than anything he has ever created, that his best creation — Drayden — could barely put me away when I had a dislocated shoulder, and mark my words, Drayden will never beat me again. Because I’m an indestructible wrestling machine, and I know every move in his book, I know counters to his counter’s counters. That’s fine, because Roddy Quinn can just sit backstage and watch me be better than anything or anyone that will ever step foot in this company.”
Caiden paused and let out a long breath. He closed his eyes and let himself calm down for a few seconds while the crowd cheered loudly. “There may never be another time that Caiden Winters steps into the ring at an AWE event and fights, but if there ever is, then it should be a good match; shake hands. Friendly competition between two great athletes… but it won’t be. Because, I hate everyone back there. I hate them, as shallow as it might be, because their bank statements look a lot better than mine after two years of being wasted potential here. Listen to me, I can only spend so many nights sleeping in my car, spill so many pints of blood, I can only go to the hospital and use a fake name because I can’t afford health insurance before I start thinking ‘you know, I don’t really wanna be so nice to people who have what I think… belongs to me.”
Another pause and this time Caiden was very suddenly fired up again. “I’M GONNA BEAT THE TRASH OUT OF WHOEVER STEPS FOOT IN THIS RING WITH ME NEXT! Because I’m hungry and I’m angry and I don’t… care, about anything. Right now, Roddy Quinn is being dragged back to the trainer’s room and he’s being examined to make sure yours truly didn’t do too much of a number on him, and he has no idea what he’s signed his company up for. Reality is going to give Roderick Quinn and all of the AWE a cold. Hard. SLAP! in the face.”
With that, Caiden Winters dropped the mic, and rolled out of the ring, heading back up the ramp.
“Caiden Winters!” More of an informal interview introduction, but it fit the moment. Joy rushed toward him to make sure he didn’t get too far because she knew better. She knew he was a man on a mission, always. The camera followed her and then shifted from her face to his, “There seems to be some backlash with your threat at Shock N AWE Chicago for Roddy Quinn. Some people think you’re stepping out of line and need to know your place, that all you’re doing is ruining the image he helped build for you. Do you have anything to say about this?” Might as well hit him hard from the get go.
“Let’s me and you get one thing straight right here and right now. You think Roderick Quinn built my image? I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen years old. You think he came to a boy in Canada who could barely speak English and built him up? What do you think I was doing my whole life when I wasn’t here? I was in a real company, led by a real man: Misawa Baba, who helped me from day fucking one, when I arrived in Japan and he trained me and he helped me become the man I am today. Because of him, I’ve headlined the Tokyo Dome, I’ve won the Grand Prix, I’ve won the Battle of Los Angeles. Me and your brother held eight different tag titles at once — did Roddy build his image too, Joy? Idiot.” Caiden spoke with such apprehension, such anger… unbridled emotion flowed with each of his words — as always. The consummate professional, he never took the condescending looking out of his face; how dare she claim such a thing.
He’d apologize later.
Of course, Joy would rather ask other questions, but for the sake of entertainment and at Kevin’s request, she would keep egging Caiden along. Her heart did drop when he called her an idiot, but she knew better… it was all an act. Right? “Then why are you here?! In HIS empire? You want to be great. You say you are great. And yet, you allow your anger to influence your actions and all the people can see is you not keeping it under control and having a downright tantrum.” There was visible frustration and focus in Joy’s expression and her voice rose with every word. Did she agree with what she was saying? Not entirely. Many people, especially his fans, knew he was great, no, the best, and he had the whole package. But she’d play devil’s advocate if that meant he’d get more attention and… stay.
“I don’t say I’m the great, I say that I’m the best. That I’m better than the best. And Joy? I came here to bring the pain.” Behind them, a long stretch limo rolled up, and Caiden shifted his footing as it came to a stop. “You remember, two weeks ago. You asked me how I was gonna get the old man’s attention? Watch.” And then, as soon as the door to the limo opened, and Roddy stepped out of it, Caiden was on him in a flash, clubbing the old man with an elbow and then throwing him against the wall.
The old man never had a chance, as he was manhandled by the angry wrestler. Caiden threw Roderick Quinn into a random car, and when the true king of AWE slumped against the door to the car, Caiden picked him up by his shirt so they were face to face, and Caiden spoke. “I’m done with you wasting my time.” He growled at him, before he took his boss’s head and smashed out the driver side window with it, slamming Roddy’s face through the glass.
When Roddy slumped down out of the car and down to the ground, his face was dripping with the proverbial crimson mask, bleeding like a stuffed pig. Caiden turned, and walked directly toward the camera, heading toward the gorilla area, and when he passed Chance, he shoulder checked him, the camera shaking in response. What? Gotta play up the character.
Although Joy wasn’t seen on camera and Chance had focused in on Roddy’s face, the audience could hear her surprised and frantic voice, “Don’t let him pass out! Someone call the paramedics!” As calm as her voice tried to sound, it was obvious that Joy Ryder was completely shook. Her brown strands came into frame as she rushed to her boss’ side and then the camera cut to the inside of AWE, the stage camera, that aimed towards the ramp.
The music hit, and apparently Roddy had done a good job creating a hated persona for him, because even after the vicious attack on his boss, Caiden Winter’s reaction was loud and powerful cheers. Everyone wanted to hear what he had to say, and why wouldn’t they? He’d just went off on the only person that had supported him through this, other than the fans. He made his way to the ring slowly and with purpose; he didn’t have a match and to be honest, he didn’t give a damn if he did waste their time. This was his fucking show.
He rolled under the bottom rope and walked to the other side of the ring and held his hand out for a microphone — and, maybe out of fear, a mic was quickly supplied. Caiden, stomping around the ring as he spoke, his hand shaking slightly — he was hyped — began to spit the eternal fire. “Whoops, guess I beat down Morgana’s daddy; I better watch my damn back, that bitch has got daddy issues.” Snickering slightly, Caiden continued his monologue, “I’m only going to say this once, and I’m going to make it nice and clear: I hate him. I hate Roderick Quinn, and I hate everything he stands for. Now, hate is… hate’s a strong word, but I mean it. I hate him so much. And you know why I hate him? Because there’s one thing that I can’t stand, that makes my blood boil and that’s being ignored. And being ignored even when I yell AND SCREAM! For something that’s not going to happen, THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, and that’s an AWE title match… because someone back there knows that I am better than anything he has ever created, that his best creation — Drayden — could barely put me away when I had a dislocated shoulder, and mark my words, Drayden will never beat me again. Because I’m an indestructible wrestling machine, and I know every move in his book, I know counters to his counter’s counters. That’s fine, because Roddy Quinn can just sit backstage and watch me be better than anything or anyone that will ever step foot in this company.”
Caiden paused and let out a long breath. He closed his eyes and let himself calm down for a few seconds while the crowd cheered loudly. “There may never be another time that Caiden Winters steps into the ring at an AWE event and fights, but if there ever is, then it should be a good match; shake hands. Friendly competition between two great athletes… but it won’t be. Because, I hate everyone back there. I hate them, as shallow as it might be, because their bank statements look a lot better than mine after two years of being wasted potential here. Listen to me, I can only spend so many nights sleeping in my car, spill so many pints of blood, I can only go to the hospital and use a fake name because I can’t afford health insurance before I start thinking ‘you know, I don’t really wanna be so nice to people who have what I think… belongs to me.”
Another pause and this time Caiden was very suddenly fired up again. “I’M GONNA BEAT THE TRASH OUT OF WHOEVER STEPS FOOT IN THIS RING WITH ME NEXT! Because I’m hungry and I’m angry and I don’t… care, about anything. Right now, Roddy Quinn is being dragged back to the trainer’s room and he’s being examined to make sure yours truly didn’t do too much of a number on him, and he has no idea what he’s signed his company up for. Reality is going to give Roderick Quinn and all of the AWE a cold. Hard. SLAP! in the face.”
With that, Caiden Winters dropped the mic, and rolled out of the ring, heading back up the ramp.
The audience had been very surprised by the unexpected attack that Caiden had dealt to Roddy, but they weren’t able to dwell on the surprise long because the titantron went dark and the well known phrase from V for Vendetta began to start. The lights were dimmed to a mixture of some dark blue and some dark red. As the song started a solitary figure stepped out in front of the crowd with his signature weapon. As the beat began to pick up the lights got brighter and moved rapidly around the stadium. Initiate simply stood there as the crowd cheered. As the singers voice said ‘death’ Initiate began rushing down the ramp.
He then noticed a small cluster of people sitting in the front seats wearing the mask. Mathys smiled as he walked to them. He held his hand up in a fist and the ones wearing a mask joined in crossing all their arms with fists held up above them. He stayed there a moment then backed away and slid into the ring. Once in the ring he moved to the center and got to his knees. Grabbing the bat with both hands, one on each end, he sat there for a moment then proceeded to hit the mat a few times with the bat. Standing up he took his jacket off and then tossed them outside the ring in front of the commentators.
A few brief moments later, the Golden One Centre was sunk into crimson red. The titantron flourished back to life, showing the signature silver symbol of Anarchy. Mathys’ opponent walked out, head down until the music crescendoed into the lyrics, and the wave of fire erupted either side of Chaos Clayton, and his wild, crazy eyes scanned the crowd. This time, Clayton’s hair highlights and cargo pants were a dirty, mustard yellow. Clayton then fixated on the cluster of “Initiates” at the end of the ramp. He then procured a copy-cat mask, but this time it was cracked across it. He waved it about as he strode across the ramp.
Clayton faced the camera and put the mask beside his face, running his thumb across his neck then turning to Initiate who stood in the ring. Clayton pointed at the Opponent and tossed the mask towards the side of the ring, sliding to the bottom of the ring before the Anarchist leapt up and turned back to the crowd, roaring out before stepping in. Clayton got right up to the Initiate and pressed his forehead against the mask. It took the referee to push Clayton away and get the two in the corners for the match to start properly.
“This match is going to be an all out war between the idea of Chaos and the power of Revolution. Whoever wins this match is going to be able to advance in the tournament and push his agenda on the AWE with force! Holding the world title brings all eyes on you, and if you have those eyes… your message will be heard.”
Initiate cocked his head as the ref made Clayton go to his corner. When the bell rang Initiate slowly moved towards the man he nearly towered over. Initiate made the motions to go for a collar and elbow tie up but as Clayton reacted Initiate brought his leg up to kick Clayton right in the gut. Quickly Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head in a sprawl position. It was obvious at this point what Initiate was doing. Keeping Clayton on the ground should cancel out his brawling and high flying.
“The Initiate is doing his best to keep the Anarchist down on the ground so he can’t do what we all know him for: flying high and knocking heads. If he can keep the okizeme rolling, then this match is almost a surefire victory for him.”
“The what now? Is that even a proper Japanese word?”
“It’s a video game thing… it means ground game.”
“WHAT A NERD.” Kane chuckled to himself and continued his banter, “Nurdddddddddd.”
Clayton grasped at Initiates’ arms, managing to scramble up onto his knees but was nowhere near able to push the Initiate off just yet. Clayton attempted to wrench Initiate away but it was clear that his strength would get sapped away too soon if he couldn’t break away. The Anarchist freed up one arm to strike Initiates’ abdomen to try and force his opponent to deal with two things at once.
“Clean moves from Clayton, he’s fighting back. He doesn’t want to be kept on the ground game for very long!”
“It’s a game of wits now so Chaos Clayton can have the high ground. What the Initiate doesn’t realize is great changes usually start with a bit of chaos. The power of a revolution needs the idea of chaos.”
Initiate took the blows to his abdomen in order to try and switch the hold to where Clayton couldn’t hit him. Initiate slowly started standing bringing Clayton up. Before getting fully to his feet Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head and slammed him down into the mat. Initiate jumped in the air and delivered an elbow drop to Clayton’s torso. He quickly moved into a pin trying to hold Clayton down.
“An early pin here from the Initiate, he’s looking to close this match out as fast as he can. And who can blame him? The ideal way to advance in the tournament is quick and fast, don’t you think? Save your energy for the next match. Save it for the finals.”
“No. I don’t agree. That just means he ain’t got enough endurance. The best way to advance is to tire your opponent out so you’re guaranteed to win. If you don’t got enough energy and drive, what are you doing in the ring?!”
Clayton only had a brief opportunity to hold the back of his head from the slam before taking a gravity-fuelled elbow drop from the Initiate. The referee slapped the mat once before Clayton managed to kick out.
“Of course that isn’t going to work with Clayton! He’s got a lot left in the tank, you’ll have to do better than that to put him away! He’s got a lot left in the tank!”
“It’s the endurance, man. Fueled by pure mayhem. Chaos Clayton can fight all day, everyday.”
He attempted to roll away to the side of the ring and clutching the ropes, using them to help him scramble up onto his feet. Clayton sprinted at the Initiate, leaping up to deliver a flying forearm smash.
Initiate stood up from the failed pin and watched curiously as Clayton rolled towards the ropes. When he got up and leaped at Initiate with a forearm, Initiate brought his arm up to deliver an uppercut. He didn’t fully connect and the forearm sent him to the ground. He held the back of his head as he rose to one knee still bent over.
“High energy moves from Clayton! Chaos is going to force the Initiate to wrestle his type of match, and that’s the bottom line — because Chaos Clayton said so.”
“Like a boss.”
Clayton landed and turned around, looking over his shoulder at his handiwork. Clayton looked up at the roof of the building and chuckled as he threw his arms out, turning as he did it. After his maniacal laughter was over, Clayton grabbed the Initiate's head and pulled him up onto his feet, tossing him into the ropes with an irish whip. As the Initiate rebounded back towards Clayton, he leapt up and twisted his body round, jutting his arm out for a Corkscrew Elbow.
“Beautiful elbow right to the damn dome. Business is about to pick up!”
“Toldja, the Anarchist knows what he’s doing.” Kane wasn’t fully impressed. He wanted more blood. But he was sure they had tricks up their sleeves. He honestly couldn’t wait until the PPV. Shit would get real, real fast.
Initiate landed in a way to make it look like a hard landing. However, he quickly sat up arching his back and holding his hand there. Looking straight at Clayton he stood up and mocked him by gesturing him to bring it. Initiate ran to the ropes, bounced off in Clayton’s direction, and began spinning around to deliver a Cyclone Kill.
Clayton readied himself and caught the Initiates’ foot. The Anarchist shook his head as if to say “Oh no you don’t” before spinning the Initiate around and kicking him in the midriff before pushing him to the floor.
“Not today, Initiate. Today, Chaos Clayton says no and you sit your ass down and wait and see what happens! I love it! I love it!”
“Is Clayton converting you, Wade? Are you actually down with disorder?”
“I’m down with this match that’s happening right here, right now.”
Clayton wasted no time and hopped up onto the turnbuckle, turning around before standing up and throwing his arms up high, hands turned into the Rocker signs before flying through the air for a Meteora aerial attack. Initiate stood up and turned to see Clayton flying at him. He didn’t have time to move or dodge and was hit by the attack. Clayton dropped beside the Initiate but rolled up onto his feet before moving over and pinning down Initiate, trying to secure the win, going as far as to push his hand down onto his opponent’s face, which in reality didn’t hurt thanks to Mathys’ mask.
“That’s gotta be the end of this! Clayton’s gonna advance!”
Initiate raised his legs in the air and swung them down to give him momentum to knock Clayton away just after the ref got to one. He quickly stumbled to his feet and stumbled back until he hit the ropes then ran forward at Clayton going for a running clothesline.
“KICK OUT! Maybe the Initiate has more in him than I thought he did.”
“Said NO ONE ever. COME ON, CLAYTON! What are you DOING?”
Clayton landed hard on his back as he collided with the Initiate’s clothesline. Clayton stood onto a knee, panting and recovering. Mathys grinned as he grabbed Clayton’s head and pulled him into a knee. He lifted Clayton to his feet and threw him towards the ropes. As he bounced back to where Initiate stood he grabbed him and spun around in a Spinning Side Slam. Initiate jumped to his feet and walked to the ropes screaming. The crowd joined in by chanting
LET’S GET WEIRD!
LET’S GET WEIRD!
LET’S GET WEIRD!
“You can say whatever you want about the strangeness of the Initiate — and it is there, but he certainly gets the crowd behind him.”
“By crowd, you mean the children.” Kane scoffed in annoyance.
Initiate fell backwards to the mat and imitated Clayton as he stood up. Once both were standing Initiate shifted into a mock runners starting position then ran towards Clayton trying for the Cyclone Kill again. Clayton just managed to duck under the kick and brought both of his fists up to unleash a combo of strikes. He began with a solid left jab followed by a swift kick to Initiate’s shin. Initiate staggered back after every strike and as soon as he was pressed against the ropes, Clayton grabbed his legs and flipped him over, sending The Initiate tumbling to the ramp.
“This time the Initiate fails to hit him with the kick! Clayton ducked under, let’s see if he can capitalize on that dodge!”
Initiate fell to the ground and landed on his back. He rolled over onto his front and slowly made his way to his feet. After stretching his back he turned back towards the ring. However, Clayton was already rebounding off of the ropes and propelled himself towards Initiate, Suicide Diving straight between the top and middle rope like a dart. Initiate angled himself to do a Snap Scoop Powerslam but missed the grab and went down to the ground with Clayton on top.
“TOPÉ SUICIDA!” “TOPÉ SUICIDA!”
“...Get out of my head, Wade!”
However, due to how the Initiate angled himself, Clayton didn’t land the Dive perfectly, and took the landing pretty hard at the same time. He rolled off of the Initiate and stared up in a dazed manner. The cameraman zoomed in on both of the downed wrestlers as the referee began to count them out, the crowd counting along with the official.
"1! 2! 3!”
“The ref’s count begins! If these two super stars don’t make it into the ring fast enough, then this match is over in the most dissatisfying way.”
Initiate slowly got up to his knee and from there used the apron to fully stand up. He walked over to Clayton and, grabbing him by the hair, lifted him up. He kneed him in the gut then turned around slinging him towards the barricade while the ref and crowd yelled,
"4! 5! 6!”
Clayton grunted as his back collided with the barricade, but as the Initiate closed in, he delivered a major kick to the Initiate’s stomach before quickly making his way back to the ring to beat the count out. However, he turned around and saw that the Initiate was still hot on his heels. Clayton sped up and leapt up onto the side of the ring.
“7! 8!”
However, instead of catching the ropes, Clayton kicked off from it and delivered a pitch perfect Disaster Kick straight to the Initiate’s head. Initiate fell straight to the ground. Mathys reached up and slid the mask a little in a way no one would see to make it look like the kick had connected hard.
“Maybe Clayton doesn’t care about this victory, about that title belt! He just wants to hurt his opponent here!”
"9!”
Clayton quickly turned on his heels and dove onto the apron, sliding himself securely back into the ring.
"10!”
“You were saying?” Kane gave his coworker, and friend, a smug look.
The referee rung the bell and the match was over. While some of the crowd cheered, another part booed due to the circumstance of the win. Clayton rolled back out as his music blared throughout the arena again, and he made his way back to the ramp. Before he walked up it, he looked back at the Initiate, then back to the group of his white masked fans before scoffing and exiting the arena.
“And just like that, Chaos Clayton moves to the semifinals! Maybe not the most satisfying victory… but a victory and an advance in the tournament, nonetheless.”
He then noticed a small cluster of people sitting in the front seats wearing the mask. Mathys smiled as he walked to them. He held his hand up in a fist and the ones wearing a mask joined in crossing all their arms with fists held up above them. He stayed there a moment then backed away and slid into the ring. Once in the ring he moved to the center and got to his knees. Grabbing the bat with both hands, one on each end, he sat there for a moment then proceeded to hit the mat a few times with the bat. Standing up he took his jacket off and then tossed them outside the ring in front of the commentators.
A few brief moments later, the Golden One Centre was sunk into crimson red. The titantron flourished back to life, showing the signature silver symbol of Anarchy. Mathys’ opponent walked out, head down until the music crescendoed into the lyrics, and the wave of fire erupted either side of Chaos Clayton, and his wild, crazy eyes scanned the crowd. This time, Clayton’s hair highlights and cargo pants were a dirty, mustard yellow. Clayton then fixated on the cluster of “Initiates” at the end of the ramp. He then procured a copy-cat mask, but this time it was cracked across it. He waved it about as he strode across the ramp.
Clayton faced the camera and put the mask beside his face, running his thumb across his neck then turning to Initiate who stood in the ring. Clayton pointed at the Opponent and tossed the mask towards the side of the ring, sliding to the bottom of the ring before the Anarchist leapt up and turned back to the crowd, roaring out before stepping in. Clayton got right up to the Initiate and pressed his forehead against the mask. It took the referee to push Clayton away and get the two in the corners for the match to start properly.
“This match is going to be an all out war between the idea of Chaos and the power of Revolution. Whoever wins this match is going to be able to advance in the tournament and push his agenda on the AWE with force! Holding the world title brings all eyes on you, and if you have those eyes… your message will be heard.”
Initiate cocked his head as the ref made Clayton go to his corner. When the bell rang Initiate slowly moved towards the man he nearly towered over. Initiate made the motions to go for a collar and elbow tie up but as Clayton reacted Initiate brought his leg up to kick Clayton right in the gut. Quickly Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head in a sprawl position. It was obvious at this point what Initiate was doing. Keeping Clayton on the ground should cancel out his brawling and high flying.
“The Initiate is doing his best to keep the Anarchist down on the ground so he can’t do what we all know him for: flying high and knocking heads. If he can keep the okizeme rolling, then this match is almost a surefire victory for him.”
“The what now? Is that even a proper Japanese word?”
“It’s a video game thing… it means ground game.”
“WHAT A NERD.” Kane chuckled to himself and continued his banter, “Nurdddddddddd.”
Clayton grasped at Initiates’ arms, managing to scramble up onto his knees but was nowhere near able to push the Initiate off just yet. Clayton attempted to wrench Initiate away but it was clear that his strength would get sapped away too soon if he couldn’t break away. The Anarchist freed up one arm to strike Initiates’ abdomen to try and force his opponent to deal with two things at once.
“Clean moves from Clayton, he’s fighting back. He doesn’t want to be kept on the ground game for very long!”
“It’s a game of wits now so Chaos Clayton can have the high ground. What the Initiate doesn’t realize is great changes usually start with a bit of chaos. The power of a revolution needs the idea of chaos.”
Initiate took the blows to his abdomen in order to try and switch the hold to where Clayton couldn’t hit him. Initiate slowly started standing bringing Clayton up. Before getting fully to his feet Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head and slammed him down into the mat. Initiate jumped in the air and delivered an elbow drop to Clayton’s torso. He quickly moved into a pin trying to hold Clayton down.
“An early pin here from the Initiate, he’s looking to close this match out as fast as he can. And who can blame him? The ideal way to advance in the tournament is quick and fast, don’t you think? Save your energy for the next match. Save it for the finals.”
“No. I don’t agree. That just means he ain’t got enough endurance. The best way to advance is to tire your opponent out so you’re guaranteed to win. If you don’t got enough energy and drive, what are you doing in the ring?!”
Clayton only had a brief opportunity to hold the back of his head from the slam before taking a gravity-fuelled elbow drop from the Initiate. The referee slapped the mat once before Clayton managed to kick out.
“Of course that isn’t going to work with Clayton! He’s got a lot left in the tank, you’ll have to do better than that to put him away! He’s got a lot left in the tank!”
“It’s the endurance, man. Fueled by pure mayhem. Chaos Clayton can fight all day, everyday.”
He attempted to roll away to the side of the ring and clutching the ropes, using them to help him scramble up onto his feet. Clayton sprinted at the Initiate, leaping up to deliver a flying forearm smash.
Initiate stood up from the failed pin and watched curiously as Clayton rolled towards the ropes. When he got up and leaped at Initiate with a forearm, Initiate brought his arm up to deliver an uppercut. He didn’t fully connect and the forearm sent him to the ground. He held the back of his head as he rose to one knee still bent over.
“High energy moves from Clayton! Chaos is going to force the Initiate to wrestle his type of match, and that’s the bottom line — because Chaos Clayton said so.”
“Like a boss.”
Clayton landed and turned around, looking over his shoulder at his handiwork. Clayton looked up at the roof of the building and chuckled as he threw his arms out, turning as he did it. After his maniacal laughter was over, Clayton grabbed the Initiate's head and pulled him up onto his feet, tossing him into the ropes with an irish whip. As the Initiate rebounded back towards Clayton, he leapt up and twisted his body round, jutting his arm out for a Corkscrew Elbow.
“Beautiful elbow right to the damn dome. Business is about to pick up!”
“Toldja, the Anarchist knows what he’s doing.” Kane wasn’t fully impressed. He wanted more blood. But he was sure they had tricks up their sleeves. He honestly couldn’t wait until the PPV. Shit would get real, real fast.
Initiate landed in a way to make it look like a hard landing. However, he quickly sat up arching his back and holding his hand there. Looking straight at Clayton he stood up and mocked him by gesturing him to bring it. Initiate ran to the ropes, bounced off in Clayton’s direction, and began spinning around to deliver a Cyclone Kill.
Clayton readied himself and caught the Initiates’ foot. The Anarchist shook his head as if to say “Oh no you don’t” before spinning the Initiate around and kicking him in the midriff before pushing him to the floor.
“Not today, Initiate. Today, Chaos Clayton says no and you sit your ass down and wait and see what happens! I love it! I love it!”
“Is Clayton converting you, Wade? Are you actually down with disorder?”
“I’m down with this match that’s happening right here, right now.”
Clayton wasted no time and hopped up onto the turnbuckle, turning around before standing up and throwing his arms up high, hands turned into the Rocker signs before flying through the air for a Meteora aerial attack. Initiate stood up and turned to see Clayton flying at him. He didn’t have time to move or dodge and was hit by the attack. Clayton dropped beside the Initiate but rolled up onto his feet before moving over and pinning down Initiate, trying to secure the win, going as far as to push his hand down onto his opponent’s face, which in reality didn’t hurt thanks to Mathys’ mask.
“That’s gotta be the end of this! Clayton’s gonna advance!”
Initiate raised his legs in the air and swung them down to give him momentum to knock Clayton away just after the ref got to one. He quickly stumbled to his feet and stumbled back until he hit the ropes then ran forward at Clayton going for a running clothesline.
“KICK OUT! Maybe the Initiate has more in him than I thought he did.”
“Said NO ONE ever. COME ON, CLAYTON! What are you DOING?”
Clayton landed hard on his back as he collided with the Initiate’s clothesline. Clayton stood onto a knee, panting and recovering. Mathys grinned as he grabbed Clayton’s head and pulled him into a knee. He lifted Clayton to his feet and threw him towards the ropes. As he bounced back to where Initiate stood he grabbed him and spun around in a Spinning Side Slam. Initiate jumped to his feet and walked to the ropes screaming. The crowd joined in by chanting
LET’S GET WEIRD!
LET’S GET WEIRD!
LET’S GET WEIRD!
“You can say whatever you want about the strangeness of the Initiate — and it is there, but he certainly gets the crowd behind him.”
“By crowd, you mean the children.” Kane scoffed in annoyance.
Initiate fell backwards to the mat and imitated Clayton as he stood up. Once both were standing Initiate shifted into a mock runners starting position then ran towards Clayton trying for the Cyclone Kill again. Clayton just managed to duck under the kick and brought both of his fists up to unleash a combo of strikes. He began with a solid left jab followed by a swift kick to Initiate’s shin. Initiate staggered back after every strike and as soon as he was pressed against the ropes, Clayton grabbed his legs and flipped him over, sending The Initiate tumbling to the ramp.
“This time the Initiate fails to hit him with the kick! Clayton ducked under, let’s see if he can capitalize on that dodge!”
Initiate fell to the ground and landed on his back. He rolled over onto his front and slowly made his way to his feet. After stretching his back he turned back towards the ring. However, Clayton was already rebounding off of the ropes and propelled himself towards Initiate, Suicide Diving straight between the top and middle rope like a dart. Initiate angled himself to do a Snap Scoop Powerslam but missed the grab and went down to the ground with Clayton on top.
“TOPÉ SUICIDA!” “TOPÉ SUICIDA!”
“...Get out of my head, Wade!”
However, due to how the Initiate angled himself, Clayton didn’t land the Dive perfectly, and took the landing pretty hard at the same time. He rolled off of the Initiate and stared up in a dazed manner. The cameraman zoomed in on both of the downed wrestlers as the referee began to count them out, the crowd counting along with the official.
"1! 2! 3!”
“The ref’s count begins! If these two super stars don’t make it into the ring fast enough, then this match is over in the most dissatisfying way.”
Initiate slowly got up to his knee and from there used the apron to fully stand up. He walked over to Clayton and, grabbing him by the hair, lifted him up. He kneed him in the gut then turned around slinging him towards the barricade while the ref and crowd yelled,
"4! 5! 6!”
Clayton grunted as his back collided with the barricade, but as the Initiate closed in, he delivered a major kick to the Initiate’s stomach before quickly making his way back to the ring to beat the count out. However, he turned around and saw that the Initiate was still hot on his heels. Clayton sped up and leapt up onto the side of the ring.
“7! 8!”
However, instead of catching the ropes, Clayton kicked off from it and delivered a pitch perfect Disaster Kick straight to the Initiate’s head. Initiate fell straight to the ground. Mathys reached up and slid the mask a little in a way no one would see to make it look like the kick had connected hard.
“Maybe Clayton doesn’t care about this victory, about that title belt! He just wants to hurt his opponent here!”
"9!”
Clayton quickly turned on his heels and dove onto the apron, sliding himself securely back into the ring.
"10!”
“You were saying?” Kane gave his coworker, and friend, a smug look.
The referee rung the bell and the match was over. While some of the crowd cheered, another part booed due to the circumstance of the win. Clayton rolled back out as his music blared throughout the arena again, and he made his way back to the ramp. Before he walked up it, he looked back at the Initiate, then back to the group of his white masked fans before scoffing and exiting the arena.
“And just like that, Chaos Clayton moves to the semifinals! Maybe not the most satisfying victory… but a victory and an advance in the tournament, nonetheless.”
|| PLACEHOLDER || AFTERSHOCK with Wade Palmer and Joy Ryder, featuring Thunderbird
