Vladimir Strife vs Jerry Nate

[-Jack Noble-]

Pre Main-EventTexas Deathmatch
Vladimir Strife vs Jerry Nate
Jerry Nate made an appearance in the "rat hole" all those weeks ago for one purpose.. see if he can beat the GodKing. So tonight we will finally see who the better man is.
Referee: John Patterson

[Vladimir Strife]

With the Las Vegas crowd already bustling with excitement from the great action that has passed and that is promised to come, they prepare for the second to last contest of the evening to begin. Lizzie Morna is standing by inside of the squared circle, a flamboyantly scarlet dress molding to her curves in the signature fashion of the place known most famously as Sin City. As the music began to pour out through the multitude of speakers about the arena, she raises the microphone to chin level steadily and begins her introduction of the man who perhaps needed it the least of any present this night.



"Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a Texas Deathmatch. In order to win, one star must pin his opponent to a count of three and his opponent thereafter be unable to get back to his feet by the count of ten."

"Introducing first, hailing from Sighisoara, Romania, standing at 6 feet even and weighing in a 234 lbs... VLADIMIRRR T. STRRRIFE!"

Right on cue, the infamous Barbarian Lord snatches the curtain separating him from the audience's view and flings it aside, stepping out through the opening he's created to an overwhelming ruckus, a hero's welcome awaiting him as the crowd bursts into a frenzy of applause and cheers. The man of the hour is nearly just the way he left them from his raven blue long sleeved shirt, basic black cargo pants, and steel toed boots to his long black trenchcoat and the symbolic Sword of Mars trinket around his neck. He lifts his arms up to his sides, hands open in a motion to his adoring fans as he takes in the pandemonium waged in his name. They growl even more vocal in light of the spectacle, a chant breaking out through the chaos.

"VLAD-IM-IR! VLAD-IM-IR! VLAD-IM-IR!"

JP: What an audience! These people are on their feet and they look like they were born ready for this one, Ray!
Ray: Can you blame them? My Vladdy Poo is going to beat Jerry Nate like he owns him!
JP: Well, it's a bit early to sound so sure, but if this crowd has their way, he won't be making a liar out of you anytime soon.

It was a grand stage and it was good to the Behemoth, who finally got back to business, steadily progressing down the steel grated decline with hands stretched out towards the men and women who had pressed themselves against the guardrail, reaching out desperately over it to tag palms or even simply graze fingers with the icon of violence. The GodKing was far from morally perfect, having usually been the golden standard of villainy by which all others were measured and fell, but he was their champion tonight. Jerry Nate had insulted them and the company they loved so dearly as to pour their wages into an opportunity to be this close to and Vladimir was the man who would rectify these transgressions.

Almost halfway down the ramp, Strife hears a high pitched voice scream his name from his left and turns to face it, slightly startled by the shriek. A fit and young twenty-something girl with flowing blonde hair yanks her shirt up over her face, exposing her unrestricted and ample breasts to her celebrity crush, "RAPE ME NEXT!" scrawled across her abdomen with a black sharpie to the delight of the European. As a very muscular and large man with a black shirt labeling him "SECURITY" scoops her up and begins to carry her off towards an exit, one of the black steel folding chairs utilized for ground floor seating comes soaring past them. The classic piece of wrestling weaponry crashes down against the recoiling face of the Titan, striking him across the temple. A thin bar securing the legs together so they don't swing open beyond their intent lacerates the flesh, splitting it open and pouring the blood within down the side of his visage. Throne and King alike collapse in the collision's wake, silence ushering over the patrons as they try to process the confusion.

JP: What the hell just happened?
Ray: Some idiot threw a chair at the GodKing!!

[Jaggeroth/Jerry/Grimey]

"We're taking over this town...."

The God like King's brain processes the information at a mile at minute, his music was cut off and replaced with the light concert strobes and rhythmic strokes of a guitar that didn't belong to his sensitive tastes in music.



The spotlights hanging above the rafters were all in as much of a daze as Vladimir was as both scanned the arena floor for the King's Assassin hiding amongst the crowd. Vlad shouts amongst the festering hicks in attendance tonight for the man who had the balls to show himself, he was only a little wrong, the man who did it had DEEZ' Nutz. The Impaler scuttled his way around the ring with a hand compressing his wound while the crimson blush ran outside of its natural habitat and spattered against the ring mats. Behind the GodKing, a commotion amongst his commoner fan base from behind. The crowd moves away as an imposing figure brushed past the patting, touchy feely hands and out into view as the spot light shined down from above. Jumping up with feet flat on the security railing and being shrouded in a multicolored light of flashing hues stood the Shotgun Kid, the former hero of EVPW with another chair in hand. Dressed to the nines in his "Rocking your shit 2012!" tour t-shirt, a pair of black jean shorts, baseball cap, sunglasses, shredded lifting gloves, and a pair of black Nike shoes with the red stripes. The Satisfying One stares down at the advisory he's been wanting so badly this whole year, and finally the GodKing was locked in mortal combat with him. The chair in Jerry's hands presses up as Vlad tries for an early assault but ducks behind the ring post as the throne of hicks is chucked. The steel on steel clashes while Vlad's face ducks behind the post.


"That little shit! He's been hiding in the crowd this whole time to get the drop on our Vlad!"

"Let's not forget about the horrific incident that happened to our own Camera team when they tried to visit Jerry for an interview, his dogs ripped them to shreds."

"This could be Vlad's greatest challenge, and most dangerous opponent to date. Jerry Nate is known for hitting new lows, sinister tricks you'd never see coming and tough son of a bitch to boot."

"One thing is for sure, this is going to be an all out blood bath..."

The Shotgun Kid dashes across the security railing and hops away before sliding under the bottom rope and taking his stage inside the squared circle. The sun glasses and the baseball cap go flying towards the bell ringer with a certain force that said "Fuck you, buddy!" The audience shouted their tiny, little heads off as Vlad made an attempt to enter to the ring and Jerry stood there, waiting with gloves up high and a smirk as evil as the original sin.....

"This match is going to be fast, furious and could end in a heartbeat. These two men here in our main event hate the living piss out of the other, and each of them could think of no better joy than to end the other with the most hostile forms of punishment."



TBCB: Vladimir TeePee Strife.

[Vladimir Strife]

Sliding upon his stomach into the combat zone, Vladimir is met with a swift boot across his skull, reinvigorating the gushing gash in his flesh. He pushes on, pressing against the mat as he attempts to work himself out of the vulnerable position and deal some damage of his own. Heavy stomps continue to fall across his back however, oppressing his ascension until the Romanian Scourge is left with no option but to retreat. He rolls back out to ringside, tending to his aching muscles momentarily while Jerry cheekily grins at his success. Quick to take vengeance for this, he grabs onto the middle rope and pulls his knee up onto the apron, looking once more to find himself on level ground with the American. This leave him open for a moment and the former hero gone sour exploits his opportunity at a free shot once more, rushing in and slapping his meaty thigh across the Impaler's shoulder, the force shoving him clear off of the ring's edge and down to the minimal black padding.

Wiping blood away from his eye in a thick smear in preservation of his sight, the Romanian Scourge exhales a gust of breath to focus his mind. He'd always shone brightly in the squared circle, but it'd been over 5 months since he'd taken his rightful place inside the EVPW ring and the man across from him this night was younger and hungrier than the opponents he recalled. The strength and endurance that normally allowed him to overpower and outlast the opposition were reciprocated this night, crippling the advantage he would have leveraged in his favor. Perhaps his only saving graces were his experience and his infamous wrath; the GodKing fearing he may even be outmatched in the latter of these by the rage filled Cornhusker. There was no time left for such concerns. The Shotgun Kid beckoned eagerly still and Strife was keen to oblige him. Rising to his feet once more, the fans raise his spirits with a supportive chant.

"FUCK YOU JERRY! FUCK YOU JERRY! FUCK YOU JERRY!"

Ray: FUCK YOU VLAD!
JP: Wait.. what? I thought you were behind Vlad!
Ray: Oh, I wish I was, Jimmy... I wish I was..
Pate's stomach churns in disgust when the perverseness of the comment dawns upon him.
JP: You are a sad, strange little man...

Frustrated by his nemesis's antics, the Bambi Killer paces to the steel steps and marches up them, stepping up onto the side of the ring as the Satisfying One launches another attack at him. Vlad opts out of the haphazard haymaker, his thick follicles rustled by the narrowly avoided punch passing overhead. He darts his own fist through the top two ropes, expertly driving his knuckles into the solar plexus of this rival. As Nate lurches forward, Strife comes back up and reaches over, seizing his cranium and reeling it in before tucking it under his arm. He takes his antagonist by the wrist, working fast as he raises the limb and ducks under, draping the bicep across the nape of his neck. By the time the Nebraskan can process the predicament he's in, a hand claws at his hip, fingers latching firmly on to the cloth that covers it. The Behemoth hunkers down, channeling his strength before ripping the unseasoned headbanger off of the mat and swinging him overhead. The men plummet off of the center stage structure, patrons shooting to their feet to keep better track of them. The ringside barricade interrupts the fall, Jerry's lower back crashing down upon the top of it and a vagrant heel connecting with a member of the scattering audience. While the unconscious lad pours out of his chair and onto the concrete, his inadvertent attacker is lead shoulders first to the padding, whipping his lower body back across the guardrail. His knees bury into the gut of the Hall of Famer as he's nearly folded in half atop him before flopping over and coming to rest splayed out beside him.

JP: OH MY GOD!! SUPLEX ONTO THE BARRICADE!!
Ray: VLAD JUST SNAPPED HIM IN HALF!

While neither man stirs for the moment, the crowd is just as bustling with excitement as the commentary team, pumping their fists into the air in the rhythm of their chant.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

The Barbarian Lord sputters a hard cough out suddenly as if springing back to life, a series of them following as he fights to get back the wind that has been taken from him. He twists over onto his palms and patellas and starts crawling shakily toward the metal stairs he'd recently utilized. Making his way up on all fours, he's soon able to plant both soles next to them, supporting himself against it as he recuperates. Jerry finally begins to come to as a couple of EMT's emerge from backstage with a cheap wooden stretcher and make their way toward the carnage. He sits up, cursing the agony in his lumbar and massaging it while scooting back against the barrier. His pain is hardly alleviated, but he lifts his arms up and clutches the rail, using it to assist his ascension. Setting himself upright, the Cornhusker returns to his relieving massage, his face reddened from the thick grimace plastered upon it. The medical attendants brush past him, the first climbing over the hurdle and kneeling at the unfortunate fan's side.

JP: It's looks like a warzone out here...
Ray: Or the morning after a great party..
JP: I suppose that too... We knew going into this that neither of these men would hold back any punches. They are going to hit one another with every last thing they can conjure up, but not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that it would get this violent so quickly.
Ray: Yes.. but HOLY SHIT, THAT WAS AAAAWESOME!

A sinister thought surfaces in the Midwest denizen's mind and he abruptly seizes the stretcher, the slits around the edges making it easy for him to take hold and yank it out of the paramedics grasp. He slings it over his shoulder, awaiting the opportunity to hit a grand slam. Strife rocks back a moment, then settles against the steel the false start causing his foe to jerk the slab shortly. The Satisfying One vocalizes his thoughts, capturing the attention of the resting Titan.

"Oooooooh... Foul!"

When the Czar of Scars spins around to face him, the Shotgun Kid swings for the fences, wind whistling through the slats in the cot. It paddles Strife's cheek with a sickening clap heard around the arena and bats him against the apron. The two-time Imperial Champion bounces off of the side of the ring and limply tumbles into a heap upon the floor. The split in his skin now runs profusely, coating his countenance crimson as the Cornhusker watches on contently. He discards his makeshift slugger and uses his foot to flip the Monarch of Madness onto his back, setting it down in the middle of his chest. John Patterson does a baseball slide out of the squared circle and takes position beside them, slapping down with every count.

"1!"

"2!"


"3!"

JP: Dear God... he just tried to cave Vlad's head in!
Ray: Nooooo... not the face, dammit!

With that, the ambitious American had accomplished a feat that nearly next to none could assert. He had managed to put the Legend down for the count of three, yet it'd be another ten seconds before he knew whether it even mattered.

"1!"



TBCB Jagger Nate

[Jaggeroth/Jerry/Grimey]

The maniacal Nebraska was almost in tears when he saw Vladimir was willing enough to stand once again to defy the fates Jerry had almost prayed for. The ambitious hick latches his grubby mitts around The King's wrist as he centered himself again against the ringside, a moment of anger later and Vlad is spun with gale force brushing through his hair and forced to gut check into the security railing. The interlocked steel gratings give way as the GodKing's mass is forced through them then sent flipping over top against a few more loyal ticket buyers, the fans only react as they should by cheering their little skulls off while Vlad's body is dropped to the unforgiving concrete below. Jerry manages to get over the sunk in bars and meets Vlad on the other side as the Bambi Killer tries erecting himself to block the forthcoming onslaught. Mother's throughout the arena floor grab their spoiled children and smack them out of the way of Jerry, stupid brats wished they hadn't whined for the tickets now that they stood a midst the genocidal rage between these two men. The scene erupts into a barroom like scene as the hardened warriors grapple onto one another's shirt and fight for dominance in this situation.

"The fight is starting fresh again in the crowd. EMT's are being called just in case, we're going to need at least one body bag and a few stretchers for any fans getting caught in the middle of this scuffle."

"Think if I get hurt I can get a couple of those stallions to whisk me away?"

".....Nigga, you gay?"


As the announcers start an argument that could start their own scuffle, Jerry Nate gains an upper hand on his legendary opponent and pushes the GodKing away. Vlad catches the back of his knee against a row of steel chairs and succumbs to gravity's effects, the concentration of folding chairs falls back and a few fall over, catching the back of a seat in his armpit for momentary support. Anticipation fills the air around him, a sound that could only mean emending demise.

"FUCKING HOSTILE!"


Jerry Nate had propped another of the many steel chairs in the vicinity in front of the downed Impaler and was already on the swift path to war. The Satisfying One plants a hard, fast step against the seat of the chair then swung the other in the air hastily to keep up his momentum to take its place on the backrest before soaring off into uncertainty. Jerry broadens one side while hovering his way towards his target, the stiffened shoulder slaps against the Bambi Killer's chest with a hollow sounding thud before the bodies give into the laws of physics and forcing the chairs back with their presumed carcasses.

“It almost looks like Vlad took that blow square in the jaw. I’d hate for that to happen to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a good ramming here and there. It helps keep the spirits high.”

“Did you even have credentials as a wrestling annalist before applying for this job?”

"Just take out one of the N's, and you're getting further down the rabbit hole..."


Back at the plot, the battling titans laid amongst the rubble of their latest scuffle. Chairs, spilt beer cups and a few fans hang in a brief moment of suspended animation as the scene played fresh in their minds. A chorus of complete approval falls from the rafters while The Satisfying One hobbled to his feet. The EMT’s all jump over the barrier much to Jerry’s dismay, one white clad fool even tried to block the Nebraskan Tank from getting to Vladimir, begging and pleading with the delusional Red Neck to give them some time. Jerry’s answer to his cry for civility given in the only currency he knew, the emergency personal’s skull gave out a solid ringing tone from the man’s skull from the sudden onslaught of a steel chair beating some Midwestern sense into the man. As the audience to this public slaughter got even more heated it became apparent to Jerry that one vital element was missing from all of this mayhem, Vlad. The God King wasn’t an idiot, he saw his chance to flee and recover and took it full heartedly by keeping a low profile during the uncontrollable chaos and made his way up the stairs and higher into the mass of screaming bodies. Jerry gave chase to the Legend but lost sight of him amongst the untouchables in the sea of fans.

“You seen Vlad? Vladimir Strife? Anyone? I’m looking for Vlad, we have something we need to discuss….”

The fuming student of the Psycho King stomped cautiously up the stairs with a hand against the railing, stealing beer glasses and pushing the ingrates out of his way during the ascent. A frosty container of the swill EVPW served from their kiosks is chugged, offering up another dastardly opportunity for the Bambi Killer to strike who was sitting nonchalantly amongst the fans, Vladimir sprang up like a weasel towards his mallet-less opponent. Vladimir’s palms lap over Jerry’s shoulders with a tight rotation of the wrists and digs into the meet lending to the grip as his hips turned in a full rotation, throwing the Shotgun Enthusiast into the row of occupied seats. Jerry fumbles over the line of knees and even more screaming mother’s as Vlad tries to get over to him for even more unholy retribution. In this cramped space Jerry knew he couldn’t put up a descent fight and decided to do the un-honorable thing, flee. He headed for the end of the row but a problem with no right answer sprang forth, a fifteen foot drop onto the production station. Jerry gingerly gets up onto the railing amidst the howling crowd surrounding him and looks over both his options.

A fall, or the rampaging God King who was now wielding a glass bottle somehow half way down the row. One leg goes over the railing into uncertainty but Vladimir knew his route was the right one. The bottle swings up and back through the air then catapulted straight and true, whizzing past the crowd as Jerry got the other leg over. The Shotgun Kid had just looked up as the bottle entered range, tooting a loud crash as glass shattered against his head and causing his grip to give way. Jerry teetered a couple of seconds before he knew the fall was inevitable, lifting up a middle finger as his only sign. The Kid fell the fifteen feet while the crewmen abandoned their posts before Jerry’s might soon to be corpse blasted over the control board, smashing the expensive equipment with an electric fizzle and setting off a chain of near cataclysmic events. Pyro, fog and A.J Scally’s music and butcher-tron video all go off at once with a puff of flames intended for Jerry’s entrance, leaving the crowd basking in the glow of the flickering house lights.

“HOLY FUCK-GASM ON THE WHORE OF BABYLON’S TITS!”

“Iwasn’t expecting Jerry to blow his load this quickly…but what a show…”

The camera crews buzz about the area and try to capture the first images of the disaster area. The tron was on fire, the entrance ramp looked like it was seconds away from melting free of the stage and for some damn reason, A.J Scally's music was still playing, yet no sign of Jerry Nate....


TBCB: Vlady Taddy Fatty

[Vladimir Strife]

The Romanian Scourge peers over the railing, his eyes scouring the landscape for any signs of his ill-fated foe. With none turning up, Vladimir begins to make his way down the stairs slowly, taking the time he knows he has. As he rounds the bottom, he takes in the carnage with an approving smirk. The Shotgun Kid, down but not quite out, begins to emerge from the debris, heaving the shattered pressboard off of himself and trying to navigate his way through the plethora of wiring in a stupor. As he rises to his feet and stumbles out from the mess he's created, the GodKing calmly takes him by the hair. The technicians that once occupied ground zero have now taken up fire extinguishers, going to work to prevent further damage to the precious arena props. No sooner do they finish their emergency change in duties than the culprits come waltzing over, the European reigning his dazed opponent back to the entrance ramp. They trample up the steel grating uneasily, the weakened metal shifting under their weight riskily. The Legendary Behemoth leads his prey up to the leveled field of the stage, making sure to take their fight to a spot where the audience could get a clear view of the brutality that would ensue.

Ray: FUCK HIM UP, VLAD!
JP: These two have turned this place into a disaster zone! They're going to tear down the stadium at this pace!
Ray: I know, it's awesome!
JP: It might be entertaining, but I'm a bit curious as to how much of their paychecks these men will actually see after repairs and medical bills..

Realizing that the stop represented the end of their journey and thusly nothing good for him, Jerry jabs a stiff right into the ribs of the Impaler, setting him back a few paces and creating an opening. He takes the opportunity with another hard shot, catching his royal adversary across the cheekbone and eye with a clubbing row of knuckles. Strife crashes into the left steel pillar of the entrances parameter, his legs folding beneath him as he disappears from the public view, seemingly engulfed by the black cloth separating them from the backstage. The Cornhusker shakes away from of the stinging in his hand and follows after, disappearing into the back as the arena's staff frantically work to restore power to the Butchertron. It's mere seconds until they accomplish this, it lighting up with the image of an upright Satisfying One stalking the crawling King.with malicious intent. Vlad suddenly pushes himself up and throws himself into a ladder propped against the wall, desperately clawing at the first weapon he sees. The American is too close and too knowing to let him take advantage of the tool, however, slinging himself into the former Imperial Champion with his weight focused behind his shoulder and sandwiching him against the aluminum rungs. His chance shot down, the Bambi Killer flips over and plants his back against the cool wall, trying to catch his breath and granting the first sight of his now dark and swollen left eye. As he takes in his haymaker's handiwork, a smile of pride sweeps the younger stars face.

JP: That is disgusting looking! Jerry Nate has beaten Vlad's eye swollen shut! I've seen the GodKing with a few shiners before, but I've never seen him like that!
Ray: Why do they always try to mess up the face? Don't break the moneymaker, damn it!

While the Hellbilly gets an esteem boost, the tried and true Titan turns his hesitation against him, grabbing the ladder beside him and tipping it forward. Gravity takes it from there, drawing it down and against the scalp in it's path with a hearty clang. Nate brandishes his knowledge of normally censored vocabulary and holds a palm to the spot of impact while his witty opponent scurries away. Scooping up a disposable razor lying on a vanity desk along the way, he disappears into the men's room. He drops it to the tile floor and stomp down upon it quickly, wasting no time in extracting the glistening blade from it's remnants whilst Jerry cautiously makes his way to the restroom. Strife runs the mildly rusted edge across the blackened bubble beneath his ocular socket, thick crimson oozing out of the slit and coating his cheek. Relinquishing the sharp steel sliver, he presses down on the lump, draining it further so that he is able to open the eye. As the door swings open, the Czar of Scars steps away from the mirror and prepares for another bout with the Cornhusker. He steps in to meet him, but the wing of his nemesis's boot catches him in the gut and doubles him over. The Satisfying One takes him by the skull, raising him up a bit before launching him into the side of a quarter run dispenser hung upon the wall. The prophylactic machine pops off and both it and it's impromptu battering ram spill out upon the blue and white ceramic squares.

JP: That looked pretty painful.
Ray: Yes, but he should be alright from here. He has plenty of protection at his disposal. Heh, get it, Jimmy? Protection!
JP: Once again, Ray, you are a shining example of the difference between age and maturity.

Determined not to stay down long enough to give his opponent an advantage, Vlad scrambles about, coming up to his knees near an urinal and taking hold of the thick lip for leverage. Before he can get back to a standing position though, a hand comes down across the back of his cranium, dunking it forward into the stagnant pool of water before him. The laceration across the left of his visage rubs against the plastic caging over the urinal cake, flesh forced into the rectangular slats agonizingly and leading him to scream out into the urine laced puddle. The sadistic metalhead uses his free hand to pull down the handle, releasing a fresh cascade of H2O into the toilet and upon the GodKing. The sound of a zipper behind him indicates the possibility of further insult to injury and the Romanian rears back, slamming the skull against the crotch of his attacker. While the Shotgun Kid clutches himself, Tepes finally makes his way up to both feet once more, bringing the broken dispenser with him. He slaps it across the back of his recuperating rival, individually wrapped Trojan brand condoms scattering about the restroom as they are jolted free of their placeholders. Jerry slumps against the counter, reaching forward and gathering a handful of liquid soap from the pump in what sees to be a nonsensical move. The Hall of Famer discards the vendor and reaches out for his opponents hair again, only to be spotted in the mirror and met with a thunderous slap across the face. His face ignites into searing pain, the cleansing gel getting into his cut and burning mercilessly. As he heads for the exit, the Nebraskan charges after him before overtaking him and ramming their collective weight against the wooden door. The hinges holding it in place give way to them, screws stripping their holes as the barrier is forced the wrong way. It breaks free and collapses into the hallway, both men sprawled out across it in front of their peers that have come from their lockerrooms to see them hash it out.

JP: God damn! Jerry just tackled Vlad right into that door and took it off of the hinges! It's getting hard to tell if these men are fighting themselves or the arena..
Ray: Well, let's hope it stays each other, because I'm not sure the arena can withstand this feud at this point. If it were to collapse now, I think these two would claw their way out of the debris and just start going at it again.

TBCB Cherry Grape