Post by Vladimir Strife on Sept 3, 2013 18:44:49 GMT -4
With Vladimir pinned against the grating from the Biledriver Mark 2, Jerry clings to him desperately, his legs trapping the biceps of the legend against the steel under the force of his weight. His cloudy eyes watch the hand of the official slap down against the ramp once, the sound like a dull thud in his skull barely ringing in over what he believes is the cacophony of his own blood pumping through his veins. The palm comes down once more and it rings in his ears again as a smile crosses his lips. The Nebraskan had poured himself into this contest metaphorically and near literally, the collection of his life force still thick on the canvas at the corner of the ring they've left behind. He couldn't be sure if it was too late or not for them to render his condition stable and save his life, but the timing was perfect for sweet vindication. In his grasp, the body of his infamous bounty sways left and he moves with it, struggling to maintain his hold. When it suddenly and sharply flings right, he is only able to follow, plopping over onto his side as the Romanian does the only thing he can find to evade defeat.
"OH MY GAWD!"
"HE DID IT!! THE KING LIVES!!"
"NO! NOOOOO!! Jerry had it! Biledriver Mark Two and he had this one won!"
"I can't believe it! I thought for sure the bastard was put away for good!"
As the referee declares it only a two count, the Shotgun Kid lays against the cold steel, stunned. He pounds his fist against it, hard enough to split skin on the edge of his hand and presses his forehead onto it. He had fought valiantly in the name of justice, of righting the wrongs of the Monarch of Madness... to show that in the end, the good fight is always the righteous path. Yet still victory eluded him like some sort of sick joke. Perhaps he had been at odds with whatever higher powers at bay there were. Maybe this was the lesson of life that might indeed made right and the morality and humanity that he believed in were not the whims of whatever existed beyond. He wondered if it were all some cruel joke as a tug at his hair led him up to his feet once more. The will to fight faded from his heart as his skull was clasped by the bulging thighs of the GodKing. His arms are tucked behind him, up like tiny wings before gravity loses its claim and he turns heels over head, gazing at the inverted sight of the squared circle. His fall from grace is punctuated with the clash of slanted steel against the back of his shoulders, neck, and cranium as the Barbarian Lord drops with him, driving him down harshly with move that had silenced so many rebellions before his.
"SKESIS DRIVER!! That's it! Someone call the fat lady, because this one is OV-AH!"
"DAMN IT! I really had hope for Jerry on this one. This man earned it. I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone fight with more spirit or heart and really turn the tables on Vlad like he did.."
"Well, shoulda, coulda, woulda is about to mean jack shit, Jimmy."
The world seemed peaceful to Jerry Nate as a far off cry of 'one' faintly whisped about his ear. The end to his torment was in sight and he need only to lay there in wait for it. At last, he could leave the battlefield behind and relax, take a little time to unwind and maybe grab a few drinks with some friends once he had healed up. A 'two' follows once more from some distant land and his stomach seems to turn sickeningly. The realization that something wasn't right hits him staunchly. He knew he was in no shape to continue, but his opponent wasn't either. He didn't need to entirely outmatch Vladimir and his condition left him far from able to do so currently, but he could perhaps outlast him long enough to deliver just enough to run his tank out. The rising clatter of "COME ON, JER-RY!" causes him to spasm as if by instinct, breaking out of the pin and sending a fresh wave of pandemonium through the Concord crowd.
"JERRY KICKED OUT!!"
"NO! Stay down, you stupid idiot!!"
"Jesus... how can these two go on like this?! It's going to take an act of God to put them down!"
Grimey watches on in horror as he backs up, having never anticipated such a drawn out fight to the near death by the men. Vladimir's eyes dart to him as he stands up and shakes his head. He yells to him, the words barely heard under the screams and cheers of the audience.
"When this is over... when I put this Hillbilly to rest... Don't you forget your debt, Mr. Whiskey... and don't look so damn disgusted. You're the one who called for a hit man."
Strife sweeps the hair out of his face and watches the slowly stirring Satisfying One. Jerry, his sense of purpose reignited with the knowledge that the path he was on was his own regardless of what it entailed or who shared it, stamps a heavy sole against the metal and pushes himself up. He tilts his head up enough to see the Titan beyond his brow and takes off, charging at him like a mad bull. The edge of the stage lay just beyond the Impaler and he would drive him over it and down into the depths of hell if he had to in order to teach Vladimir the price of his vile ways. As he closes in, the Czar of Scars reaches out, hooking his arms swiftly and planting himself sternly. He yanks up, bringing the feet of the incoming Shotgun Kid up off of the ramp. He carefully shifts his arms, allowing the Cornhusker to revolve about them, his lower back coming down to rest on the shoulder of the Behemoth.
The GodKing turns toward the edge of the stage he was almost speared over and looks down to the table below, a smle coming to his lips. Grimey steps in beside him, his conscious finally getting the better of him as he pleads with the man he asked to take out the Shotgun Kid.
"DON'T!! Pleeze, Mistah Strivez! I sedz hurtz 'im, not killz 'im!!"
Vladimir's face twists into a hateful expression and he looks toward the source of the cry, causing the booker to back off sheepishly. He steps back until his bottom comes in contact with the a steel column supporting the Butchertron and stays there, watching on afraid to speak out against the Barbarian Lord again.
"Jesus... it seems even Grimey can't stop this slaughter.."
"And he almost became part of it judging by that look on Vlad's face."
"Hey, he has no one to blame but himself! He put Jerry against Vlad to teach him a lesson and you don't call in an exterminator to swat a fly. This is what Strife does. He takes people beyond their limit and breaks them. He couldn't have possibly expected Vlad to just take the win and call it a day, especially not after what these two have been through!"
With no further warning, the GodKing leaps over the edge of the stage and plunges down, pulling the Shotgun Kid down before him and in between his legs. The table below them gives a heavy crunch as it splinters under their weight and force and the pass through to the concrete below. The upper back and head of Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying is bashed again, this time shutting down power to the facilities within as his word cuts to black. Vladimir holds him in place as the referee peers down over the side with grim interest before counting.
"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
The bell rings as 'Hail To The King' starts to blare once more. Vladimir pulls himself up from the carnage and onto the ramp once more, rolling over on the top of it and looking up to the lights as the medical team descends upon his opponent at last.
"God almighty.. I've never seen anyone take a beating like Jerry Nate did tonight and the closest to it I can recall is the one Vlad just took in turn.. That was one hell of a match, folks! I feel sorry for any fan who didn't tune in for this one!"
"You can say that again. This was yet another shining example of why EVPW truly is the best that money can buy!"
"Damn straight, right up there with me, S.M. Raye!"
Looking over to his right, Vladimir spots a microphone and reaches out weakly, grabbing it up and bringing it to his mouth. His heavy breathing rings through, his chest visibly rising and falling with the labored breaths.
"JERRY..."
The rasps continue, breaking up his words.
"You said... you could have... killed me. But... you were... more righteous.. or some shit... than that."
The GodKing takes a deep breath and clears his throat to help straighten himself out.
"That's your problem... You come in here on a high horse.. trying to prove something. And I'm sure you did. You go home to Mrs. Nate or Mama Nate... perhaps they're the same, you fucking hillbilly.. and to them.. to these fans.. you've proved yourself for damn sure. I didn't come here to win anybody over though... I didn't come for some debate on right and wrong, Jerry."
Strife finally sits up and looks over to the unconscious Shotgun Kid as the EMT's hoist him up onto a stretcher and put his arms beside him, pulling the railing up into place. His words may be unheard now, but he knows the Pride of O-Town will be watching this match for months to come, wondering what he could have done differently.
"There ain't no right or wrong out here, boy... There's winning and then there's losing.. There's no moral high ground.. just one man swinging a bigger stick. You don't get a happy ending, you fucker... it's just a cycle of pain and misery and a little bit of glory at the top of the hamster wheel."
The GodKing goes into a coughing fit, taking him almost half of a minute to calm it down before he looks over to them carting away the man who took him to the limit.
"You should have dumped me on my head when you had the chance, you stupid son of a bitch... Grimey, call it, you goofy looking shit.."
Vladimir pulls himself up and pushes the microphone into Grimey's chest, walking past him as the GM does his best to fill in for Lizzie Morna.
"Uhh.... Ladiez n' gentuhmenz, da' winna'... Vladzima' Strwivez!"
He looks over to the man he condemned as the medical team disappear into the back with him, a solemn look on his face at the sight of what he's brought upon him. Whiskey exits the stage as crew members rush out past him to clean up the ring and get it set for the final contest of the night.
~End Of Thread~
"OH MY GAWD!"
"HE DID IT!! THE KING LIVES!!"
"NO! NOOOOO!! Jerry had it! Biledriver Mark Two and he had this one won!"
"I can't believe it! I thought for sure the bastard was put away for good!"
As the referee declares it only a two count, the Shotgun Kid lays against the cold steel, stunned. He pounds his fist against it, hard enough to split skin on the edge of his hand and presses his forehead onto it. He had fought valiantly in the name of justice, of righting the wrongs of the Monarch of Madness... to show that in the end, the good fight is always the righteous path. Yet still victory eluded him like some sort of sick joke. Perhaps he had been at odds with whatever higher powers at bay there were. Maybe this was the lesson of life that might indeed made right and the morality and humanity that he believed in were not the whims of whatever existed beyond. He wondered if it were all some cruel joke as a tug at his hair led him up to his feet once more. The will to fight faded from his heart as his skull was clasped by the bulging thighs of the GodKing. His arms are tucked behind him, up like tiny wings before gravity loses its claim and he turns heels over head, gazing at the inverted sight of the squared circle. His fall from grace is punctuated with the clash of slanted steel against the back of his shoulders, neck, and cranium as the Barbarian Lord drops with him, driving him down harshly with move that had silenced so many rebellions before his.
"SKESIS DRIVER!! That's it! Someone call the fat lady, because this one is OV-AH!"
"DAMN IT! I really had hope for Jerry on this one. This man earned it. I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone fight with more spirit or heart and really turn the tables on Vlad like he did.."
"Well, shoulda, coulda, woulda is about to mean jack shit, Jimmy."
The world seemed peaceful to Jerry Nate as a far off cry of 'one' faintly whisped about his ear. The end to his torment was in sight and he need only to lay there in wait for it. At last, he could leave the battlefield behind and relax, take a little time to unwind and maybe grab a few drinks with some friends once he had healed up. A 'two' follows once more from some distant land and his stomach seems to turn sickeningly. The realization that something wasn't right hits him staunchly. He knew he was in no shape to continue, but his opponent wasn't either. He didn't need to entirely outmatch Vladimir and his condition left him far from able to do so currently, but he could perhaps outlast him long enough to deliver just enough to run his tank out. The rising clatter of "COME ON, JER-RY!" causes him to spasm as if by instinct, breaking out of the pin and sending a fresh wave of pandemonium through the Concord crowd.
"JERRY KICKED OUT!!"
"NO! Stay down, you stupid idiot!!"
"Jesus... how can these two go on like this?! It's going to take an act of God to put them down!"
Grimey watches on in horror as he backs up, having never anticipated such a drawn out fight to the near death by the men. Vladimir's eyes dart to him as he stands up and shakes his head. He yells to him, the words barely heard under the screams and cheers of the audience.
"When this is over... when I put this Hillbilly to rest... Don't you forget your debt, Mr. Whiskey... and don't look so damn disgusted. You're the one who called for a hit man."
Strife sweeps the hair out of his face and watches the slowly stirring Satisfying One. Jerry, his sense of purpose reignited with the knowledge that the path he was on was his own regardless of what it entailed or who shared it, stamps a heavy sole against the metal and pushes himself up. He tilts his head up enough to see the Titan beyond his brow and takes off, charging at him like a mad bull. The edge of the stage lay just beyond the Impaler and he would drive him over it and down into the depths of hell if he had to in order to teach Vladimir the price of his vile ways. As he closes in, the Czar of Scars reaches out, hooking his arms swiftly and planting himself sternly. He yanks up, bringing the feet of the incoming Shotgun Kid up off of the ramp. He carefully shifts his arms, allowing the Cornhusker to revolve about them, his lower back coming down to rest on the shoulder of the Behemoth.
The GodKing turns toward the edge of the stage he was almost speared over and looks down to the table below, a smle coming to his lips. Grimey steps in beside him, his conscious finally getting the better of him as he pleads with the man he asked to take out the Shotgun Kid.
"DON'T!! Pleeze, Mistah Strivez! I sedz hurtz 'im, not killz 'im!!"
Vladimir's face twists into a hateful expression and he looks toward the source of the cry, causing the booker to back off sheepishly. He steps back until his bottom comes in contact with the a steel column supporting the Butchertron and stays there, watching on afraid to speak out against the Barbarian Lord again.
"Jesus... it seems even Grimey can't stop this slaughter.."
"And he almost became part of it judging by that look on Vlad's face."
"Hey, he has no one to blame but himself! He put Jerry against Vlad to teach him a lesson and you don't call in an exterminator to swat a fly. This is what Strife does. He takes people beyond their limit and breaks them. He couldn't have possibly expected Vlad to just take the win and call it a day, especially not after what these two have been through!"
With no further warning, the GodKing leaps over the edge of the stage and plunges down, pulling the Shotgun Kid down before him and in between his legs. The table below them gives a heavy crunch as it splinters under their weight and force and the pass through to the concrete below. The upper back and head of Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying is bashed again, this time shutting down power to the facilities within as his word cuts to black. Vladimir holds him in place as the referee peers down over the side with grim interest before counting.
"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
The bell rings as 'Hail To The King' starts to blare once more. Vladimir pulls himself up from the carnage and onto the ramp once more, rolling over on the top of it and looking up to the lights as the medical team descends upon his opponent at last.
"God almighty.. I've never seen anyone take a beating like Jerry Nate did tonight and the closest to it I can recall is the one Vlad just took in turn.. That was one hell of a match, folks! I feel sorry for any fan who didn't tune in for this one!"
"You can say that again. This was yet another shining example of why EVPW truly is the best that money can buy!"
"Damn straight, right up there with me, S.M. Raye!"
Looking over to his right, Vladimir spots a microphone and reaches out weakly, grabbing it up and bringing it to his mouth. His heavy breathing rings through, his chest visibly rising and falling with the labored breaths.
"JERRY..."
The rasps continue, breaking up his words.
"You said... you could have... killed me. But... you were... more righteous.. or some shit... than that."
The GodKing takes a deep breath and clears his throat to help straighten himself out.
"That's your problem... You come in here on a high horse.. trying to prove something. And I'm sure you did. You go home to Mrs. Nate or Mama Nate... perhaps they're the same, you fucking hillbilly.. and to them.. to these fans.. you've proved yourself for damn sure. I didn't come here to win anybody over though... I didn't come for some debate on right and wrong, Jerry."
Strife finally sits up and looks over to the unconscious Shotgun Kid as the EMT's hoist him up onto a stretcher and put his arms beside him, pulling the railing up into place. His words may be unheard now, but he knows the Pride of O-Town will be watching this match for months to come, wondering what he could have done differently.
"There ain't no right or wrong out here, boy... There's winning and then there's losing.. There's no moral high ground.. just one man swinging a bigger stick. You don't get a happy ending, you fucker... it's just a cycle of pain and misery and a little bit of glory at the top of the hamster wheel."
The GodKing goes into a coughing fit, taking him almost half of a minute to calm it down before he looks over to them carting away the man who took him to the limit.
"You should have dumped me on my head when you had the chance, you stupid son of a bitch... Grimey, call it, you goofy looking shit.."
Vladimir pulls himself up and pushes the microphone into Grimey's chest, walking past him as the GM does his best to fill in for Lizzie Morna.
"Uhh.... Ladiez n' gentuhmenz, da' winna'... Vladzima' Strwivez!"
He looks over to the man he condemned as the medical team disappear into the back with him, a solemn look on his face at the sight of what he's brought upon him. Whiskey exits the stage as crew members rush out past him to clean up the ring and get it set for the final contest of the night.
~End Of Thread~
