Asylum Cage: Oliveira vs. Strife

[Vladimir Strife]

From GHW Dawn of Destruction 2008

~Matthew Oliveira~

Darrell: "Well, kiddos, we've had another amazing night live on pay-per-view as usual. We've had a few scores settled, some feuds magnified, our first Television champ crowned and...well...up next could be one of the most violent and lethal encounters ever."
Ray: "Darrell, we've said that so many times before with so many different stars on so many different nights. But, this time, it could be in one of it's purest forms. Before we let Lizzie roll with her punches, and before we let these guys nearly kill each other, you need to realize something. Matthew Oliveira and Vladimir Strife are professionals. They've been trained. They've done this kind of stuff before and know their limits. But, my opinion and most sincerest thoughts...these limits should never be pushed. DO NOT try this at home, at a friends, or practically ever."
"Exactly. See, chances are both men will be put out from this. We've signed waivers, our cameramen have been told what could happen, and our referee has an advances lesson in First Aid. We want you to know, no matter how bad this gets, it's for the sake of entertainment. This should never be duplicated even in this business...and to confirm our sentiments, Brett Steel previously talked with us, and here is his message."

A camera pans up to the thick Asylum Cage hanging by the rafters above the ring, the Dawn of Destruction graphic cutting to the promo airing earlier in the week as a re-cap...

The scene fades in from black to an empty arena, in the center is a wrestling ring, with a lone figure. Above that figure is a cage, the cage begins to lower and the camera floats forward, towards the ring before entering and revealing Brett Steel wearing his wrestling attire. The cage lowers and various weapons dangle from the roof of the closed structure. "I submit..." Brett turns to face the camera, "Those are the only two words that will get you out of this place without getting knocked unconcious. Those two words are words that I wish I uttered. Those two words are for men who cant handle the pain of this ring. Those two words have never been uttered by me or my opponent. We both knew that no matter what we did to eachother, the match wouldnt end with those two words..."

The scene fades out, showing clips of the match:

Vlad cries out in pain, trying to find any way he can to get out of the move, after a while, he's able to find Bretts own hand and quickly jars his finger back, forcing Brett to release the hold. As Brett stumbles away from Vlad, he can be seen holding his hand, the camera quickly zooms in on his hand to see his finger forced in the position Vlad put it in to get out of the hold. After a couple quick breaths Brett forces his finger back into position with a loud yelp. He then moves forward to continue with Vlad only to receive a low blow before a DDT to the mat.

JP: That was disgusting! Vlad dislocated his finger then Brett put it back in place!

Ray: He's so strong and sexy!

Vlad then rolls over Brett and quickly and rakes his back, tearing at the fresh scabs, before pulling both of Bretts arms up into a double hammer lock. Brett cries out in pain as the blood begins to seep from his wounds on his back while Vlad continues to apply pressure to the hammer lock. After a bit of struggle, Vlad releases the hold and slowly stands up before stomping Brett back to the mat.

JP: He's vicious!

Ray: I'm going to cry! Goodbye my lovely 50 dollar bill!

Vlad slowly reaches down to help Brett up by grabbing his arm but Brett quickly flips over the hold and leg sweeps Vlad to the mat. But Vlad recovers quickly and as Brett is getting up, Vlad kicks him in the groin before kicking him in the chin as Brett ducks down, favoring his jewels. Vlad then jumps up and grabs Brett before he can fall back and whips him toward the ropes, Brett hits the ropes and rebounds into a clothesline from Vlad.

The scene fades in from the clip to Brett turned with his back facing the camera, revealing all of the scars on his back. He slowly turns around and looks above his head at the barbed wire baseball bat. "This match brings men to their very limit and pushes them further than they ever thought possible. This match breaks you, not once, not twice but many times over. This match, simply put is pain." Brett sighs lightly as he looks around the ring before leaping up and grabbing onto the baseball bat, he then grabs the top of the cage with one arm and pulls himself and the bat up before dropping down to the mat with it.

"There is no escape. There are no pins. There is only pain, submission and black outs." Brett swings the bat hard, aiming for the camera, but the bat stops an inch from the camera as the scene fades out to another clip from the match:

Vladimir gets up to his feet and climbs the turnbuckle slowly, being careful not to fall off. He reaches up high for a beer bottle, it being slightly out of his reach. Vladimir is so focused on reaching it that he forgets about Brett Steel, who finally has gotten up and comes over, climbing up behind Vladimir but facing inward. Brett hoists himself up under Vladimir and lifts him up, preparing to powerbomb him from the top rope. The audience rise to their feet as they watch, getting ready to see it. Vlad grabs onto the cage sides and pulls himself towards them, slamming Brett's head against the cage by thrusting his hips.

Ray: Ooooh! I love that move!!!
JP: Dear God.... I'm pretty sure Vladimir wasn't meaning for it to look as sexual as it did, Ray..
Ray: Sure, he didn't... sure.. Neither did I last night.
JP: Ray... even considering you are gay, what man really would ever want to sleep with you?
Ray: Your daddy!
JP just sits there with an open mouth, shocked by the insult.

Vladimir reaches up and grabs the beer bottle finally, bringing it down with a yank and smashing the bottom of it over Brett's skull. Vlad goes to stab him in the forehead with it, but Brett wearily falls forward off of the turnbuckle, hitting Vladimir with a monstrous powerbomb. Brett takes a moment to remember where he is and sees Vladimir laid out in front of him. He grabs Vlad's ankle and twists it, locking his legs around Vlad's knee for leverage. Vladimir reaches out in pain weakly, knocked dizzy from the powerbomb, and tries to pull his leg out of the move.

Ray: Wow... Vladimir just got the hell knocked out of him and already Brett Steel has him locked in a submission! Looks painful..
JP slams Ray's head against the table and shakes his head.
JP: It looks painful indeed.

Vladimir grabs the broken beer bottle and jams the shards into Brett's calf, quickly breaking the hold as Brett holds his hand over a couple of lines of blood pouring down the back of it. Vlad is still dizzy, but brings himself up to his knees and then pounces on Brett, holding him down. He rakes the edges of broken glass across Brett's forehead and digs them in hard, twisting and jabbing them into the flesh. Brett yells out loudly in pain and grabs Vladimir's hands, pulling them away from himself, overpowering Strife once again.

Brett thrusts his hips hard and sends Vladimir over head and onto the mat. He rolls backwards and sits on top of Vladimir's chest, reversing the position he'd just been in. Brett pulls the bottle from Vladimir's hands and tosses it against the cage away from them, the rest of it shattering into small bits. Brett slams his elbow into Vladimir's jaw a couple of times, then grabs his hair and pulls him up towards him. Brett then shoves him back down, slamming Vladimir's head against the ring mat and repeating the process a couple of times. Brett then stands up and looks down upon a dazed Vladimir.

The scene fades in from the clip to see Brett sitting on a turnbuckle with the baseball bat in his lap. He looks towards the camera with a light shudder before holding his leg out, showing the scars from the match. "I've broken bones for this business, I've taken beatings, I've seen more things and experienced more pain than most of the men in the business today. And this match was worse than any of the things from my past. I fell off of the roof of an arena onto a parked car and survived, I've taken dives into bathtubs of thumbtacks. I know pain and this match took me further than any of that. I was lucky to make it out alive, and so was Vlad."

The scene fades out again to another clip:

Brett jumps off of his turnbuckle before moving to the center of the ring and waiting for Vlad. They exchange nods before moving closer into a tie up, Vlad uses his strength and weight to his advantage and quickly brings Brett into an arm drag. As Brett hits the mat Vlad continues to hold the arm and drops to the mat with an arm bar on Brett, weakening the arm of Brett moreso. Vlad continues to wrench the hold unmercifully before reaching for the bat and placing the bat under the elbow of Brett to add more leverage to the hold. After a while Brett begins to pound the mat, after hearing a pop come from his elbow, tapping out to the modified arm bar, but Vlad doesn’t realize the ref was still out cold when he releases the hold.

JP: Oh god… I think he just dislocated the elbow of Brett Steel. This wont be good folks..

Ray: I think I’m gonna be sick again.

Vlad glances around the ring before beginning an early celebration and realizes the ref was still out cold from the powerbomb. Vlad begins to curse and stomp around the ring before moving back over to Brett who is still favoring his arm. Vlad glances down to see Bretts elbow dislocated and sighs lightly before grabbing the hand of Brett and yanking as hard as he can. Brett screams out in pure agony when his elbow pops back into place from the yank, causing Vlad and the entire arena to almost instantly feel sick to their stomachs.

Ray vomits at the sound of the scream.

JP: For once, I’m about to do the same… Brett really is a tough son of a bitch I guess. And I think Vlad has found himself a newfound respect for Brett Steel.

Vlad steps back away from Brett as he rolls on the mat in pain, holding his elbow and nearly crying before forcing himself to his feet. Vlad stares on at Brett, amazed that he’s actually getting up before shaking off his surprise and focusing in on the match again. Brett quickly lunges forward, using only one hand and delivers a quick punch to the face of Vlad. Vlad stumbles slightly, allowing Brett time to deliver a kick to his ribs and a second punch to the stomach. Vlad begins stumbling more as Brett continues to use his feet and fist to push Vlad back into the turnbuckle.

Brett sighs lightly as the scene cuts to him again, "My elbow has never been the same since, I cant even LIFT anything heavy without it popping out."

Brett takes a breath and looks around the ring, "Just for you people, I broke a few promises." The cage begins to raise slowly. "I promised I'd never step foot in that cage again and I broke that promise for this little thing. Matt, I really hope you have the strength to survive this match, I know Vlad does. Because if you dont, GHW will lose another great wrestler. Dont go into anything without knowing all possible routes of victory or defeat. And you did just that, Matt."

The cage raises completely and hangs over the ring. "Good luck guys, and remember, stay alive or lose... Permanently. Also, maybe you'll gain some respect for this man finally Matt, who knows... Crazier shit has happened, like me doing the same thing." Brett turns and slowly walks out of the ring as the scene fades back to black.

Purple and green letters appear on the sceen:

Asylum Cage

Matt Oliveira 

vs 

Vladimir Strife

DAWN

OF

DESTRUCTION!

We cut back to a buzzing arena, in a semi-silent tone as the cage descends halfway, preparing for it's final lowering. The final trio of ring ropes fall, leaving the ring aprons barren and colorless. In the ring, however, lay a flurry of weaponry. Trash cans filled with random goodies, a pair of tables, even a pane of glass and a segment of chain-link fencing. The ring bell chimes solemnly thrice, Lizzie taking the microphone and setting the stage.

Lizzie: "The following contest is our MAIN EVENT of the evening, and is an Asylum Cage Deathmatch. In a few minutes, the cage above the ring will be desend, and will not be lifted until a winner is declared. The rules are as follows: NO disqualifications, NO pinfalls, NO technical knock-outs, and can ONLY end once a participant cannot answer the referee's count of ten under complete unconsciousness or by way of submission. There is NO set time limit, and will conclude GHW's DAWN...OF...DESTRUCTION!"

The crowd pops at the pay-per-view name, their heads beginning to turn to the stage area, preparing for the first of two damned souls.

Darrell: "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the fight of your lives."

SLAM!

"Matter of Time" by HELLYEAH shatters the ominous silence that fills the venue, crimson and white light flickering with each drum beat. The crowd stands and rushes the barriers, torsos leaning over the rails and eyes peering into the black curtains that shade the gloom that each man -and woman- who performed tonight exits and enters, sandwiching his or her duty of combat.

Can't touch this... we rule it with a clenched fist,
On! Top fuel with a death grip
Judged! By-a-weak-little-man with-a-pen-in-his-hand and-just doesn't-fucking-get-it
Own! Couldn't stop us if you wanted to
School! Breaking knuckles with a ruler,
Done! No more! Emergence! To dominate you..."

RUN! HIDE!...

Matt whips open the curtains as the song rounds it's first chorus, taking a few steps out as a small amount of cameras flicker. His hair is drenched in water, as is his t-shirt dampened; his old side-profile shirt from quite a while ago dawning his chest. With that is a pair of ripped jean shorts, black, as is his pads and boots. The taped wrapped around his fists glows a clean and ironic white, permanent marker scribing "NeXuS" on his left wrist and "Cage of Death" on his right, the only occurences which he's stepped into a cage surrounding, being his only experience aside from facing his opponent a few months ago. Luckily, both of those times he came out a victor, but both in the Genius's mind and everyone watching, this is more than a cage. The King of the Deathmatch proudly sits at his waist, having it's presence in good taste dispite it's lack in the wager-department. Matt stops at the edge of the stage, standing still, staring at the Asylum looming ten feet over the squared circle...this was the apex. This was it. If there ever was to be a next test in his career, albeit short, that was now. One thousand thoughts rush into his head, one being...he's going to have a headache for his birthday. Matt zones out, being brought back by Lizzie.

"Introducing the first participant...standing at six feet and two inches, weighing two hundred and fifty four pounds...his GHW record clocks in at eleven wins and one loss...he is the NeXuS Champion...the Silver Devil Champion...the current King of Deathmatches..."THE HARDCORE GENIUS"...MATTHEW OLIVEIRA!"

A solemn round of applause greets the steely-eyed sadist, raising his arms and posing in a crucifix and marching down the ramp, he looks at the various followers by the railings, staring at each one in the eye, looking directly into the believed soul. However, for the fans, what they saw was nothing but blank pupils. Cold, dankness, an inhospitable glare and look of uncertainty or death. It wasn't necessarily for intimidation, but still ran a chill up a sensitive man's spine if ever the case.

Ray: "Well, not much to say anymore in his case, Darrell, but I can say Matt's shared his case of epic matches. Sometimes prized as the most violent and grotesque spectacles in a twenty-by-twenty piece of hardware. Not many opponents have driven Matt to the edge quite like Vladimir, I mean, he's gone into hunger strikes just for a PRAYER of an advantage in mind games. These two will not stop."
Darrell: "Closely matched physically, closely matched charismatically, and as for psychologically...that battle hasn't stopped, nor reached a result."

Matt reaches the ring, standing a few feet from the apron and looks at the setting. So lifeless. No flare or flamboyance...except for Ray. No give from ropes. Anything in the ring can only break...and that includes his bones. Oliveira side steps the ring for a moment, listless, and walks around it, staring.

...a gun in his hand and I don't f*cking get it
Sick! Livid and my stomach aches
Rage! Boiling over, full of hate
Weak! Worthless! Spineless and we're coming for YOU!

Run! Hide! Your time is coming
Hunt! Find! Walking a fine line
Run! Hide! My time is coming
Hunt! Find! It's just a matter of time!

Matt walks to the opposite side of the ring and removes his title, folding it caringly and placing it on the timekeeper's table. He knew, as a fact, Vlad would bring down his heirs, and they too would join some of the most prestigious titles this lineage of business ever saw. Leather and gold...just leather and gold...so much blood for leather and gold. Oliveira turns around, a large and focused breath coming out of his mouth, his fingertips being pricked by neurological pins. He steps away from the tables and places a hand on the canvas, pushing up and tucking his knee in. The mat never felt as soft in his life, and the scary part...it's in comparison. He stands up, a chill, a clink of chain. NeXuS. No Man's Land. Shattered Dreams. Hangman's Horror. Cage of Death. SCW Match. Amherst Alleys. House of Horrors...and now...the Asylum Cage.

Darrell: "The cage hasn't even lowered, and it's taking it's toll. TRUST ME."

The riffs of Dimebag fade out of the speakers, growing quiet, the nose of the fans coming back. A single air horn. A soccer chant. Everything's hitting so hard and so fast. His breath whistles out his nose, Matt opening his mouth to stop it, another cold chill up his back, reflecting off of every single scar beckoning his skin. Welcome to your own personal Hell, Matthew Christopher Oliveira.

TBCB Vladimir Strife *I salute you.*

(OOC: Creds to KB again for the promo, HAD to include it.)

[Vladimir Strife]

~Vladimir Strife~

As the lights in the arena go black, the scurry of feet is heard from the entrance ramp. Men move, setting props in place and getting everything perfect as quickly as possible before disappearing into the back once more. The sounds of a thunderstorm begin to play, the light riff of a guitar accompanying them as the titantron comes on.

"I know why I fall... all the time
I'm falling."

The scene of Vladimir T. Strife and Matthew Oliveira standing in ring shows up, the two men standing side by side with matching shirts. Upon them is a ragged circle, a 'k' in the middle as the insignia of almost undeniably the most powerful tag team of GHW history.

"Just one look in your eyes tells me why it's a lie
I'm falling for..."

The last two words echo as the scene fades into a battered and bloodied KULT, standing triumphantly over the bodies of Brett Steel and Sledge Hammer. In their hands are the Heaven and Hell Allied titles, each man holding one high for all the word to see as they stand upon their proverbial pedastools.

The beat takes an eerie tone as the lyrics begin to play again.

"I warned you...
I'd be right here waiting...
I know you're tired."

The scene goes black, suddenly turning to light to reveal Vladimir Strife in a ring, Matthew Oliveira lurking ominously behind him. As Vladimir spins around, a thumbtack chair befalls him, striking him to the mat at the hands of the man he'd fought in the Amherst Alley Match. It switches to a sickening image as the Hardcore Genius holds a sledgehammer high in the air as though he were the Norse God Thor himself. He swings it as though fighting for his life, slamming the steel head down onto a chair that is wrapped around Vladimir's leg, bending steel and crushing bone in it's wake. The metal is warped around the King's knee like some sort of a makeshift brace, a King pulled from his throne and slung to the dirt in that moment as he is forced to relive the trauma and pain he endured a year before.

The vocalist's word take a harsh sound, coming out forcefully in sound.

"I NEED YOU
I've been right here waiting.."

The titantron shows the closed eyes of Vladimir T. Strife, the outskirts of the image darkened out, giving him the unintentional appearance of a ninja. His eyebrows are furrowed, an expression of anger and determination recognizable without the fire in his eyes to back it up.

Red lighting shines upon the top of the entrance ramp, revealing the changes the workers had made. The black curtain that once covered the entrance to the back is gone. In front of it stands a section of chain link, most likely a wall from a steel cage given the height and length. Behind the cage is the form of an athletically built man, the outlines of titles visible at the end of his outstretched arms. His shadow is cast behind him long and far, an exaggeration of his true size, all around it and the stage consumed in red.

The sound of drumming gets quicker, inducing pumping in the hearts of the arenas patrons.

"I know you're trying..."

The arena suddenly goes black once more, the red light stopping and the darkness looming, seeming to hang onto the line as it waits that brief moment for Strapping Young Lad vocalist Devin Townsend to finish the words.

"TO GO HOME!"

The speakers are cranked up louder for the line, causing some fans to jump in surprise, white lights pouring across the stage with the end of the line. They go silent once more..

The form of a man behind the cage can now be made out easily as the undefeated beast of man they call Vladimir Tepes Strife, the scourge of Gods and Heretics alike. He pumps his leg up like a piston and sends it slamming forward into steel links, his power and thrust sending the unset steel cage wall forward. It crashes down upon the entrance ramp with a thunderous clang of metal, an explosion of pyro and sparks deafening all near the stage as red and orange sparks shoot up from set points in a shower. The commotion sets the stage as the music kicks back in, stampede like bass drums rumbling the building as the eyes on the titantron shoot open, seeming to eerily stare at the fans and Matthew Oliveira.

It cuts to scene of the man's destruction, thumbtack deathmatches, lighttube cages, a bear pit, high top deathmatch. One by one, every man that stood before him... fell before him. Vladimir looks down the ramp and at the ring... first at the man inside... and then at the piece of hades that loomed overhead. He exhales heavily, his breath visibly in the cold atmosphere. At the end of one arm, he holds the Solid Kore title... the Deep Zero title at the other. The titles were a statement. A statement of the place Vladimir had come from, the land of barbarism and brutality... a sick breed of man that equated blood to sport, the clan that had brought upon an age of grotesque, an era of competition, a reign of dominance upon the land that had been branded for Glory and Honor and turned the wrestling world onto it's head and eclipsed the talent that preceded it in an unspoken war.

Vladimir's eyes tell the tale of horror to unfold. A war would take place in that ring, not a match. There would be no winner, no loser, no victor, no champions, only a survivor.

His chest and arms were clad in a black long sleeved shirt instead of the usual blue. Across the front was the depiction of barbed wire, bloody, rusted and set to display a message. "SOLID f**k**g CORE". His gloves continue the pattern, the right being deep green and sporting the word "SOLID" and the left dark purple, stating "CORE". As Vladimir held the fists high in the air above him side by side, the titles slid down to his shoulders. He lowered his arms, displaying the message clearly to Matthew and the world. The statement was all too clear.

Fans buzzed, the King apparently missing the memo as he had just broken an unspoken law of the land. Some fans began to feel overwhelmed, understanding that this no longer was just a fight, that Vladimir had just crossed a serious line in the minds and hearts of millions around the world and nearly every single man in the lockerroom.

Lizzie Morna cleared her throat, trying to continue on with her job despite knowing that the battle had just turned white hot.

"And his opponent... weighing in at 269 pounds.... standing at 6 feet tall... he is the 31 and 0 undefeated undisputed terror of Gods and Heretics... hailing from Sighisoara, Romania.... VLADIMIR T. STRIFE!!!"

As she finishes, the warlike drums and blade like guitar riffs lead into the brash growling vocals of Strapping Young Lad.

"Lord over creation
Hands across the nation
Woe to human kind
Woe to human kind"

Vladimir begins to walk towards the ring, his black strap boots pushing down the chain link as he paces over it without a thought, a determination present that told the world that if the arena tumbled down around him, it still would stop his path to the ring. A necklace resting on his collarbone dangles, a small sword, intricately designed to resemble the legendary sword of Mars.

"(STAND BACK) - You burn the medic
(THROWN BACK) - I'm broken
(STARE BACK) - Attack, attack, attack...
(THE NEW BLACK) - THE FACE OF CREATION

Woe to you, mankind"

Vladimir reaches out to the side, slapping some outstretched hands without looking, reddening the palms of a few fans. The animosity grows with every second and every step he makes towards the squared circle.

"I have to tell you, people... the energy in this arena is absolutely astounding. I've never felt anything like this in my life. The look on these mens faces is giving me goosebumps.."
"Me too and that's not easy to do. Usually I'm giving everyone else goosebumps."

"And it can never be held in stasis
What's on your mind?
Woe to you, mankind

(STAND BACK) - You taste the taste
(THROWN BACK) - We're broken
(STARE BACK) - Attack, attack, attack...
(THE NEW BLACK) - THE NEW BLACK"

Vladimir makes his way around the ring and towards Darrell and Ray as the music continues to play. He smacks a few more hands along the way, the crowd pumped up for this match. He stops at the table and takes the Solid Kore and Deep Zero titles off of himself, setting them side by side in front of Ray White, something he'd usually do with Jimmy Pate. Vladimir looks out around the arena to all of the fans and their signs, knowing full and well that this may be the last time he does. A shiver runs up his spine as a bead of sweat down his back. He peruses the signs... "...And I Know I'm Right!!", "Vlad's Going to Kill you!", "C-Driver!", "Skesis!", "Hardcore Heaven!", "...There will be blood". Vladimir smiles shyly at them, the emotion being forced.

"Sleepwalking
Your lack of vision
Is the division
There's no vision in your mind, back the f*ck off!
In time...same thing as...butt off

With the vision in mind
Superficial is time
Inquisition the mind in the FACE OF CREATION"

As Vladimir takes the solemn and cold walk up the steel stairs, Matthew Oliveira back away to the other corner. The music fades out as he steps into the ring, a certain creepiness present from the absent of ring ropes, tilting his head side to side to warm up, dark brown hair turned jet black by being soaked down swaying side to side. His piercing gaze fixates on Matthew as he throws a few punches to warm up.

The cage above the men slowly lowers, a white coat of paint on it that was painted on for the match gleaming in the light. For what reason, no one seemed to know. Perhaps the white was made as an aesthetic choice, perhaps it was to better show the cage, even possibly as a symbolism of the inescapability of a lunatic asylum that it stood for. The men in the ring knew in their hearts that it was a far more ominous purpose the white served... to better show their blood as it dripped from it's confines.

Vladimir's heart thumps uncontrollably as if threatening to leap from his body as his eyes dialate, focusing on the hellacious structure now. Fear grips his body tightly, a feeling that had racked his nerves all night. There was no backing down though... there was no escape in their minds for the inevitable. As the bottom of the steel mesh structure connects with the concrete, it does so with a reporting sound, the cage showing no effect - not shaking or wobbling. Vladimir gulps heavily, swallowing the last of his humanity before turning to face Matthew Christopher Oliveira once more. His mouth dry, his tongue swatting at the corners of his mouth and his eyes shooting a powerfully intense gaze into the eyes of the man who put him on the shelf... the King was as ready as any man could reasonably get for what was in store.

TBCB Matthew Oliveira

(And so it begins... A quote comes to mind. "This is the way the world shall end - not with a bang but with a whimper.")

[Vladimir Strife]

~Matthew Oliveira~

The referee turns his head to Vladimir, his orderly eyes drawn into the blackened abyss of his pupils. Thirty-one times a man has stared into those eyes of his, at least, and thirty-one times that man fell to the ground, a multitude of battering. Punches. Kicks. Chair shots. Thirty one times has a being who has said and thought “I’m better than you. I can end it all for you. I can take your belt. I can take your reputation and shred it faster than a fisher. I have all the power in my body to take your LIVE, Vlad.” And thirty-one times their words were shoved down the man’s gullet than a capsule of cyanide, yet just as efficient. However, this thirty-second time, the man looking into those eyes not only said but stuck to his word. “I KNOW I’m better than you. I’ve ALMOST ended it all for you. I STOLE your belt. I BRUISED your reputation and I crushed it with all the hate-filled blood beating from my very heart. That SAME heart that pumped the blood you caused me to lose, yet ounce-for-ounce we’ve bled equal in our names. I may not be able to TAKE your life, Vlad, but I CAN change it.” Those eyes are across the ring from where Strife stands, and they stare blankly at his feet. The referee interrogates Vlad, “Are you ready?” with the creaking of his neck answering the plea, his fingers twitching, mouth dryer than the Sahara. The official turns to Matt, alerting the mat-bound gaze up, catching him offguard. “Are you ready?” he asks the opponent, Oliveira’s spine bathed in a mental pool of ice, looking helpless at the objects around him. His eyes close, the eyes that had once seen a man’s nostrils slit, or be bathed in tacks, or choke an opponent until he turns purple and passes out. Those SAME eyes close in fear, and for the first time in his career, that faithless word passes through his lips. “NO…” replies Matt, the referee double-taking the out-of-the-ordinary answer to such a meaningless question. He puts a hand up to Strife, signalling him to wait a moment while he walks up to the Genius.

“WHAT?”
“I said ‘no’…I can’t do this.”
“You mean to say to me that you’re in the main event of a pay-per-view in a freakin’ cage and YOU want out?”
*Matt nods, sorrowfully, his mind in the wrong spot.*
“I can’t do that!”
“..why?”
“YOU signed the waivers, the match, and you have thousands of people watching you, Oliveira!”
*Matt looks to his side, plaintively*
“This is an Asylum Cage! This may be HIS home turf, but damn it Matt, you’ve done one thing you’ve done it all!”
“That’s bullshit! This is a whole other story!”
“HOW’s this different?”
“It’s Vladimir Strife! I can’t handle this pressure anymore! I’m a champion, a tag champ, and I’ve got notoriety but it’s not f*cking worth it!”
“You mean to tell me somebody who makes the biggest debut in this companies history, who defends this company through hellfire, who makes the strongest team I ever had to give a pin fall for is scared?! I cannot, CANNOT cancel this match. Are you ready to fight?!”
*Matt remains silent.*
“Good enough for me! Ring the bell!”

The referee steps aside and waves his arm, the hammer striking the bell and chiming the start of the match. Vladimir lurches forwards, the blood of an animal coursing through his veins, only to be chilled by his opponent carelessly dropping to his knees. He halts, astounded as Matt kneels with hair covering his face, head hung in self-reflection. Strife’s brow engulfs his stone-cold eyes, teeth gritting, now wasn’t the time or the place. He brings an open hand down before him and strikes Oliveira across the head with a slap, a “thuck” of a collision radiating from it. The brown locks of Matt dangle from their roots. Vlad raises his hand again and swings it down, hitting his opponent again. “Come on you bastard! Not like this! Get the f*ck up and fight!”

“What in God’s name is he doing? Matt’s just kneeling there! We’ve waited four months for this?!?”
“Conservative fighting, perhaps?”

Strife slaps Matt for a third time, connecting with his bare cheek, bouncing his bruised and drug-toned brain against a scarred and cracked skull. His eyes stare listlessly into the distance and he shakes his head, peering up at the man who stands over him. Strife becomes enraged at making eye contact with the pathetic showing and grabs a hold of Oliveira’s hair. He raises up his free hand and balls his fist, driving it down like a piston into the menagerie of hair and coward, straight into Matt’s skull. He raises it again, and drops it again, one after the other, over and over. Oliveira’s hands remain hanging from his arms, from his shoulders without one electron of instruction being sent to them. He simply let his head be pummelled, knuckle by knuckle, punch by punch. A dozen right hands placed into his face, neck being knocked an inch over and back each time. Strife stands back, waiting for Matt to rise. Oliveira swipes his hair over, showing his face as pink and red begin to blotch to the surface of his skin. Vlad watches as the careless eyes meet his again, clutching the air and growling from frustration. Strife steps to the side and picks up a steel chair, gripping it by the legs. “Come on! Get up!” he screams, raising the chair over his head, threatening Matt to give him the fight he and the fans expected. The Genius doesn’t budge, Vlad snarls and drives down the chair…

*CRACK*

“Cheese ’n Rice!”

The seat folds in, the brace cracks, and the chair finds itself wrapped over Matt’s head with a hammer of Thor impression, flapping to the mat as Oliveira folds over propping his hand so he doesn’t hit the canvas. Strife holds his breath again, stalking, patient, watching as Matt hold himself up from a practical concussion. The camera closes in on the King of Deathmatches, his face concealed by follicles. And slowly yet suddenly, a dot of red appears on the grey/white mat. Another, then another. The family grows as bacteria, a splatter pattern soaking into the canvas as the life-giving fluids of the Genius find their way onto the fabric from the veins and arteries in his body. Matt stares at the floor below him, watching as his blood drip onto the mat, a catalyst of his ignorance and sudden bipolarity. Matt raises a hand to the wound freshly carved in his flesh, the two tips of his fingers being dyed in the crimson plasma. He gazes at his fingers, and blinks, for some reason coming across the urge to lick the blood off of them. He does, and stares again, with a revelation. If the reason he fought since his debut had been lost…it needed to be found. What Matt was missing was to be the underdog for once. But this, THIS was the underdog! This was the connection between NeXuS and now! The underdog mentality! He needed to be second-best to BE the best! Matt heaves off his hand and kneels back up, showing a now bloodied forehead. Vladimir stares as always, and watches intensively as Matt picks himself up. The referee greets him as he makes it to his feet.

“How about now?”
“…”
“Are you ready to fight or what?”

Matt shoves the referee out of the way by the shoulder and lurches at Vlad, catching him squarely around the throat and hunching over his body in a footballer’s stance. He shoves Vlad up against the cage wall and rearranges his forearm across Strife’s clavicle, pulls back a fist and bouncing it off of Vlad’s head. Oliveira pulls back his hand once more, but instead of punching again, his lifts off his other arm and taps Strife’s cheek, carelessly walking backwards to the middle of the ring. The crowd reacts with an “ohh”, feeling the disrespect and back-handed tactic displayed via the Genius. Strife picks up a chair leaning in the corner, and grips it, as does Matt with the already dented chair.

“Another stand off, Ray, remember back at Gods Versus Heretics?”
“Yep, a total 14 chair shots between the two men…it looks like we’re going for a new record.” *grabs a scorekeeping tablet*

Both men at a standstill, the crowd begins a pacing applause, faster and faster, waiting for one man to budge. Strife steps forward and swings the chair, Matt ducks, pivot, turn, Oliveira jabs, Vlad pulls back. Strife attempts, Matt blocks with a clashing. Oliveira drives a boot into Strife’s repaired knee, he folds, and the Genius scores one shot clean across Vlad’s back. Strife straightens up, arms arched back, and retraces one step. Matt swings overhead and contacts with a medium-grade shot, Vlad shaking his head momentarily. “Come on!” urges Matt, attempting to tease the veteran. Strife fakes a jab with the edge, knocking his opponent off-balance. With a quick rearrangement of hands, he makes his chair meet with Oliveira’s cranium. Matt steps back, raises and lands a chop, connecting with the side of head and shoulder. He lowers his weapon and tucks his head in, allowing Vlad to swing and hit him. The two men continue this primary-grade of duelling, shot for shot, again and again. After a few, and perhaps hundreds of brain cells dimmed, Matt lurches in for the kill. However, Strife this time sidesteps him, pivots and both men connect with a shot to the side of the head, causing Matt to drop his chair and go to his knees and for Vlad to stumble and release his weapon. Both give their heads a shake and look to their side, a common glance to the rival, not necessarily to say “I’m gonna hurt you” but to say “…yeah, what next?” Matt repositions himself and turns into Vlad’s opposing direction, leaning back onto this heels. He drives a stiff right into Strife’s jaw, a popping sound, knocking his head to the side. Strife’s skull quivers and he powers out his shoulder for a left hook, hitting Matt in the temple. A bit of “ooh”s and “ohh”s from the audience yet again as they exchange blows.

TBCB Vlad

[Vladimir Strife]

~Vladimir Strife~

As Matt sends another blasting right into the cheek of Vladimir, his head whips back from the force, causing him to stumble backwards. Vladimir brings his hand to his reddened cheek, lowering his head and looking at Oliveira with the look of a man possessed. Indeedly, Vladimir Strife was possessed... this cage had consumed him. Like a veteran who'd long fallen asleep to the sweet lullaby of women, men, and small children being ripped piece by piece apart by the hail of gunfire... like the worker at the slaughter house who had quit being disgusted at the sight of a cow stumbling around almost in a trance as it's eyes hung wide and blood poured from that second mouth he'd carved in the mid of it's throat... Vladimir was at home inside the demon he'd created. It's hard for hell to seem that bad when a man calls it home.

Vladimir smacks his own cheek, taunting his foe to strike again. Matthew obliges, winding back and driving his arm like a piston, the balled up fist at the end knocking a tooth loose as it connects against Vladimir's chin with a pop. Vladimir's head whips back once more, clearing the hair from his face. He looks at Matthew and moves his jaw side to side, thinking it might be dislocated. He grins as though enjoying it.

"IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT!? HARDER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"

Matthew's eyes narrow as he cocks his fist back again, raising a leg like a pitcher on the mound. He fires forward with another shot, connecting one more time with the jaw of his agitator. The smack of flesh on flesh rings well into the bleachers of the arena as Vladimir's legs go out beneath him, his body dropping like dead weight to the mat. Matthew shakes his arm, his fingers throbbing in pain from the impact, feeling as though he'd hit a brick wall. The referee moves past him, checking on the condition of the downed Vladimir. He's pushed away after a moment, Vladimir getting to his knees and sitting on his feet. He wobbles from side to side, knocked dizzy from the blast. To the confusion of everyone, Vlad begins to laugh, only lightly at first. After a moment, he is roaring in laughter, partially from a sadistic glee in the brutality and partially to intimidate his opponent.

Ray: This isn't good... Vladimir is laughing like a madman. He's lost it... again.
Darrell: Hard to really say he ever had it to be frank.
Ray: True... but I haven't heard that cackle in a long time. Vladimir is enjoying this... he likes it rough sometimes.
Darrell: Uhm... yeah, next time I'm working with Devin or Jimmy..

Vladimir slinks his way to the side of the cage, shoving his fingers through the steel diamonds. He begins to use the sturdy structure to pull himself to his feet, climbing the cage up. Matthew watches for a moment, before picking up a steel chair, holding onto the legs white knuckle tight and waiting to surprise his adversary with the present. As Vladimir swings himself around on the heel of one foot, he sees the chair and cocks his head back, smiling as if begging Matt to bring his best. Oliveira whips the chair into the air and lets go of it as Vlad drives a sudden boot into his abdomen. Matt bends down, the chair continuing back without him and clashing with the cage. Vladimir grabs Matt by the chin and pushes his head up, lining up a punch before driving a shot against his skull. Spit flies from Matt's mouth as he takes a few steps back.

Vladimir rushes in at him, the Hardcore Genius stepping out of his path and wrapping his feet around the ankle of Vlad, taking a leg from him. Vlad falls forward and unwillingly bites into a bar of steel as his face bashes against the side of the cage. The marks of red take only seconds to rise as blood drips down from a split in his lower lip, running down his chin slowly. He begins to pull himself up quickly, not wanting to give the time for Matt to plot his next move. There was no plotting anymore though. Both men were running off of pure instinct, adrenaline... fear. Oliveira grabs him by the hand, pulling him away from the cage and whipping him around to slams into the opposing side of the cage at full force. The cage hardly moves as 269 lbs of bone, meat and flesh collides. Vladimir drops to his knees and screams out loud, feeling as though he just got hit by a car. Bruises begin forming beneath his shirt, the skin going blue.

Darrell: Jesus Christ!! That damn cage barely even moved! What the hell was that!?
Ray: It's savage! Somebody get my Vlad out of there!!

The bottom of Matt's boot makes a clap as it collides with Vladimir's head, knocking him to the wayside. He begins to look around at the selection of weapons, grabbing a kendo stick that hangs from the roof. He raises it and gazes at the sleek wood surface before kicking Vladimir's arm away from the side of his head. A crack of wood resonates as Matt bashes Vladimir against the head. Vladimir raises his hand once more to guard his skull, but Matthew kicks it away before slamming the stick against the side of his face. This time Vladimir's hand goes nowhere, it simply lays at his side. Matthew continues to assault, laying in with shot after shot of the shinai to the King's crown. When he finally backs off, Vladimir lays against the canvas like a baby seal in Matt's home country. The referee quickly moves in, believing that the undefeated terror has succumb to a hell he put himself in.

The referee begins his count. 1... 2... 3... 4... an arm shoots high, stopping his count as Matthew throws the shinai aside, frustrated at it's lack of success. He watches as Vladimir rolls himself over and to his hands and knees, crawling away slowly. Matthew steps over him, standing over Vladimir's back and looking down on him. He swings a balled fist low, connecting with the side of his forearm across Vlad's face, forcing his head to the side. He follows with a stiff punch to the base of the skull, rocking Vlad's vision. He pushes the sides of his legs against Vlad's ribs, holding him in place, the King grabbing at the sides of his legs and trying to free himself. Another forearm against the head dulls his attempt... 2 more to weaken his hold. Vlad ceases his attempt, trying to crawl towards the cage, his jaw hanging slack and his eye lacking their luster as the world slowly spins in his sight. Matthew reigns down with clasped hands onto the top of Vlad's skull, nearly dropping him once more.

Ray: Come on, Vlad... don't give up... you can turn this around.. I know you can.
Darrell: Sounding real confident there, Ray. I don't know though, I think Matt's got him. Vladimir may have an advantage in that cage, but it can't be much. Matt took his titles away, his glory... he's crippled Vladimir.
Ray: What are you talking about?
Darrell: Well, all I'm saying is that Vlad ain't the dude he used to be.. He's lost his way and it's been quite apparent. Matthew may not have broken the streak, but he broke the man.

As Matt winds up another shot, Vladimir suddenly raises up, having planted his feet firmly. He grabs Matt around the legs, using them to support him up on his back. Matt seems to be too heavy though, Vlad leaning back and looking as though the men will fall, sandwiching Oliveira beneath him. Vladimir suddenly swings him forward as fast as he can, throwing himself into it as he drives the top of Matt's cranium against the thick metal. The King drops down once more, Matt landing on top of his upper arm and causing him to scream out as the bone fractures. Vlad quickly gets up and begins to shake the arm, wincing in pain every time he touches it. He tries to shake off the pain, then holds it against his side, favoring it as the referee make it to a count of 7 before a battered and bloody champion begins to crawl towards the corner, towards a little black bag.

Darrell: Oh my god! Vladimir just damn near tried to break Matt's skull against that cage and yet somehow he is still moving!
Ray: I'll give him that, I'll guess... Any less of a man wouldn't have gotten up from that, period.

Matthew grabs the bag and makes his way up, only coming into the attention of a now injured Vladimir as he gets to both feet. Matt pulls the bag open and as Vlad makes his way in towards him, he flings it forward, holding the bag as it's contents of metal thumbtacks fly out into the face of Strife. A few hang loosely from his flesh as he turns away and swipes at them, knocking them off, most of them just hitting and not sticking. A few small droplets of crimson begin to form where points had caught him. Recovering from the distraction, Vladimir turns around in a rage, Matthew looking at him with a grin and both hands behind his back sneakily.

"Stop!"

Vladimir is caught off guard by the request and obeys, not knowing what to do. As Matt suddenly swings his arms forward, the handle of a sledgehammer is in one, clutching it by the head. The other hand grabs on lower down the stick, providing him with more force as he drives the head of the steel hammer into the ribs and solar plexus of his once tag team partner. A sickening crack rings out, one of the Strife's ribs breaking with the impact. He drops to the mat with his arms wrapped around his lower torso, rolling onto his front and kicking the canvas like a child. As he rolls onto his side, a flow of blood can be seen running down his cheek, his lips glossy and bright red. His obvious consciousness, despite his agony, prevents the referee from being able to do anything. The small man simple sits back in a corner, feeling panic well inside of him and a bit of hatred at himself for allowing him to be a part of this. Meanwhile, Matt raises the sledgehammer and looks down at Strife with a chuckle.

"Hammer time."

TBCB Matt

[Vladimir Strife]

~Matthew Oliveira~

Matt takes a tense step forward with the hammer in levitation, planting a foot and beginning to literally drop the hammer on his cracked opponent. However, Strife, sensing the fear like Peter Parker's spidey sense, juts out an ill-mannered boot straight into Oliveira's patella, a shiver of holy-hell hitting his reflex and causing him to stumble harshly to his knees faster than a prostitute at a monastery. Strife writhes and kicks out again, like an infant, right into Matt's waist and forcing the air out of the King of Deathmatches. Oliveira folds over as so, lungs temporarily deflated, and Vlad desperately clacks a boot into the side of Matt's head, causing him to flop over onto his back. Strife lay on his side, his arm folded against his barrel with both a cracked ulna and a broken rib. He digs his strong elbow into the mat and pulls himself away from his fallen opponent for a moment until he hits his own revelation. Strife pushes off the mat and wearily onto his knees, scootching his way over to the horizontal and creaking body of Oliveira. With his hand on his bad arm, he carefully grabs a hold of the wrist tape on his other hand, and pulls away. The adhesive frees from his semi-sweaty semi-bloodied skin and untwines it playfully from his arm, a decent three to four feet coming from it's protective purpose of a radial/carpal support. Strife works without haste, Matt furiously and absent-mindedly shaking his head to remove the size 12-placed cobwebs in his cranium. Vlad bares his arm and reverses the task, grabbing the tape with his good hand and starts it at his upper arm. He begins to recycle the tape and wrap it tightly around his arm, trying to pinpoint to location of the crack. Around and around the tape swivels, Strife with a dreary and pain-spreading wince on his face, so many parts of his scarred body hurting in all different ways. Vladimir ties it tightly, roughly spread over a three inch width, slightly cutting blood flow, but...for his bone's sake it was worth it.

Darrell: "Look at Vlad! He's on-the-fly with that upper arm of his. Don't you find that a little...hehe...HUMOROUS?"
Ray: "Guffaw...guffaw...guffaw..."

Oliveira, a few feet away, sits up in Vlad's general direction. His angered eyes set on the Solid Core-ist who windmills his arm slowly. Both men pick themselves up off the canvas, a few strewn tacks stuck into their cotton-based shirts and just nicking the flesh. One, two, three, four boots place firmly onto the mat and both warriors stand up. With their skeletons sore, muscles aching, veins pumping with a lacing of adrenaline only to be lost through perforations in their skin. Vlad keeps his arm sucked in close to his ribs as he approaches Matt who is gingerly weighing on his right knee, the nerves in a spasm. He raises his left arm for a punch, but sorely and quickly lowers it from the pain caused from his bicep twitching over the fracture in his bone. This allows Matt to plant an inside elbow to Vlad's nose, and another, a high amount of strikes being shown in the contest thus far. Oliveira follows up by pivoting his shoulder into Strife's chest and bringing up his arm, the top of his arm catching the King at the point of the chin in a European uppercut. Strife's head involuntarily flicks up, his eyes going out of focus for a fraction of a second before zoning back in as Oliveira challenges him.

"C'mon Strife, your turn! You hurt your widdwl arm?"

Vlad furrows his brow stubbornly and backs a few inches, raising his boot fiercely and kicking Oliveira squarely in the groin. Matt's legs turn inward like any man's would and his body wilts, leaning back on his heels until his body formation no longer supports it and timbers onto his back. However, his cranium smacks unceremoniously against the cage and his extremities grow slightly numb. Stars plague his vision as he lay there with his brain more scrambled than the eggs he had that morning (or some really nasty joke about birth control pills, but lets not get into that). Strife steps forward and grabs Matt by the hair, jostling him up so his upper back and shoulder blades rest against the pure white asylum caging and stands straight once more. He walks to the corner and hoists up a trash can, using one arm to tip it over and flip it onto it's top, the debris evacuationg the cylinder and resting on the mat. He grips it by the handle and returns to the horizontal Genius, lowering the can so it rests on his stomach and blocking his torso and face. Strife raises his arm as he turns and jogs across the ring, splintered wounds on his brow forcing the crimson down his face in a slow and agonizing waterfall. The crowd gives him a subtle cheer, supporting him all the way. Strife tags the opposite side of the cage before turning around and running back, a two-hundred and six-flip freight train barrelling down on Matt. He drives his knee straight into the can, sandwiching Oliveira's head between the can and the cage wall, the only source of a bounce would be coming from his skull. A crunch resembling a stomp on a Coke can emanates from the prison, ending up with the flopping of a brown-locked head and a tee-clad body to the canvas, his red-but-black blood flowing down his face and staining the ring. The referee exits from the corner he isolated himself in, wearily stepping closer and closer as Vlad hovers over Matt, locked in a trance as his eyes burn into the far-off optical spheres of the others. Just as the official begins to count Matt down, Vlad bends over and grabs a hold of the Genius's elbow pad, removing it from his opponent and improvising by slipping it onto his left arm, going past the elbow and over the wrist tape, serving as a guard.

Darrell: "There ya go, Ray! Experience is key! Not to mention a little outside-the-box thinking, Strife's not only protecting his wounds but making Matt more vulnerable!"
Ray: "Well, well, it's not THAT bad for Matt. I mean, heck, it always feels better without protection anyways."
Darrell: "...I feel cold. Very very cold."
Ray: "Aww, need a hug?"
Darrell: "I'M GOOD."


Vlad stands back and leaves Matt be, testing out his arm as the stinging weaves from a subside to a decent yearning for ice.
1....2.....3......4......5....6 "....Sharon...Sharon...the dog shat on the cawpet...Sharrrronnn..." mumbles Matt, enjoying a pre-experienced night of programming on MTV a few years ago that causes the referee to relieve himself of the countdown. Strife slaps Oliveira fiercely across the face to bring him back, calling him out to continue the battle. Vlad hooks his palms under Matt's armpits and helps the pathetic champion up, humming a Proclaimer's rendition of Bark at the Moon. Strife grips Matt at the waist and Oliveira makes it to his feet, letting go and Matt folding in half at the waist, still standing. The brooding man, yet to taste defeat picks up the sledgehammer discarded earlier on, lifting it off the mat as the crowd begins to buzz with excitement. Vlad lifts it overhead with a hungry grin, his strong arm supporting the most of it until his pivots it down and smacks it over the top of Matt's back. The initial impact being over Matt's spine with the staff, the hammer coming second as the wood splinters from the misdirected force and ricocheting off Oliveira's shoulder and falling to the mat as the Genius collapses with a dry and strained scream. Matt, panicking, forces himself on the other side as the sledge caused a chipped shoulder blade, the bone acting as a catalyst for severe muscle and tissue pain, bruising and swelling occurring under his shirt.

Darrell: "PAYBACK IS A-"
Ray: "THILLY GOOSE!"

Vlad takes the foot of handle in his hands and fiercely tosses it against the asylum wall, bouncing off the stainless steel to the ground again. However, his eyes follow for some reason, discovering an object that would be outrageous to overlook, especially with these two. Sitting up against one wall of the cage, near the corner leans a barbed wire board. White pine plywood and silvery wire stapled to it in bee-line fashion, it's wafting curves like the hair of a grandmothers. So pretty, yet it's symbolism and is actual threat much more than a nice picture. He stumbles over to it and grabs it by one end, propping it up in the cage's corner, it's vertices sticking between the holes of the asylum. With the perfect que Matt is wobbling back to his feet, taking a few unrehearsed steps forward until Strife knees him squarely in the gut. With a cuff to the chin he's stood straight up and his left arm slung over his opponent's shoulder, his head locked against Vlad's. With a hand wrapped around Matt's belt, Strife cocks, locks, and pulls the trigger on his legs and suplexes Matt up and over, his boots nearly scraping the roof of the cage at his apex...

*CRACK*

Oliveira's back, head, legs, arms...entire body is put through the barbed wire board, splintering in half and leaving him upside down as the barbs cling to his cotton and denim outfit. Vlad begins to sit back up but momentarily stops as a few of his folicles are trapped in the confines of a barb, ruthlessly jerking his head forward and refusing to give a damn about a few hairs. Adrenaline flowing and the sadist sense building, he turns onto his knees and sinks his claws into Matt's shoulders, turning him over on the wire and shuffling his position. Strife grunts as he pries the board away from the corner a bit, then planting a boot on the back of Matt's leg and folding the other into it's crux in succession. Vlad retraces his boot and places it on Matt's ankle of the bent leg, grabs the straight leg's foot and pulls back, rolling onto his lower shoulders and forcing Oliveira into a Breaking Wheel on the barbed wire board, blood flowing down the Genius's face as it is forced into the barbs, his torso being ruthlessly grinded and his shirt torn -along with his skin. The referee darts in closer, bargaining with the Hardcore Genius to see if he'll pass with a submission and had over his words and a section of his career to his ex-partner. Oliveira screams as the pressure increases, his eyes closing from the pain and to prevent being poked-out by the wire.

Darrell: "This is it! Breaking Wheel! Barbed wire! Strife's gonna take this puppy home! TWO TIME ASYLUM WINNER!"

TBCB Vlad

[Vladimir Strife]

~Vladimir Strife~

The referee comes over, getting down on one knee next to Matthew and leaning in towards him. He speaks his words slow and precise, making sure to get his exact meaning across.

"Do you give up?"

As the words leave his mouth, Vladimir lets go of his hold, Matthew's body falling to the mat with a flop. He plants his elbow into the canvas and rolls over, bringing his foot around to put him in a position to face the referee. The soft blue eyes of the official in this match go wide, his eyelids pulling back to reveal the fear inspired within them. As far as he was concerned, staring into the eyes of Vladimir was like staring into the face of a murderer. Vlad chuckles, the referee responding with a nervous and forced laugh as though he got the joke. The face he stares into goes blank abruptly though, causing him to shush just before the set of knuckles clad in purple padding clash with his head, laying him out. Vladimir stands up slowly and grabs a hold of the cage before raising his foot and sending it down into the gut of the referee, the man crying and rolling around in pain.

Darrell: What the hell!? Vladimir is beating the shit out of our referee!
Ray: I have no clue what he did... but go Vlad!
Darrell: What is wrong with you!? That's a referee, he's not a trained athlete like these guys!
Ray: Bah, screw him. He knew the risks.

As Matt sits up nearby, Vladimir's attention is directed back towards him. Vlad watches as Matt stands up, walking around and stalking him from behind. As Matthew turns around, Vladimir darts in, swinging his good arm overhead and bringing it down across Matthew's forehead, knocking him back a step. Matthew retaliates with swift hook that catches Vladimir across the bottom of the jaw and knocks him back. Vlad throws another punch to Matt, who tilts his head back and then punches himself across the jaw proudly, showing his toughness. Vlad smiles and then punches himself as well, following suit as though answering a challenge. Matthew punches himself again, backing himself to the cage and holding his nose. Vladimir attempts to outdo him, running beside Matt and turning, throwing himself back first against the cage and coming off with his back arched and holding that hurt elbow, having bumped it.

Matthew shakes his head and makes his way over to the steel chair, lifting it up and smacking the seat as a testament of it's solidarity. He grabs both legs and holds it in front of him, looking down at it and lining up. He pulls the chair up, bringing it over his head however instead of straight into his cranium. He steps forward towards Vlad, swinging it back down and bashing the seat in across the head of the King. Vladimir's head is shifted with the whack, causing him to slump against the cage and then fall over. Matthew spits off to the side, muttering "Prideful bastard" as he discards the chair off to the side. He grabs Vladimir by the hand and pulls him to the middle of the ring before laying in with stomps to the ribs of Vlad and holding on, preventing his opponent from shielding himself against the assault.

Matt holds Vladimir's arm straight and then pulls on it, hyper-extending the arm and making the fracture worse, a scream telling the tale. Matt steps in and raises his knee, driving it against the inside of Vlad's arm and working the injury over. Looking to inflict some serious pain, the Genius brings a leg over Vladimir's arm and plants it down, bringing his bottom down onto Vlad's elbow and pressing down as he pulls up on his arm. Vladimir springs to life almost instantly from a state of near motionlessness and begins to flail around, trying to free himself from Matthew's clutches. After a moment, as the referee begins to finally come to, his pain subsiding, Vladimir raises his hand over the canvas, his instincts telling him to tap out and surrender before his arm is snapped in half. In defiance of his instincts, Vladimir brings his hand to his mouth, baring his teeth and biting down between his thumb and pointer fingers. Despite the pain it brings, it takes focus from his other arm and prevents his hand and mouth from being able to betray his spirits.

Ray: Vlad is biting his hand just to keep from tapping out! Oooooh, come on, you can do this!
Darrell: It's a smart strategy, but if he doesn't get the hell out of that, he might pass out from the pain anyhow.

As Matt begins to let up on the hold, providing a little relief, he kicks a foot back against the nose and brow of Vladimir. He then plants the foot once more before leaping up, letting the arm drift away before crashing his weight back down upon it. The fracture cracks further, Vladimir screaming and swinging his hand back to grab onto his pants tightly to keep from tapping out. Matthew continues to wrench the hold before stepping back over it and taking his weight off of it, still holding Vlad by the hand. Matthew gets Vladimir to a sitting point, seeing the pain on his face before letting loose with a vicious punt to the ribs and sternum of his foe. More blood runs over the bottom lip of Vladimir, his eyes looking wide and bewildered at the agony in his gut. As he falls backwards, Matthew goes down with him, wrapping his legs around Vladimir's arm and pulling on it still. As the new wave of pain registers, Vladimir rolls over towards Matt and pulls at his legs, trying to pry them apart and free his limb.

Darrell: This is it, Vladimir is bleeding from the mouth.. that arm has to be destroyed by now... he can't hold on much longer. That streak has to end someday and tonight is as good as any.
Ray: No! Never! It can't end, it just can't!!
Darrell: Why are you so crazed about this, Ray?
Ray: I have $200 riding on this match!! Kick his ass, Vlad!!!

As Matt pulls back, clamping tight with his thighs on Vladimir's arm, he begins to jerk backwards, ripping and tugging on the injured limb further. Vladimir reaches into his pocket, infamous as a stash of small objects to pull him out of these situations. After a moment, he produces his 'KULT' emblazoned Zippo lighter, pushing the cap up with his thumb before flicking the wheel and igniting a flame. He rolls in towards Matthew once more, chucking the lighter forward at the face of the King Of The Deathmatch. The lighter lands on Matt's collarbone, leading him to abandon his arm bar and push it away quickly. He smacks at his shirt, putting out a small flame as Vladimir begins to scramble away, now free from the hold that nearly ended this match. He makes his way to a wall of the cage, turning and resting his back against it as Matthew gets up, looking angry about Vladimir's lighter trick.

As Matthew closes in, Vladimir raises his good arm and grabs onto the cage, holding on as he raises a boot into the gut of Matthew. Matt stumbles backwards, not expecting that attack from Vladimir. As he nears in once more Vladimir again raises a boot, trying to fend him off with his legs. Matt grabs him by the ankle, catching the other a moment later as Vlad wisely tries to catch him off guard with it. He steps in towards Vlad, holding him by the ankles and with one arm out of commission, having nearly taken everything from Vlad currently. He backs away quickly, yanking on Vladimir's legs and raising him up. Vlad tries to hold onto the cage, not looking to go along with what Matt is attempting. His fingers aren't strong enough though and he's ripped from the cage, finding himself stuck in midair for a split second before crashing down back first on the mat. He sits up almost instantly, favoring his lower back now.

Darrell: Vladimir made a quick and wise way out of that hold back there, but the fact still remains that with that arm injured, he's nearly defenseless. The majority of submission moves are going to hurt as much for him as they would for Matthew and I'm not sure if he'll be able to pull off the Skesis Driver or the King's Crown in his current condition. Maybe the V3... but he'd still need to get the upper hand and I'm not sure he can. Even if he hits it, there is no guarantee he could keep Matt down..
Ray: You talk too much... You have to BELIEVE in Vladimir!
Darrell: Flame on, Ray White, flame on..

As Vladimir lays on his back, Matthew reaches in to grab him and pull him to a vertical stance. What he finds, however, is that he hasn't cripple the fight in his adversary, receiving a sudden knee raise to the mouth that send him backing off. Vlad gets to his feet on his own terms, taking his time as Matthew sifts through the weapons. Vladimir catches a florescent tube across the mouth as he gets up, sending him stumbling and swatting at a large piece of glass that hangs from his cheek, the tip stuck in his flesh. He steps in towards Matt, turning to his side and getting that injured arm away from his range of attack. As he steps in, he brings four knuckles across the head of his for, dazing him. Vlad steps away from him and reaches forward with his bad arm, wincing with it's movement as he grabs the padded glove over his fist and pulls it off. He lets it drop to the canvas as he steps in with another punch, cracking a knuckle as his fist glances off of Matt's temple. Matt backs himself against the cage, rubbing his jaw.

As he steps back in towards Vlad, Matt is grabbed with Vlad's good arm and swung around, being launched toward the side of the steel structure. He spins himself around, not wanting to head in face first and hits the cage, screaming as the chipped shoulder blade is irritated further. Vlad makes haste in grabbing a weapon and rushing in towards Matthew. The dangerous noise of a high pitched whirring alerts the Genius to danger before he sees the weapon. He raises his hands quickly, grabbing the sides of the electric drill and stopping Vladimir. The end of the drill bit spins centimeters in front of his eyes, his vision blurring as his eyes focus on the end of it. Vladimir uses his bad arm to push in further, gone mad with rage as he attempts to push the drill into the eye of his opponent. It was a dangerous attack that very well could end with the death of Matthew and there wasn't a damned thing the referee or any authority of the law could do about it if he succeeded. Matthew pulls himself out of the way, the drill shooting past his face and through one of the steel diamonds of the cage. He raises a stiff kick to the gut of Vladimir and grabs a hold of the drill, ripping it away. He drives the side of it against Vladimir's head, busting the plastic around it and sending the battery pack falling, rendering the weapon useless and perhaps saving Vladimir's life or his own.

[Vladimir Strife]

~Ending~

As Vladimir drops to the mat from being nailed with the electric drill, the battery pack drops beside him, the plastic busted to bits over his cranium. Matthew reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair, ready to finish this match and chalk his name up in the record books. Vladimir could barely stand on his own two feet, wobbling side to side slowly. His elbow had been fractured, Matthew's weight landing atop it earlier. A thickened drop of blood swelled on the end of his lower lip, hanging heavily a moment before sliding off and falling to the canvas. Matthew Oliveira was had won the first and only NeXuS to date, performed in the main event of the biggest PPV GHW had, held the Silver Devil Championship longer than any man in GHW history, was one of only 2 men besides his famed opponent to hold the most prestigious King of the Deathmatch championship, had lead GHW in the war against SWF, but nothing would be as sweet as this: Matthew Oliveira, the man who defeated Vladimir Strife. The pride of winning the battle already swelled in his chest as he hooked the arms of his former tag team partner.

Darrell: He's going to do it! The C-Driver! I think this is it, Ray, we're seeing the end of an era!!
Ray: NO! Damnit, No! This can't happen! If Vlad loses, who the hell can we expect to stop Oliveira's reign of terror!?
Darrell: Well, if Matt loses, who can we expect to end Vlad's reign? I mean, Matt is just about the only main-eventer Vladimir hasn't beaten!

As the arena resonates with boos from fans uneager to see the ending they are about to. Matthew pulls up on Vladimir's arms with all his strength, but the undefeated wonder doesn't move. He tries again, realizing then that Vladimir has hooked his leg behind one of Matt's legs, leaving him unable to pull him up into the C-Driver. Matthew drives a knee into the chest of Vladimir, then pushes him back, Vladimir tripping on the leg he's hooked and dropping onto his bottom, his back against the cold white cage. Matt steps in and begins stomping into the chest of his foe, Vladimir's cheeks puffing as though he's going to vomit, but keeping his lips pursed tightly. Matthew grabs him by the roots of his hair again, pulling him to his feet now that he has been softened a bit for the C-Driver. As Matt pulls Vladimir's head back, he looks him in the eyes, wanting to see the look on the King's face before he took the last of anything Vladimir has left from him. Vladimir keeps his lips closed tightly and forces the wind in his lungs out as hard as he can. A crimson mist of the blood in his mouth from his internal bleeding shoots out, spotting the face and eyes of Matthew Oliveira. The Hardcore Genius lets go of Vladimir and steps backwards, wiping blood from his eyes as the substance foreign to his eyes burns.

Vladimir's foot shoots up, the toe of his boot driven into the gut of the man that had tried to take his career away only months ago. Matthew doubles over, holding his stomach in pain. His arms are ripped away from it and pulled over his back, hooked into a position no man ever wanted to find themselves in. The arena ignites in cheers as Vladimir bites down onto his lip to help forget the burning throb in his arm and pulls Matthew off of his feet, flipping him upside down. Vladimir drops to a single knee, the ring shaking as Matthew's weight crashes onto the point of Vladimir's knee, Vladimir looking out to the crowd from the side of Matt's hip with a zombie-like trance on his face. He leans Matt to the right, letting go with his left arm before trying to hook the boot of Matthew under his armpit. It takes him a moment, but he finally accomplishes the task, finding however that Matthew's legs are too long to hook his arms as well. He pulls the foot from his armpit and hooks Matthew's arm again.

Darrell: Vladimir's going for the Skesis Death Driver, but Matthew is too big!!
Ray: Oh no! Come on Vlad, you can still beat him though!!

Matthew begins to struggle, Vladimir's arm giving out and letting him fall forward. Matt lands on his feet, given time to recover during Vladimir's useless manuevering. Vladimir still has him hooked though and Matthew fights, trying to lift him up and flip him overhead. Vladimir resists though, baring his weight on Matt's back. Vlad instead pulls up for the Skesis Driver, not having the strength in his arms to pull another. Vladimir lets go and quickly bring an arm around the neck of Matthew, stepping to the side as he grabs him. He jumps up and comes falling back down, Matthew's head still held tightly. Vladimir pulls one leg down below him, turning himself almost completely sideways as he falls. Matthew's face is driven down across the top of Vladimir's knee, the impact and whiplash rattling his brain back and forth inside his skull. It bruises as it slams against the front and back walls of his cranium, sending Matthew Oliveira into a blackout as he lays unconscious on the mat. Vladimir drops onto his butt again next to Matt and lays on the canvas as the referee begins his count.

1.....2.....3......4.....5....

Vladimir sits up slowly, beginning to count with the referee.

6....7....8.....

2 seconds and an eternity it seemed, that's what it would take.

9...

Matthew Oliveira raises his middle finger to the referee near lifelessly, making the official angry but breaking his count. Vladimir freezes, not believing that Matthew has gotten up from the V3 and the Skesis Driver on his knee. Vlad shakes his head as he gets up, slapping Matt before pulling him to his feet. The Hardcore Genius slaps back, surprising Vladimir once more. Vladimir ducks another shot and steps behind Matt, burying the top of his head into the back of his opponent and pulling his arms back. He flips Matt around and bent over, right into position for the King's Crown, figuring that it's the last move in his arsenal. As Vladimir screams out a battle cry, he spins himself around, Matthew breaking free from the hold craftily. As Vladimir is now turned around without Matt, he looks down to him still bent over and quickly hooks his arms, yanking him up with a rush of adrenaline and holding him upside down once more. He begins to feel his strength leaving him, but he grabs onto his own wrists and pulls tight, pulling Matt's shoulder blades together and strengthening his hold.

As Matthew bends his head back from the pain of a chipped shoulder blade rubbing against the other blade, he finds himself gazing a blue canvas, smeared in red and blurred from agony. Vladimir drops quickly as his strength continues to fade, driving the face of Matthew Oliveira against the mat and bowing his body with the impact. Vladimir lets go and falls backward, Matt falling forward and both men laying still.

1....2.....3.....4....

Vladimir rolls around, showing that he's still in this.

5....6....7...

Darrell: Oh my god!!! VLADIMIR HIT THE DEATH DRIVER!!! Not EXACTLY the same, but he hit it!!
Ray: I told you! I told you my baby could do it!!!

8....9.....

Vladimir sits by the cage, his back against it once more as his eyes stay wide and focused on Matthew Oliveira, readying himself for the Hardcore Genius to get up at this second. He clutches a chair close to him, ready to scramble Matt's brains as many times as he needs to. The referee gets close to Matthew, making absolutely sure to not miss even the slightest thing. He pops up quickly, pointing over to the bell keepers table.

10!!

The bell ring as the referee grabs Vladimir by the wrist and raises his arm straight up. Vlad's face is expressionless, almost as though not understanding that the match is over.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Your winner..... Vladimir T. STRIFE!!!"

Vladimir's leg twitches as shivers run up his back as 'The New Black' by Strapping Young Lad begins to play through the P.A. system.

~Fin~