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Post by Tamatoa Harikoa on Sept 30, 2013 18:08:48 GMT -4
An eerie hush falls over the EVPW arena as the main event is prepared. High above the ring, the structure that will soon form the Asylum Cage hangs ominously. The hush is not caused by the type of match that is about to befall these fans, although brutal and befitting a respectful hush in itself; the hush falls as all in the arena know what this match represents - the end of an era, the final match for two legends of the business.
In the hushed ambiance, a video package bursts into life on the 'ButcherTron':
At the end of the video, the entire arena bursts out into cheering - loud enough to raise the roof oof the place. All seats are vacated as people stand to pay respects to the pair. It is then that Lizzie Morna takes centre stage to announce the match.
"Ladies and Gentlemen... this is a bitter-sweet moment. The final match in the careers of both Hayden HardKore and Vladimir Strife. This is a retirement match and will be set in the most brutal of fashion, inside an Asylum Cage." She pauses, clearing her throat from the emotion that befits her announcement. Prior to welcoming the gladiators, she must first attend to the housekeeping and ensure that all know what is involved in this match type. "After the 2 contestants have entered the ring, a steel wire mesh cage will be lowered over the ring. This cage will surround the ring, leaving no space between itself and the turnposts. Unlike the typical cage match, this cage is built with a roof and the unique specification of NO door. The steel wire is also a quarter of an inch thick, leaving no way for the cage to break or for a contestant to escape. Various weapons have been tied to the inside roofing of the cage, allowing either man able to climb up and get one to use it in this match. A contestant will win the match upon making his opponent submit or knocking them unconscious.
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the first legend..."
As she speaks, a line of some thirty men enter through the entrance curtain. They are all shirtless and wear flax skirts. Complete with tiaha (Maori war-batton) and faces tattooed in traditional Maori patterns (moko) - the men line themselves up on the entrance stage, fifteen men in one group and fifteen in another. Each group is set up either to the left or right of the entrance ramp, giving space for somebody to walk through the middle.
The leader of the group comes into the centre of the stage - a heavy-set Maori warrior holding a greenstone club. He rattles off a long list of orders in Maori, which serve to fire the warriors up. Finally, the leader gets to the end of his instruction, shouting the words "Kia mo..." to which the group of thirty warriors shout back "Hi!"
The silence that follows sends shivers down the spine of all those in attendance, nobody dares speak or move as the warriors strike a crouched war-dance pose. As one, the men burst into life once more - in perfect synchronisation, the men perform a blood curdling haka (Maori war dance) to welcome in their New Zealand combattant.
"Ka mate Ka mate
Ka ora Ka ora
Ka mate Ka mate
Ka ora Ka ora
Tenei Te Tangata Puhuruhuru
Nana i tiki mai whakawhiti te ra
A Upane Upane
Upane Kaupane Whiti te ra
Hi!"
The men end their war-dance with gusto, each striking an intimidating pose - tounges out in a pukana. They hold this pose still and silently while the crowd rise to their feet and cheer their efforts. The crowd does not have long to celebrate, however, as an all too familiar song follows the war-dance. 96 Quite Bitter Beings blares through the arena's speakers.
Hayden lets the song play well into the verse before appearing in the arena. Rather than his normal confident swagger, the New Zealander has adopted a more respectful, somber entrance to the arena. His eyes instantly latch on to the structure hanging above the ring. Knowing the brutality of the match that is about to befall him, Hayden approaches slowly, yet determinedly. He passes the rows upon rows of Maori warriors, who stand stoically as he passes. Where he would normally greet fans at ringside, Hayden's attention remains on the match at hand as he creeps his way towards the squared circle.
"Introducing first... Weighing in at One Hundred and Ninety Two pounds and hailing from Wellington, New Zealand. He is the most decorated wrestler in GHW history. Stand up and greet the man ladies and gentlemen, in his final match - ever... the Jackass... Hayden Hard-Kore!"
The fans, who had not yet sat down, remain standing to hurl themselves into a vibrant "Hayden HardKore" chant that echoes throughout the arena. Hayden lifts his head and smiles, nodding in respect to the fans. He pauses, not charging into the ring as he usually does. With a deep breath, Hayden slides inside the squared circle for the very last time.
"Hayden is obviously emotional for tonight's match, and who can blame him? This guy has bled for this business for near on a decade."
"All this rigmarole, I really just want to get into the match."
"All in due time JP - This is like a diesel engine... You have to warm it up first, then it will run all night."
"One thing is for sure, this match will be like nothing we have ever seen before. The two best in the business, final match... One of these men will walk away knowing they are the greatest ever."
"And the other will have to settle for the second best. Either way, this match is not going to be for the faint hearted. Squeamish people, change the channel right now. Because if that look on Hayden's face is anything to go by, he's not expecting this to be a comfortable night."
Hayden takes his time surveying the arena, nodding emotionally to fans in all corners of the place. He then requests a microphone from ringside to address the fans and his final opponent, the legendary Vladimir Strife. As he does so, a single tear runs down his cheek.
"Ok, it's no big secret. I am emotional about tonight. This is the last match in my career, and I intend to make it one that will last for eternity." At that, the crowd roar in approval. Hayden pauses, taking in the moment before continuing. "But don't mistake that emotion for softness. I am completely focused on this match, I will do what needs to be done. Vladimir and I, we made a covenant a few weeks ago leading up to tonight. No holding back, no mercy. Spill blood, create memories... Maim, injure and hurt... Do what needs to be done. I don't break my covenants, so tonight is going to be gory. It is going to be hard to watch. But it needs to be that way, one of us needs to be crowned the best." Again, Hayden pauses from his speech, wiping away the tear drop that had flowed down his cheek. The crowd take the momentary pause as another moment to launch off into another "Hayden HardKore" chant. It dies down quickly once the Kiwi begins talking once more. "You may have noticed that there is an increase of medical personnel tonight. At ringside, two guernseys and a host of EMT staff. They are not there by coincidence. Normally, I would save sentiments like this until after the match is said and done, but I do not plan on exiting this arena under my own strength - win, loss or draw - so it needs to be now. When this match ends, one of us will be crowned the greatest... May the best man win. We are not going to be walking off into the sunset, arm in arm. Both of us are going to be wheeled out of this arena, once and for all.
Vladimir, we have had one hell of a ride. This truly is the fitting end to both of our careers. Let's give these people the greatest match that anybody has ever seen. Let's light up the history books and set a new benchmark for all of the young guns coming through. Let's go through hell and back."
With that, Hayden passes the microphone off to the referee and walks over to the corner. He sits on the mat with his back against the turnbuckle, puts his head against his chest and closes his eyes. With an arena full of people chanting his name, Hayden slips within himself and begins to murmur words of prayer, not caught by the microphones around ringside. It is this image that awaits the arrival of Vladimir Strife
Tbcb Vlad
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Post by Vladimir Strife on Sept 30, 2013 23:21:35 GMT -4
"And his opponent.."With these three most simple words, silence reclaims the venue like a cold snap. Hayden's breath deepens as he continues to mentally prepare himself for the sheer carnage and horror that lie ahead for himself and the man who would assist him in closing the book on one of wrestlings most historic eras. The words hang upon the air, a lump in the back of Lizzie Morna's throat challenging her continuance. Even the woman who would not spill so much as a drop of blood on this night felt nearly unable to continue, the knowledge that this would be the final time she present either of these legends casting a grim melancholy upon her typically cheery features. She looks to Hayden, who expels the wind from the expanse of his lungs and gives a solitary nod, helping her find the strength to, as she had only moments prior, give introduction to a man who needed none. "Weighing in at 234 pounds... He hails from Sighisoara, Romania. He has been called a Titan... a Behemoth... the Barbarian Lord... The Hardcore King... and even the Judas of GHW... but nothing quite describes him better than simply... THE GODKING... VVVLLLLLLLLLAADIMIR T. STRRRRRRIFE!"The frigid void prevails yet again, punctuated by the sudden absence of light through the arena as a simple riff of a guitar rumbles in. The soft voice of Devin Townsend comes through darkness a moment later. "I know why I fall... all the time, all the time.. I'm falling.."
"Just one look in your eyes tells me why it's a lie I'm falling for.." Drums roll in gently as the tone of the vocalist takes on a haunting echo. "I warned you... I'd be right here waiting... I know you're tired..." His voice grows even more sinister with the next line, the sound building while the packed stadium awaits with baited breath. A single spotlight cuts through the artificial night, illuminating the simple entrance at the base of the Butchertron. A slate curtain stretches from one corner to the next atop it, dangling over and concealing the anticipated Behemoth. It bares his roots, seemingly proudly with a waver of it's surface, the imposed image of rusted and bloody barbed wire stating it's own simple trifecta of words - 'SOLID FUCKING CORE'. "I need you... I've been right here waiting....
I know you're tryyying.... to go home" With that, the drums begin to pound with a warlike rhythm, guitars ringing out behind them lengthily. They begin to build, time after time in small false starts before they come to a head a moment later, the instruments bringing their tune to unison as the sheet is ripped aside with fervor. Behind it, the infamous Impaler stands tall, he and his surroundings the only sight to be had within the arena. He steps out further into it, his SWAT styled steel toed boots each clopping down against the grating to a deafening chorus of cheers. There seems to be little different about Vladimir from any other night he stepped through that threshold and into the public view. His raven blue shirt lay below a denim duster, its full sleeves concealed, a feint shine amidst the collar from the trinket styled after the Sword of Mars. Black cargo pants swallowed the majority of his footwear and the padded, fingerless gloves over his knuckles had only changed in shade, gone from their Solid Core colors to ebony in a subtle acknowledgment of the finality of this night. Perhaps the only marked change to the Romanian Scourge was in his visage. Gone was the contemptuous rage he directed at all who stood in his path, replaced this night with a stern and stoic gaze that testifies to his determination and severity. "This is just an entirely surreal moment, Jimmy.. I've actually got goosebumps. Feel that..""You've got goosebumps? I've had them ever since this night started, just knowing what was waiting for us at the end of the card. Few moments compare to this whatsoever in the history of my career as a commentator."Strife begins his final descent of the ramp, each slow step seeming another methodical cog in the war machine, his unwavering stolidness aimed at the Kiwi in the ring despite not actually being able to make him out amid the sea of black. The effort is simply a matter of intimidation, which forms the very backbone of the King's arsenal. Even the most skilled of veterans had stumbled and fallen to him and for many, the tripwire had been sown from seeds of doubt. As he rounds the squared circle, the illumination defaults, but the focus still remains upon the fabled fighter who'd gone from a hopeless rookie to one of the most dominant men in the history of the business with a record that was utterly unrivaled. Seventy-Nine victories, the first 59 of them never knowing the sting of defeat, and over a quarter of his life since his debut spent with at least one title wrapped about his waist. The career of the ten-time champion was truly the stuff of legends, made all the more fitting by the impending conclusion he'd share with a fellow veteran who was one of few who held an equivalence in titles and the only man known to the current landscape to have held more of them simultaneously than the Bad Lad. "There just isn't words to really describe what we're witnessing tonight. Both of these men have been absolute icons of this industry almost since the time that you and I called our first match..""And I feel like it goes even beyond that, Ray. Vladimir Strife essentially embodies the very essence of SCW.. that brash, gritty style that is all about effect. Hayden HardKore, on the other hand, is kind of the personification of GHW.. he's more dynamic and risk-taking and he really seems guided in ways around how he can entertain the fans. And then here they stand in EVPW, a company that was founded as an attempt to better merge those contrasting philosophies and I can't imagine a better tribute to the legacy of all three of those companies." "Well.. I was going to make some mention about how wrestling would never be quite as sexy again, but it's kind of hard to follow that.."Vladimir slips off the trenchcoat, almost seeming to shrug it off in one swift motion, taking it in hand before tossing it haphazardly across the desk of JP and Ray, who quickly scramble to take possession of the souvenir. Their employer and long time friend fails to even take notice of their squabble, eyes locked yet again on the cruiserweight, who has peeled back his own lids to match the stare, the duo so focused on the task ahead that they don't notice the fading out of Strife's battle hymn. The Barbarian Lord makes his way up the steel steps, every pace thickening the air and tension about them, their hearts pounding to meet the demands of their racing minds. Standing upon the apron, the Behemoth waits, allowing the heavy aura to stand a moment before lifting his leg and sweeping it over the middle rope, planting it upon the canvas before following through. He comes up to his full height and tilts his head from side to side, stretching and popping the vertebrae to warm up as he takes a spot at the center of the ring. While Lizzie and the official swap their own positions, Hayden steps forth to meet his counterpart in the epic finale to two of the most prestigious legacies known to their profession. Ever a man of sportsmanship, the New Zealander extends his famous South paw and finds it, as it so rarely is, graciously received. "True grace and honor from these men as they share a handshake to begin the match. It really speaks volumes to the mutual respect to them, despite the battle before them.""No! Forget honor, gimme the coat, dammit!""Heh.. not a chance, pansy."The warriors retreat to their respective corners, allowing the referee to have the center stage. A long, ominous groan cries out from above as the Asylum Cage lurches, finally coming to motion after lurking among the rafters through nearly the entirety of the night. The wire mesh cube - absent a bottom - gleams in the light, it's pearly grates presenting a juxtaposition to the hell that would be unleashed within its confines. The juggernaut steals the show momentarily, capturing the attention of the deathly silent crowd and their entertainers alike. The beast almost seems alive, it's all too clean, snug, white coat begging for splotches and streams of crimson as it begins to devour the epicenter of anarchy. Hushed whispers soon give way to a clang that rings out and up to the nosebleed section as the heavy steel meets concrete at last. Three further metallic chimes cry out in soprano as the end begins for the Holy and the Hubris alike. ~TBCB Hayden~
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Post by Tamatoa Harikoa on Oct 2, 2013 1:01:03 GMT -4
The match begins slowly, respectfully, with neither man keen on launching himself into action prematurely. Across the ring from each other, both Hayden and Vladimir nod at each other - faces now void of smiles and laughter. Each gladiator looks determined, confident and yet fearful simultaneously. When the titans clash for the first time, it comes after no short amount of circling - each man stalking the other and testing out his nerves. Neither man falters, neither flinches. When the inevitable Collar and Elbow tie occurs, it is to a roar from the capacity crowd. The action had begun.
Being the larger man, Vladimir soon gains the upper hand over Hayden. He forces the Kiwi downwards, giving himself a height and leverage advantage. Walking the Kiwi closer to the cell wall, Vladimir looks set to introduce Hayden to his maddening creation. The slippery Kiwi has other ideas, managing to wriggle his way out of Vladimir's grasp and hook the Romanian GodKing's arm up behind him in a good old-fashioned Hammer Lock. This is enough for Hayden to gain the advantage and he pushes Vladimir up against the unbudging wall of the cell. Strife does not hit the wall with enough impact to do any damage, a slight look of discomfort the only telling sign of the effect of Hayden's Hammerlock. It is not long before the GodKing reverses the one armed submission move, spinning himself around and grabbing Hayden by the back of the neck. He swings the Kiwi around and drops Hayden to the canvas in a well executed Neckbreaker counter-move. The break in action is enough to create a little bit of distance between the two men, Vladimir rolling his shoulder around slowly to ensure that there is no damage done. Satisfied, he turns his attention back to Hayden, just as the New Zealand native is reaching a vertical base once more.
"Early going in this thing, but it is clear right from the get-go that this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint."
"Both guys are legends, they both know that it is going to take a hell of a lot of punishment to get the other guy down. No sense in leaping in and making a mistake early on."
"It is important to test the other out, so far, both Hayden and Vladimir have played their hands quite close to their chest... I don't imagine that it will stay that way for too long."
"I don't think these bloodthirsty fans would let them, there is going to be hell to pay if this match isn't every bit as amazing as it seems like it will be on paper..."
"Oh, I don't think we have to worry about that Ray - judging from how the crowd has responded so far to some quite simple moves, I think they are in for a great night."
Vladimir flashes a smile at his friend, knowing that before long, they are going to be beating each other within an inch of their lives. As if to return the smile, Hayden responds by pointing at his chin. He speaks in a loud voice, having to shout his wishes over the vocal crowd. The short dialogue between the two men is captured well by the microphones placed around the ring and amplified around the arena for all to hear.
"Come-on Vlad... The first shot is always the hardest, let's get it over with. Pick a weapon and swing the bloody thing."
Vladimir smiles, not needing a second invitation to step things up a notch. Starting with something simple, the GodKing opts for a trusty Kendo Stick, ripping it away from its holster as it dangles above them. With eyes sparkling, Vladimir swings the weapon - Hayden waiting for the shot with open arms. A skin welting crack is heard, cutting through the air like a knife through butter. Hayden clutches at his chest, where the Kendo Stick had struck, his bare skin turning a shade of red from the strike. As the Kiwi reels backwards from the shot, he comes to rest up against the cage wall. With a chuckle, Vladimir tosses the Kendo Stick to his opponent, obviously intending Hayden to repay the offer. With safe hands, HardKore catches the weapon, holding it firmly as he too swings at his opponent. Vladimir does not flinch or attempt to block the shot, letting the bamboo strike home across his sternum. A second crack is heard, just as loud as the first. Though his skin hides underneath his raven blue shirt, the effect on Vladimir is much the same. The behemoth reels backwards into the centre of the ring. Though small in comparison to the hell in store for both men tonight, the weapon strikes have the desired effect. Both men tear new weapons from the ceiling of the cell - Vladimir Strife clutching at a length of steel piping, while the Kiwi pulls down a simple trashcan lid.
Vladimir comes at the Kiwi swinging, the extra length given to him by the piping enough to give him the advantage of the confrontation. All Hayden can do to escape the barrage is to use the trashcan lid as a makeshift shield. The clanging on metal on metal erupts from inside the cage as Vladimir swings the piping once, twice and three times, each swing caught at a different angle by Hayden's impromptu shield. Each shot sends shockwaves down the New Zealander's arms and into his shoulder. He closes his eyes for just a moment, trying to shake the effects of the three vicious swings off. Vladimir uses the small window of opportunity to lift up a black boot and kick the Kiwi Battler square in the gut. This accomplishes the task of expelling the air in his lungs, doubling Hayden over and dropping the small statured veteran to his knees - his makeshift trashcan shield dropping to the canvas with a dull clang.
"It appears that both men have gotten over the start of the match and are now ready to swing for the hills."
"Oh God, I am not sure exactly how much of this match I am going to be able to watch JP."
"Vladimir really has Hayden in a precarious position - just what does the dastardly mind of the GodKing have in store for our Kiwi friend?"
Raising the steel piping up above his head, Vladimir shows no remorse in bringing the weapon back down to connect with the base of Hayden's neck. The pinpoint accuracy of Vladimir's shot hits the wily Kiwi right on the bone connecting the neck to the shoulders. Hayden simply flops to the canvas in effect. Staying true to his promise to not let up, Vladimir winds up a second shot and lands the steel pipe in exactly the same spot. The groan of agony that he receives in reply is enough to let him know that his strike had been effective.
Being one to try and keep on top of his opponent, Vladimir wasn't likely to stop there. Kneeling down, the Romanian behemoth plants a knee into the small of Hayden's back. With the steel piping now in both hands, the Czar of Scars places the pole up against the oesophagus of his opponent, wrenching upward to cut of the air supply to the Kiwi's lungs. Hayden gasps, trying desperately to suck precious oxygen into his body as his head and shoulders are forced upwards into a weapon assisted Camel Clutch-type hold. The referee, absent from the match entirely until now, steps in to assess the situation.
Hayden knows that Vladimir is offering him this opportunity to back out, to leave the hell that it the Asylum Cage and to walk away. He knows that Vladimir is giving him this chance to submit and save both of them the agony ahead of them. In contrast, Vladimir knows that despite offering him the opportunity, that there is no way Hayden would yield. He is not surprised when Hayden gasps at the referee to back the hell off. Instead, Vladimir applies more pressure to the hold, digging his knee into Hayden's back further and wrenches back on the piping further.
"SO, it appears that Vladimir Strife is targeting the neck and shoulders of the Kiwi in the early stages of the match."
"An early submission opportunity for Vladimir - he's trying to choke the Kiwi out?"
"More like making a statement. Vladimir knows that he is going to have to do a hell of a lot more to the Hardcore Kiwi before Hayden will give in."
"I've heard sounds like those that Hayden is making before, but not in this context JP. It's strangely arounsing..."
"You just stay on that side of the desk there bud, come any closer and I will chop it off."
With gritty determination, Hayden reaches up to the piping in front of his neck. Vladimir holds it firmly, giving the Kiwi no room to turn the move around by pulling the pipe away. Instead, the Kiwi scrambles ahead of him, reaching out for the wire mesh of the cell wall. It takes him a few attempts, but the New Zealander finally manages to grasp his fingers around the meshing. He uses the extra stability to pull himself along the mat, dragging Vladimir with him as he gets closer to the wall. When he is close enough, Hayden musters up all the strength he can to claw his way back to a vertical base, using the wire mesh to assist his climb. Before long, Vladimir is forced to relinquish the hold. He frees the Kiwi, who hangs onto the cell wall for stability and sucks in a lung full of precious air.
With a sinister smile, Vladimir takes the steel piping back into one hand. This time, he targets lower on Hayden's body, ignoring the back of his neck for a moment. Stepping into the strike to give his swing more power, the Bambi Killer pinpoints a new spot on the Kiwi's body, attacking the back of Hayden's surgically repaired left knee. The dull thud of steel meeting knee padding is not in itself impressive, but the effect the strike has on Hayden is instant. The Kiwi howls in pain, his agonised face pointing out to the capacity crowd. Standing on only one good knee, Hayden buckles and bows under the pressure from the shot. Vladimir looks set to follow the strike up with a second and drop the Kiwi to the canvas once more, but the quick thinking Kiwi hobbles out of his way and the GodKing's steel piping connects only with the cell wall.
The shot had thrown Vladimir off balance somewhat. Hayden pounces on the opportunity, bad knee and all. A swift kick to the Romanian's hand sends the steel piping flying up into the top corner of the cell, where it meets the framing and comes crashing down underneath one of the turnbuckles. A wrench of the outstretched wrist of the behemoth sends Vladimir sprawling face first into the unforgiving wire mesh wall. The wall does not budge, it does not take the impact of Vladimirs's face. Instead, Vladimir's face takes the full impact of the cell wall. While Vladimir attempts to scrape his face off the wire meshing, Hayden hobbles across the ring. Rebounding of one of the two ring ropes perpendicular to Vladimir's wall, the Kiwi soon charges back at the GodKing. By the time Vladimir had pulled himself free of the wall, Hayden was already in the air, aiming two flying knees at Vladimir's face. The high octane move catches Strife full-on in the chin, driving his face back into the cage wall for good measure. This time, it is Vladimir's turn to drop to the canvas like a sack of dead kittens.
"Oh no, not the face... That can't be good for Vladimir's complexion."
"Jesus H. Christ Ray. The last thing on his mind right now is his complexion. The first thing on his mind right now, probably Hayden's knees."
"And Hayden is the kind of competitor, just like Vladimir, that strings move after move together. He doesn't let up and he doesn't waste time show-boating when there is a man of Vladimir Strife's capacity at his feet."
"Momentum Ray, it is the key to Hayden's game. He builds momentum, he is deadly... Eliminate his momentum and you control the Kiwi Battler."
Hayden still hobbles on his left knee as he scans the ceiling for a new form of punishment. With a leap, he manages to unhook a pair of weapons hung together. He takes one in his left and the other in his right - two matching butcher's hooks. The hooks have sharp barbs on the end, ideal for cutting into flesh. The weapon hooks around into an easy loop with the other end looped around in a sharper bend. The matching weapons had been hung from the ceiling using the sharper hairpin, leaving the barbed hooks exposed. When Hayden approaches Vladimir, the GodKing is seated with his head against his chest, looking much like a drunkard who had passed out after a long night. Eager to wake Vladimir up from his slumber, Hayden whips the hook out that he holds in his left hand. He swings the weapon, surprising himself at how easily the barb hooks into the right bicep of his opponent. Vladimir's eyes shoot open as soon as the weapon digs in. He lets out a tortured cry and tries to pull the weapon free, but the barbed hook holds firm and the movement only causes his pain to worsen.
The defiant Kiwi grabs the other end of the hook, looping the weapon over the cell wall in order to hang Vladimir's arm in place. With Strife's attention on his right arm, he does not catch the second hook hanging from Hayden's free hand. When the Romanian reaches out his left arm to tend to his wound, Hayden swings again, the barbed hook catching into Vladimir's left bicep as hit had done with his other arm. Again, Hayden hooks the shorter loop of the butcher's hook over the wire mesh cell wall, holding both arms in place. Vladimir, armless and growling in agony is held firmly into the cage wall. From his seated position, his arms are held strethed out sideways, a bloodthirsty crucifix pose befitting the retiring GodKing - like something out of a Friday 13th movie.
"Oh, my... Hayden really stepped things up a notch here. He's not playing around. I know these men are going to go through hell tonight, but swinging a butcher's hook into your mate's arm and stringing him up like a piece of meat - is that crossing over a line that they can't return from in their friendship? What do you think Ray?"
~All that can be heard from Ray's headset is the sound of slop hitting the metal walls of a bucket kept at ringside, and the heaving sound of the weak-stomached Ray "chundering his guts"~
"Never mind - as you were Ray. Looks like I'm covering this match solo while you lose your fish tacos"
Hayden's face is a picture of ambivalence as he surveys the scene before him. The competitor in him relishes the sight of the best the business has ever known strung out and helpless, prime for the picking. The christian within him has long since turned the other cheek and looked away. The friend within him watches on with a heavy heart. Nevertheless, the Kiwi sucks it up, stands to his feet and begins putting the next part of his plan into play.
Tbcb Vlad
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Post by Vladimir Strife on Oct 6, 2013 16:42:31 GMT -4
The GodKing gingerly pulls against the restraints, testing the waters carefully to keep from injuring his screaming muscles any further. They respond with a sharp tug of their own deep within his upper arms, the sadistic barbs resisting his efforts and keeping him put. Vladimir closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to focus through the searing agony long enough to fathom an escape from his delicate situation. All the while, his limbs seem to grow heavier, the effort needed to keep them up of his own volition becoming greater by the moment. With every ounce of ground lost in his fight against gravity, the reverse hooks burrow deeper, compounding his misery and scattering his thoughts. The Czar of Scars had been attacked with nearly every weapon imaginable: hammers, knives, glass, chairs covered in thumbtacks, the list continuing well beyond his troubled memory. Not a single item in the arsenal meant to topple the Titan compared to the sheer pain of the moment however. The closest among them in effect, albeit by quite a difference, was a barbed-wired baseball bat. By coincidence, this is the very weapon Hayden plucks from the overhanging armory with a hefty yank, freeing it before warming up, confident in the length of his window of opportunity. Strife plants a foot on the mat, desperate to take advantage of the exercises, but his leg is trembling from his suffering, wobbling unsteadily before dropping back down. The sudden movement worsens the cause to the chagrin of the King, who yelps and hangs his head, overtaken by the feeling of defeat first introduced to him in the very structure it now seemed would bring about his final taste as well.
"I always felt like the Asylum held a certain place in Vlad's heart, but now I can clearly see that he's utterly attached to it.."
"You shut your whore mouth!"
"My what?"
"This isn't funny! My Vladdy is hurt.."
"No, no, don't get me wrong, Ray... I honestly mean it. I think it's like a drug to him.."
"...don't say it, Jimmy.."
"He's clearly hooked."
Ray lets out a small whine before another lurch and wet slosh become audible.
"7 years now you've tormented me with jokes about your.. devious fantasies.. anytime Vlad has been in the ring. It's payback time, fairy boy.."
Jimmy's partner whimpers, the gory sight of the co-owner's pierced biceps keeping him from responding as his stomach churns.
Hayden looks over his rival, the dejected demeanor of him tempting sympathy. The Kiwi nearly grants him it, before recalling his pact and the volatile nature of the man before him. The GodKing had not simply bestowed the moniker upon himself. It had been forged in blood and unrelenting destruction and if the Jackass let such an opportunity go to waste, the odds were slim that another would present itself. He rears back, stepping in before swinging for the fencing, blasting the sternum of the crucified Messiah of the Asylum. A loud crunch is almost audible under the horrific scream that follows as a couple of ribs crack under the pressure, leaving the sharp biting teeth nearly unnoticeable to the Impaler in comparison. The New Zealander draws back once more, winding up his shot before driving the Louisville Slugger across the Titan's torso a second time to tenderize the slab of meat thoroughly. The spikes dig deep into Romanian rind, rending flesh to the sounds of an inhuman vocalization that falls somewhere between a cry and a howl. Vlad pounds the back of his head against the ungiving wall, beside himself with torment, ignorant that the worst is yet to come. Much like those in his arms, the barbs now lodged in his pectorals protest extraction, temporarily creating a regal tug of war between the cruiserweight and the cage. The Hardcore Holyman wins the contest, ripping the bat free and gazing over it's bloody slivers before giving the Bambi Killer an up close and personal look of his own.
"Barbed wire to the face, how vicious! You know, I do have to say, Vlad's looking quite sharp.."
"You wouldn't be saying these kind of things if it was the other way around.."
"Of course not. That wouldn't bother you."
The Down Under Wonder rakes the wood and wire amalgam across the grimaced visage of the Behemoth, twisting it back and forth as crimson creeps out from below, streaming down the countenance of the Czar. As he continues to grate it across the GodKing's crown, miniature creeks become rivers, many converging at the valley about his eye, highlighting the grim reminder of a previous path to the Asylum. The razor sharp reel makes short work of Vladimir's forehead, Hayden stopping only in light of the fact that further infliction would be indistinguishable. Stepping back, he takes in the fruits of his labor with a smile. They are bright red and plentiful, the shredded skin of Rage Personified weeping in torrents, its lament plastered upon the face of the original King of the Deathmatch. As he admires his handiwork, pity for the helpless man before him begins to tug at his heartstrings once more. The Kiwi steps forward, lowering his weapon with the intent to release his catch, until the sudden upstroke of Strife's steel-toed boots catches him in between the legs, seating him across from his rival.
"Aw, come on, low blow!"
"Are you seriously going to complain about that when Hayden has stabbed hooks into Vlad, strung him up on the cage and beaten him to a bloody pulp?"
"Oh, sure, just bring all that up!"
"Look what he did! He tore up my beautiful Vladdy poo's face! He looks like he's been through a slaughterhouse!"
"Vlad would have done the same if he had the idea first. Though I have to say the meat hooks are a nice touch. Gnarfflinger would be proud."
The Barbarian Lord works quickly, straining his arm as he tries to slip the hook back in through the diamond it's set upon, mustering up all of the strength he can. After what feels like an eternity of anguish, the Romanian finally frees his right arm, a chorus of cheers commending his accomplishment. He pants and rests, recuperating so that he might be able to repeat the feat and reassert himself in the match. The Titan has exerted his full energy toward the task, making a poor choice by not keeping his focus on the opposition. The Jackass shows him the error of his ways as he takes a grand measure of revenge, the barbed-wired bat striking two balls, ironically ensuring that walking was far from the Behemoth's future. Strife gasps deeply, the resonating "OOOOOH" from the audience saying what he can't as his legs snap shut and his features twist. Hayden steps in, careful not to repeat his previous mistake as he grabs the arm of the Titan and once again pushes the safe end of the butcher's tool through the wire mesh. A mighty heave frees the sadistic slugger, the Bambi Killer emitting a shrill shriek and kicking wildly, his heels pounding against the canvas in a tantrum as he leans his head back against the cage with a forceful wince just visible under the ruby veil.
"OH, COME ON! First Vlad's face, then the family jewels?! What did I ever do to you, Hayden!?"
Standing over the Barbarian Lord, utterly decimated in the nightmarish hell of his own creation, the Kiwi at last seems to have an inkling of mercy in mind. He raises the bat over his head, lining up a shot that threatens to put the Impaler out of his misery. Vlad starts to squirm, but this pitiful showing is the full extent of his ability at present. Whizzing through the air, the weapon crashes down upon the co-owner's crown, the thud sickening audible through the minimal cushioning of barbed-wire and hair. Strife slumps forward, going silent at last as the audience clings to the edge of their seats. Hayden's Slugger proves almost as difficult to pull away from the action, the aforementioned buffers having become entangled. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to reclaim it, the Pride of GHW places the sole of his boot against the jaw of the concussed King, pressing his skull back against the wall to give him further leverage. With a hard pull and some straining, he pulls his modern-day Excalibur out of the mess, uprooting clumps of follicles as he does. Vladimir's head rocks forth once more as the foot is removed, his normally fearsome presence reduced to a broken heap of man.
"Wow.. I really expected just an absolute war here tonight, but Hayden has just entirely shut out Vladimir at this point. I suppose there's something poetic in the fact that after the multitude of stars that have been just absolutely decimated at his hands, he's finally found one that has returned the favor.."
"Well, I don't care for poetry.. But I feel a bit heartbroken here.. I mean, Vlad's the GodKing! I knew Hayden was a skilled veteran as well and that he would very well be Vlad's biggest challenge to date, but I never imagined I'd see my sexy man so... pitiful.."
"Exactly. The whole goal here, of course, was to settle for once and all who was the best, but I absolutely thought Vlad at least had a closer claim to it than this.."
Hayden looks over the carnage, wondering if his efforts thusfar are enough to bring the match to an end. Were it any other man in the world pinned against the cage, he would have the utmost confidence that it indeed was. As it was, however, the man before him was Vladimir Strife and the reputation and legacy he carried with him left the Kiwi unsure. He draws back the bat once more as he steps onto the Behemoth's collarbone, unwilling to take any chances on the matter.
"Aw, come on! This is just too much! You did it already, dammit! Just let the referee count it and get my Vladdy out of that damn thing!!"
Ray White's pleading goes unheard as the crack of the bat rings out and up through the rafters over the hushed audience once more. It pounds upon the cheek of the Romanian, his face sandwiched between the weapon and the wall as a fracture spiders across the bone beneath.
"CHEESE N CRACKERS!"
"Oh my god..."
Hayden reels back with the bane of Vladimir's existence, met with resistance yet again as he does. He gives a sharp tug, pulling the bat away, surprised to find that the barbed-wire has opted out of following. It unravels from the shaft, clinging to the visage of the Behemoth, leaving his opponent with only a Louisville Slugger, the upper half of the wood stained a deep red.
The most decorated star in GHW backs off at last, allowing the referee to step in and begin his count. The official is uncertain of the validity of the fall, given the Romanian's propped up position, but starts anyhow, understanding the the Hall of Famer needed serious medical attention.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
The crowd is deathly silent, hanging on every number that slips through the lips of the man in the zebra stripes.
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"I hate to say it, Ray, but I think this is the end...."
"I don't even care at this point... just get him out of that damned thing!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
Hayden looks over the GodKing, his bloodied and battered appearance looking as though he took a tumble from Mt. Olympus itself, when something suddenly catches his attention. Amid the sharp, steel spirals of barbed wire, an eye flutters open, the white surrounding his iris standing out in stark contrast to the crimson that extends in every direction.
"SEVEN!"
Vladimir had yet to give any further indication that he was alive, so the unaware umpire continues his call. Hayden considers the dilemma, knowing that if he says nothing, it may very well mean the biggest claim of his career. His Christian ethics prevent this, however, and he gets the attention of the referee, who shrugs and steps away waving his arms to indicate that fall has been broken.
"Oh my god... he's still in it! Vladdy's awake!! HE LIVES!"
"I'm absolutely stunned.. I thought he was done for sure and if I'm being honest.. he may still be. I have no idea how anyone could go through all of that and get back into this contest. On top of it, Vlad is still stuck on that wall.."
The Kiwi paces over to his rival, a stoic determination upon his face. He bends down, taking the Bambi Killer by the ankles and places them into the pits of his arms. As he backs up, he lifts the bottom of the Barbarian Lord off of the mat, suspending him in air between himself and the butcher hooks that keep him pinned against the cage. An agonizing scream pours out of the GodKing's gullet as the weight of his frame causes the barbs to sink further in, the flesh and cloth over his right bicep beginning to rise up to a point, taking the form of a macabre tent. The referee comes back around, asking Vladimir if he quit in a tone more befitting a request. The Czar of Scars, ever stubborn, shakes his head, refusing to accept defeat. Hayden, hoping to change his mind, pulls the Romanian taut to a fresh chorus of cries. The skin and cotton peel back from the bloody spike as it erupts amid Strife's upper arm, a layer of crimson pouring off the taper to give way to silver. The sight is enough to make the official recoil, along with many of the stadium's patrons, Ray White moving along to his second bucket, having stored many in just such a case.
"BLURRRGHHH"
".....Holy... fuck..."
The official begins to plead outright with the Romanian Scourge, trying to enlighten him to the severity of his situation.
"Vlad.. please, just give up. You could have broken bones, a concussion, internal bleeding.. You DO have a damn hook sticking through your arm. Just let it be over.. You have nothing to prove.."
The response is short and to the point, surprising George and absolutely nobody else.
"FUCK YOU!"
Hayden releases Vladimir, accepting that even the torture he has subjected him to won't coerce the Titan to forfeit the contest. The ability for a competitor to surrender in the Asylum was more or less a formality, for by the time things had brought men to such drastic means of settling their disputes, neither was ever truly willing to prioritize their survival over victory, no matter how slim the odds became.
"This is hard to watch.. The GodKing has about a snowball's chance in hell right now, yet he still refuses to throw in the towel.."
"Did you really expect him to?"
"No.. I'd actually be pretty stunned if either of these men chose not to drag this out to the bitter end."
The Kiwi paces to the other side of the ring, looking over the selection of weaponry again as he contemplates his next move. While he does, the Barbarian Lord watches him through the drips of maroon that ride out to the ends of his eyelashes before slipping over and down onto his cheek, joining their brethren. He scoots his legs in close, getting his soles flat against the canvas quietly to keep from alerting the enemy to his movements. He pushes off of the mat, careful to lean forth and remove himself from the cage wall, coming up to his full height for the first time in over ten minutes. His cover is blown as the fans burst into cheers and screams, the commotion turning Hayden's head around to the blood-soaked Behemoth. He rushes at the Titan, knowing he's in far better condition and more prepared for a direct assault. Vladimir's left leg darts back, his toes coming down at an angle and baring down amid his spattered life force. His nemesis notices quickly what is going on, his eyes going wide as Strife exerts the energy of his push up the length of his limb and into his abdomen. The Down Under Wonder slows himself to a halt, doing so in just enough time for the force to run it's course across the Czar of Scars' torso and to the end of his arm, it pumping forth as if straightened by the momentum, rushing to greet the pride of GHW. The infamous punch lands with every bit of the reputation it has garnered, flattening the five-time King of the Deathmatch with a heavy thud.
"LIGHTS OUT!!! YES! YES! YES!"
"An absolutely monstrous right hand from Vladimir Strife as he finally reasserts himself in this match!"
Vladimir studies the protrustion beside his humerus, working out routes of extraction within his mind. The official passes him, looking over his downed rival before the Behemoth takes him by the shirt and shoots him a stern glare. Homeless George backs off, understanding fully what the Barbarian Lord does to people he deems to be in the way.
"What are you doing, Vlad? Let him count so you can win!"
"After this ordeal, Ray, Vlad has to be looking for some kind of revenge and I would not want to be in Hayden's shoes right now.."
"Why not? They look comfortable enough.."
"I... I don't even know what to say to you.."
Almost every fishing guide inevitably covers what to do if it should happen that some hapless soul finds themselves on the end of a hook. A basic one provides the easiest solution, for one simply reverses the path it took upon entry to free themselves. Regrettably, the thin tail of the spike made this quite unfeasible for the Romanian. The easiest method of retraction when the hook involved does, in fact, have a barb, is to slip a bit of rope or wire over the eye and onto the curve, then press that eye against the flesh and pull it free, allowing the reversed point to go out as it came in without catching upon anything and causing further damage. This is quite painless but is also, however, impossible if the flesh has been completely skewered. At that point, it is recommended that the fisherman clip or crimp the barb, flattening it so they may follow through as the other plans entail. The most painful and difficult plan of action, as a guide would warn, is to try to pull the implement the rest of the way through. It is suggested that you, instead, seek medical attention as soon as possible. This is also very unlucky for the EVPW co-owner, who knows it will likely be quite some time until he can manage to do so. Most unfortunate of all, though, is that Vladimir Strife has never once gone fishing and possesses none of this knowledge whatsoever.
The European presses the butcher's best friend further along, revealing enough of the crooked shaft that he can take hold of it just behind the business end and drag it out inch by inch. When he gets to the bend, he is forced to twist it about, his flesh and meat torquing and tearing little by little to accommodate the lump of steel. Delicately threading it down to the next shift in direction, an agonizing sensation overwhelms the GodKing's genius, his face locked in a grimace as he flips it over again and runs the curvature through, sliding out the remainder of the length so he can at last part ways with the object of his affliction.
"Oh god, oh god, come to me, bucket!"
"Vlad is just possessed... how anybody could do that... just pull that horrific thing through their arm.. it's beyond me. There is simply no length these men won't go to in order to stake their claim that they are undisputedly the greatest of all times."
Noticing that his opponent is beginning to stir, the Czar of Scars adds one more to his title as he makes a drastic call, grabbing the other winding rod and forcing it through his flesh. His nerve ending fire off messages of their woe, the misery bringing Vlad down to one knee and blurring his vision. He acts fast, repeating his previous procedure as Hayden starts to rise, determined to be done with the snare once and for all. A moment later, finished and free, he tosses the prick of a weapon to the canvas, it landing at the base of the individual who'd introduced them.
The scene before the Pride of GHW is like something from a horror movie, blood highlighting the path of the Romanian in puddles and he swiftly kicks away two of the tools responsible for this before lashing the boot across the fractured cheek of the embodiment of SCW. Strife tumbles over, barely catching himself with one of his tender limbs, which goes unnoticed to the cruiserweight, already on to something else as he darts toward a set of ropes. Having kept an eye on the man who intrigued him all these years, a star of such different style and mentality whose early career nearly mirrored his own, Vlad is more than aware of what will follow. He forces himself up to his feet as fast as he can, clearing the path as Hayden launches himself toward the cables, his feet slapping down across the middle. It bows under him, straining to catch the nearly two hundred pounds of incoming HardKore, before slinging him back toward the center of the ring. He arches his back, curling his spine and flipping back on what he believes to be a path toward victory. As his eyes focus on his intended touchdown, he tries to re-calibrate his position, pushing his legs down to stop himself from belly-flopping. The Behemoth steps back under Hayden, preventing either possibility from actualization as he ducks his head down and shoves it between the thighs of the human projectile, each hand grabbing the back of a calf muscle. With a huge stomp forth, the GodKing rips the limbs down and in past his sides, shrugging his shoulders. The New Zealander is leveraged upon them, a lever to their fulcrum as his nemesis assists his revolution. 10 seconds and 360 degrees after he left one set of ropes, the Wellington Warrior barely misses the other, slamming just North of them across the thick steel diamonds, his inertia screeching to a halt as his shoulders and skull pound upon the wall. His arms slip behind the thick nylon, keeping him from falling down to the mat.
"Alabama Slam into the cage wall! What an impact! Vlad isn't out of this one just yet, folks."
"Yes! Go Vladdy poo!!"
"Nothing could make me happier than knowing I will never have to hear you say that ever again.."
Clinging to consciousness and the top rope, Hayden watches his opponent shifting back from two forms to one with a complete disregard for focus and the laws of nature. The blur of fury rips him away from his support line, holding his shins in the pits of his arms and allowing the Kiwi to flip back once more and between his legs. As the sum of his swing since he left his feet nears 540 degrees, the Barbarian Lord drops down, Hayden hitting the canvas face first with a 234 pound monkey on his lower back. The GodKing maintains his grasp, fast, fleeted feet pressed to his bruised and broken ribs, deepening the arch of his enemy's spine as he bends him back.
"That right there is a prime example of what makes these men so devastating. Either one is so thoroughly educated and versed in this business that they can hit you with nearly any strike, move, or hold from almost any position. Vladimir just swung Hayden through his legs like a damn pendulum and dropped into a Boston Crab with him. I've never seen anything like it."
"Go Vlad! That's why he's the best!"
"Ray, don't let that undersell Hayden's ability to do exactly the same. His very style is so unique that by the time most men begin to adapt to it, the match is already over."
TBCB Hayden
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Post by Tamatoa Harikoa on Oct 9, 2013 14:52:25 GMT -4
Vladimir applies pressure to the hold, bending his lightweight Kiwi opponent like a pretzel and contorting his spine into an inhumane shape. With his larger frame seated on Hayden's shoulder blades, he pushes the Jackass's face into the mat while using Hayden's legs as handlebars on his imaginary Chopper. The chopper does not make a low, manly rumble as it idles in the ring; moreso a muffled caw of agony as the sound escapes the lips of GHW's Finest. Fresh from removing the barbed butchers hooks from each bicep, clear puncture wounds are visible as Vladimir pulls back on his handlebars, chunks of flesh missing from where he had pulled the hooks free. Needless to say, blood pours from the fresh wounds. The crimson trail drips onto the small of Hayden's upside down back and flows down the length of his trunk, pooling in the spot where his spine levels out, just beneath his crushed shoulder blades. With a suspected broken collarbone to match his bicep wounds, Vladimir Strife is running on adrenaline alone - his body doing its utmost to mask the crippling surges of pain surging through him like shockwaves.
The Kiwi, in contrast to Vladimir's battered and bloodied demeanour, looks to be weathering the match rather well so far. Although welted, his skin is yet to break. Although exhausted, his body has not yet failed him. Although he finds himself locked in a Boston Crab, with a maniacal deviant trying his hardest to break his spine, he refuses to yield. Without the advantage of a rope break, Hayden's only choice to break the move is to create leverage. Being the smaller framed man, the weaker man - as a test of strength would go, this would not likely be done by his strength alone. Clawing his way along the ground, Hayden inches ever closer to his goal. Not the ropes, but the wall of the cell itself. The Hardcore Kiwi grits his teeth, agony etched onto every muscle in his face as he nears the wall. Reaching a trusted left fist forward, the New Zealand native clutches the wire mesh of the Asylum Cage structure. He holds on despite Vladimir's attempted swatting away of the hand, soon reaching up a second hand and pulling himself upwards. The effect takes two or three pain-staking attempts before Hayden manages to see the fruits of his labour. Soon, he had managed to right himself, tipping Vladimir onto his back and forcing the Romanian to loosen the hold. Although free, the move had clearly taken a toll on the Kiwi, who finds himself resting exhaustedly against the wall of the cell, worried hands scanning the epicentres of pain along his spinal cord and attempting to massage the effects of Vladimir's Romanian Crab away.
"He's not done yet, folks... How much more can Vladimir throw at Hayden before his wounds catch up with him?"
"And how much more of this match can I stomach before the night is out?"
"At least you have come prepared Ray, and are not using my hat as a bucket. I think I wuld whoop your ass if you tried that. What are you on now, bucket number three?"
"How nice of you to keep count..."
"Well, that's judging from the stench. Can we get a runner to take these damned buckets away. I don't want to be smelling Ray's Clam Chowder all night, not when history is being made in front of me."
while Jimmy Pate's request is being silently dealt with, the match continues within the Asylum Cage. The exhausted Kiwi Battler picks up the pace, willing his body into the next metaphorical gear. The Jackass passes across the ring, bounding off the ring ropes and charging at his target. Lining up the Collarbone of Vladimir Strife, Hayden leaps into the air and aims a Cross Body with all of the accuracy that you would expect from the veteran. He does not notice, however, that in his absence Vladimir had reached above him to retrieve a new supply of weaponry. Hiding it behind his back, Strife does his best to look helpless, injured. It is not difficult, seeing as he is actually injured. Injured, but far from helpless. He waits for Hayden to leave his feet, until the moment of no return has passed, before revealing his hand. Swinging with vinegar and accuracy, a flash of white sails through the air; extending out of the now bloodied hands of the Czar of Scars.
*Crash*
Half of the light tube shatters on impact, swatting the Flying Kiwi out of the sky and dropping him to the mat. A direct hit on his forehead causes a large gash to form, which soon seeps blood; the first time in the match Hayden had done so. Vladimir is left holding the second half of the weapon as the remaining shards of glass scatter themselves around the mat. Although only half of the tube is still in his hand, it is still more than enough for a second swipe. The dazed Kiwi instinctively stands to his feet after crashing and burning to the mat at Strife's feet. Not a hundred percent sure what happened, the answer soon becomes clear as the white lightsaber-type flash of Vladimir's light tube slices the air once more and connects again with the Kiwi's head, this time slightly above his forehead along his hairline. Again, the light tube shatters and leaves Vladimir holding a portion of light tube just a little larger than his own fist. Hayden takes two punch-drunk staggering steps forward before collapsing to the mat, directly on top of a pile of scattered shards of razor sharp glass.
Vladimir does not smile as he approaches his downed prey. He does not take delight in his destruction. His eyes scream in agony from his numerous injuries but his face remains stoic. Kneeling beside the battered Kiwi, Vladimir flips the remaining fist-sized portion of light tube until he is holding it like a dagger. Lifting Hayden's head off the canvas, he takes the dagger and drives it into the already cut forehead of Hayden HardKore. As the glass digs into the thin layer of skin and flesh covering the bone of his skull, Hayden's eyes pop open. This time the caw of agony is not muffled. Hayden's voice comes as blood-curdling and bone chilling as one can imagine, forcing many of the fans around the arena to cover eyes, mouths, ears or other various orifices. Slowly, methodically, Vladimir cuts a jagged line across the forehead of his friend; he cuts a lasting memory into Hayden's mind.
"Err, folks. JP here. Ray White has left the building. Something about the blood curdling cries of Hayden HardKore were too much for him. Currently, he is seated underneath his commentary desk with his fingers in his ears, slowly rocking himself back and forth... I think we might have broken him."
Static fills the airways as Ray White's channel remains silent.
"This match has sure taken turns for the devious, turns for the vicious. I knew that this thing was going to be bloody when we started, but I had no idea that it would be like this. All joking aside, these men are pouring their lives into this match. Hayden has been saying it for weeks now; he does not expect either man to walk away from this match. And I am inclined to believe him. When we see the likes of what we have seen so far tonight, these men are going to leave here forever changed."
It takes until the jagged gash is completed until the light tube decides to finally give, all but shattering in the clenched fist of its wielder. Vladimir takes the turn to stand, using the wall of the cage to assist his battered body and turns his back on the bloodied pulp of his friend's face. Hayden feebly lifts an arm in his wake, before his neck loses the strength to hold his head up any more and he sinks back into the canvas. Linking his plan together, Vladimir readies the second weapon he had prepared while Hayden was staggering to his feet, pulling a simple metal corkscrew from his pocket. The corkscrew flails expertly into Vladimir's right hand and the GodKing approaches the downed carcass of Hayden HardKore once more. Grabbing Hayden by the hair with his free hand, Vladimir flips him onto his back, enough to cause Hayden to wake up a little from his pain-induced slumber. The Kiwi sits up as Vladimir approaches, blood now flowing freely down his face, into his eyes and mouth. Wiping the blood from his eyes so that he can see, Hayden soon wished that he hadn't. All he sees is Vladimir's lumbering figure, corkscrew in hand, swinging towards his legs. The corkscrew is driven home, directly into the soft flesh of a pressure point just above his left kneecap. Vladimir's expert accuracy ansures that the shot does not miss its mark. Hayden's crimson face contorts into agony once more, his eyes closing and his head rising as if looking into the heavens. His mouth opens and a howl erupts from within the void. A howl that is cut short, not by Vladimir Strife, but by Hayden himself sinking into the void on unconsciousness.
Vladimir stands, once again turning from the carnage in his wake as the referee begins his long, drawn out count.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
Giving himself the time to recuperate, Vladimir himself collapses to the canvas, onto his hands and knees. His face touches the mat, as if prostrated before the almighty. The ironic pose is lost on Vladimir, as the Romanian is himself lost within a world of his own agony.
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"Ray, come back... This one might be the end."
"I am not sure that I want to see, JP. How about I just call the match from down here?"
"Sure, whatever... I am a better commentary team by myself anyway. You'll be about the same from down there as you usually are. Hayden has slipped into unconsciousness after all of the barrage that Vladimir Strife has put him through. I hate to break it to you Ray, but it is now two of your favourite faces all carved up."
"Haydee as well as my Vladdy-poo? It is like a nightmare that I will never waken from."
"FIVE!"
Clawing his way to his feet once more, Vladimir reaches above him to pull down a new variety of weaponry; a tell-tale bag, its contents needlessly hidden. All around the arena knows what is hidden within. He holds the bag in his right fist, a precaution in case the Kiwi awakens.
"SIX!"
A groan from the Kiwi, a slicker of a fingertip. A single sign of life. Enough for the referee to deem the match continues. Shaking his head respectfully at the Kiwi's resolve, Vladimir unties the drawstring on the bag and empties the thumb-tacks over the mat, mixing them in with the remaining shards of glass that are not already underneath Hayden's body. While he is preparing the altar, the sacrificial lamb is stirring. His eyes slowly open and he surveys the scene around him. Hayden shakily sits up, the simple action mustering all of the strength in his body.
Vladimir tosses the empty bag away, turning his attention to the match at hand. Ignoring the aches and pains in his body, the Romanian Behemoth assists Hayden to his feet, pulling him up to a vertical base. Hayden stands on jelly-legs, looking set to topple at the slightest breeze. Vladimir steadies his friend by pushing the Kiwi's head down in between his legs and locking him into the beginnings of a Powerbomb. The stunned crowd, having witnessed the carnage already in the match halt their cheering momentarily as Vladimir hooks the Kiwi Battler's arms behind his back. Knowing what is about to follow, the crowd rise as one and encourage the infamous move. Vladimir flicks his hair back out of his face in recognition to the crowd and grits his teeth. He knows that this amount of exertion will hurt his collarbone, but he does not care. With a deep breath, Vladimir hoists Hayden up into the air before driving him back down to the mat, directly on top of the pile of thumb-tacks he had just finished scattering like bird seed. Hayden lands on his neck and shoulders, crashing to earth as the Skesis Driver hits home in all of its glory. Vladimir, finishing the move by sitting out, has the not so glamorous tasks of pulling thumb-tacks from the seat of his pants, while Hayden simply flops onto the remainder of the pile back first. The sight of Hayden's lifeless carcass is once more enough to call the referee over. Homeless George once more takes centre stage, restarting his count.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
Again, a hush falls over the crowd as the inevitable end to the match had seemingly arrived. Around the arena, not a soul dare speak, save for Homeless George whose sole voice adds to the tension in the air.
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"Skesis Driver might have sealed the deal here folks. After all of the hammering Hayden's body has been through, not to mention Vladimir's own body; there is only so much these warriors can take."
"Super human, these men are. There is no logical explanation for how either of these men are still going."
"Well, technically, only one of these men are in fact still going. Hayden seems as dead as a doornail."
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
Homeless George's count nears its penultimate number, and the crowd wait in silent anticipation.
"NINE!"
Just as George's hands shoot up for the ninth call, he notices a flicker. Thinking that his eyes have simply played tricks on him, or too much paper-bag whisky might be ailing his senses, he readies himself for the last call. He is cut short as Hayden's mouth opens and the Kiwi lets out a feeble groan. Not an almighty roar, but an almost whisper; although enough to allow Hayden to continue.
"I don't bloody believe it..."
"Nice to see you have rejoined me at the table Ray, and just in time I might add. Judging from the deafening roar that just echoed around the crowd Ray, I don't think anybody bloody believes that Hayden is still in this. Barely, hanging by a thread and by a single count, but he's still there."
Vladimir is stunned and he soon spurs himself into action, after a short amount of disbelieving hair pulling. The Romanian GodKing once more helps Hayden to his feet, leading him over to the cage wall where he proceeds to hurl the Kiwi at the unforgiving wire mesh wall. Hayden crashes much like a cartoon character hitting a plate glass window, full bodied, before dropping to the mat once more. Vladimir is on him in an instant, hoisting him up by the seat of his pants and leading the Kiwi over to the opposite cage wall. He looks set to Irish Whip Hayden into the wall, given the close proximity to the wall itself, a move that could well end the match on the spot. As he pulls Hayden forward, the Kiwi alters his trajectory ever so slightly. Instead of charging straight into the cage wall, Hayden now heads for the turnbuckle. The Kiwi, steering himself toward danger, proceeds to scramble up the turnbuckle before using the momentum that he had gathered from Vladimir's Irish Whip to run along the cell wall. Vladimir, stands stunned underneath him as the Kiwi high flier rounds the corner of the cage and begins around the perpendicular wall. He stands stunned as Hayden grabs the Romanian by the still outstretched hand and flicks him into a Tilt-a-Whirl Head-scissors.
"I'll say it again... Cheese and Crackers!"
"Hayden just ran up the turnbuckle, along the wall of the Asylum Cage and then leapt back into a move of his own against Vlad... Is that even possible?"
"It must be, I just saw it happen with my own two eyes."
Hayden's unexpected burst of life had brought him from the brink of extinction to hanging upside down from the GodKing's neck. Using his weight to angle the move where he wants it, Hayden slides Vladimir away from the cage wall and back toward the centre of the ring. With enough momentum gathered to keep spinning his body around Vladimir's all day, Hayden transitions the move into the next segment. He throws the pair off balance, causing Vladimir to start falling forward. As he falls, Hayden grabs the behemoth with one arm, a single Armed DDT driving Vladdy-poo directly into the mess of thumb-tacks and broken glass shards that Hayden's slender frame had not managed to pick up. The Arm of God would inevitably follow, and Hayden locks in his trusted submission move by floating over as the move lands into a Fujuwara Arm Bar. Vladimir finds himself helpless, broken and bleeding, locked in the best move Hayden's arsenal has to try and force him to yield.
"Arm of God! Vladimir might have a broken collarbone. Is Hayden going to force him to tap?"
"It's a history lesson tonight Ray. Shades of a young Santo Masceras there. And punctuated with thumb-tacks for good measure. If Vladimir is ever going to yield, this is the time."
Tbcb Vladdy-poo
OOC: Sorry for the lateness. As I said, I had connection issues. The universe did not want me to post, but I found a way. I would suggest Mike gets an extension to get a post in.
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Post by Vladimir Strife on Oct 18, 2013 11:45:25 GMT -4
Trapped in the excruciating Fujiwara armbar, Vladimir's twisted visage begins to relax after a few moments, a grimace giving way to a grin. It was the most agonizing form of the basic submission he had ever bore witness to, but it also was a move he was intimately familiar with, it being a staple of his own arsenal, his extensive knowledge of it telling him just how to counter. The Behemoth retracts his remaining limbs, pulling them in close to his body so that he can hunker down and concentrate his forces. Utilizing his advantages of size and strength, the Romanian Scourge begins to push back against the hold, slowly moving Hayden enough that he can raise his shoulder off of the canvas and relieve part of the pressure. The Kiwi fights back, putting his weight down onto the rotary cuff, but it's no match for the power of the Czar of Scars, who shows him that even the Arm of God is not sufficient enough to bend his will, getting up to his hand and knees before the Jackass relents. GHW's Finest rushes to his feet, looking to get the jump on his regal rival by arming himself, a clamor of boots behind him heightening his sense of urgency as it becomes clear that the Barbarian Lord has similar plans. He grabs the nearest weapon to himself, pulling it free from the wire mesh ceilin, just in time to hear a sharp whirring from his blindspot. His heart plummets, landing low in his gut, but his veteran instincts are as keen as ever. Hayden spins around, wildly batting with the shovel and landing a blow across the forearm of the co-owner, sending the drill tumbling to the mat. Strife is defenseless to the next swing, raising his arms to protect his countenance, only to have the spade land clear between them and against his collarbone. He drops to a knee, professing the rantings of a sailor as he shelters his tortured clavicle with his hands.
"And Hayden just taking the punishment to Vlad's clavicle. He's been favoring that spot a bit and you just have to be careful with that. Once your opponent smells blood in the water, things can go downhill VERY quickly."
"What? They aren't fighting in water.. Are you high, Jimmy?"
JP pinches the bridge of his nose, resisting the temptation to slap his broadcast partner.
Before Vladimir can recover, the shovel comes down across his shoulder with a thunderous clap, as if trying to get at the injury from the other side, grounding the Impaler. The original King of the Deathmatch lies against the mat, fighting to recapture his jagged breaths. They grow ever faster as the sole of his greatest successor clamps down on the back of his wrist and a familiar sound fills his ears. Hayden opens a storage compartment along the side of the power drill, a handful of accessories spilling out and over the tacks and glass. He carefully extracts one from the shrapnel, setting it upon the magnetic tip and squeezing the trigger, watching the spiraled length become a blur as he begins to lower it toward the hand that'd nearly cleared his consciousness. The Hall of Famer resists, but his flesh does not, easily giving way under the twisted spike, the threaded shaft burrowing through and leaving only the head of the screw in sight as it burrows into the canvas and secures the slapper in place. The iron fist that has reigned over the wrestling industry for seven years affixed to the mat, it's defenseless owner cycles between tugging at his limb and screaming at the pain this brings.
"My poor Vlad! How's he supposed to punch Hayden into next week with his hand like that?"
"I think keeping him from using that hand and keeping him down is kind of the point here, Ray.."
Turning his gaze toward the rafters, the Jackass spots yet another chance to give the GodKing a taste of his own medicine. Hayden takes down the coiled up steel and unfurls it, the crowd cheering him on as the links slink down. He spins the chain whip about, practicing to make the most of the punishment he will soon dole out. As he gets comfortable with the weapon, he lashes forth with it, bringing it down across the lumbar of the legend, leaving welts and yelps in it's wake. Certain he can do better, the Down Under Wonder gives it a hard spin, the links twirling in a full rotation before they cut air, cloth and skin, bringing fresh blood to the Kingly compilation of wounds. The Czar of Scars pulls away from the canvas, stripping the path of the screw and screaming out until his voice grows hoarse. The solid steel links come snapping at Vladimir again, pounding across the ring's cover as their intended target darts out of the path of destruction, the booming impact highlighting the bullet he's dodged. The Messiah of the Asylum pops up to his feet, bringing his open palm forth and using the unholy stigmata to turn the cheek of the Holy Warrior. Hayden stumbles away from the slap, a deep gash across his cheek as he grabs the ropes and runs his fingers over it, none too surprised by the slickness he finds at the site.
"And for those of you keeping track at home, Ray is now on his 4th bucket, which is a new record if I'm not mistaken. Ray?"
"HUUUGCK."
"I'm going to say that's a 'yes'."
The Kiwi turns and lashes at the Behemoth again, but the target steps in close and grabs him by the wrist, stopping his momentum and tearing at his flesh with the protruding spike. A knee to the gut remedies this, causing Vlad to release him as he sluggishly makes his way toward the open realty of wire mesh. Hayden abandons the chain-whip, revisiting the other favorite of the GodKing as he picks up the drill and alters it's direction before grabbing the hand of the Barbarian Lord and reversing the path of the screw to alleviate the accidental armament. Strife borrows this plan of action, a bloody backhand batting away the power tool from the grasp of the Holy High-Flyer. As the Barbarian Lord begins to walk toward him, Hayden quickly surveys the area, trying to find a way to rout the fury of the Titan. The cruiserweight has no fear of going toe to toe with the Romanian, but he knew that to do so while the Judas of GHW was still experiencing a surge of rage and adrenaline was nothing short of suicidal. He lets Strife take one more step forth, walking backwards out of his path, reeling him in before throwing a swift kick into his stomach, forcing the Monarch of Madness to bow. He wastes no time in racing to the flank of the Impaler, leaping up and stomping down upon the head of the spade with his full weight. The shovel shifts harshly toward the force, the handle shooting up and catching Vlad under the eye with its conclusion, the cracks along his cheekbone spidering wildly. His hands wrap about the impacted area as he collapses to the mat, the base of his palm muffling the sounds of his horror.
"Jesus! What an impact!! Any other night or match and this thing would probably be over right there. As we've went over, one of these men will have to force the other out for a ten count, where they fail to respond in any way, to bring this to an end. Either that or coax them to submit, but I just honestly see either of these men throwing in the towel at this point.."
"Of course not. This is their final match, Jimmy. Who would want to go out a quitter?"
"Nobody wants to, Ray, but sometimes you just don't have a choice. Why don't you get into the ring sometime yourself? You'll see. It's entirely different from sitting out here calling the match."
Not yet finished with his onslaught, Hayden closes in on the fallen Titan, taking him by the legs and holding them to his sides, making his way in until he can clasp his fingers over the Czar of Scars' midriff. His reddening and strained face tell the tale as David lifts Goliath, mustering enough strength to bring him to level with his waistline. This happens to be plenty enough for the Kiwi's purposes, so he drops down, twisting toward the side as he does to keep from sitting on the business end of the gardening tool and drops the Barbarian Lord upon his busted visage. Strife cries out loud once again, rolling away from the crimson outline of his crushed countenance to tend to it. GHW's Finest follows and takes the Bambi Killer by the hair, pulling him back to his height to continue the contest. As Vlad's hands peel away from wounded features, it appears as though his face has molded to their crevices, having puffed grotesquely like a marshmallow in a microwave, engulfing his eye and forcing it to remain shut. The tri-champion recoils from the sight instinctively, his stomach threatening to follow the lead of Ray White's.
"Bucket 5! And Lord Almighty... Vladimir's face is just demolished! This is just sickening.."
Distant retching fills in the role of Ray White, who begins to wish he had the option to surrender the match.
Forcing himself to fight on past the horrendous inflation of flesh, Hayden reminds himself that this is ultimately what he came for and swings a somewhat restrained punt at the midsection of the Romanian. Despite his halved line of sight, Vladimir sees the incoming shot and juts both hands before, seizing the boot before it can make contact. Unfortunately for him, this is precisely as his opponent had planned, leaving him occupied and unable to defend against the other foot as it swings up and slams across his battered and broken cheekbone, knocking him down to the mat.
"Enzuigiri! That shot hit right across the swollen half of the Behemoth's face! He's down! That could be it!"
His comment stand on their own, his partner still trying to ease his appetite enough to continue to witness the carnage inside of the cage.
With Vlad down and quite possibly out, Hayden races toward the corner, aiming to at last answer the question of who is the best with a solution that has ultimately solved so many problems before. He grabs onto the top turnbuckle, looking up before realizing that the Asylum's ceiling is too low for the grand finale he has in mind. Ever adaptable, the Hardkore Hurricane deftly claims a steel chair, unfolding it and setting it before the turnpost. He paces away from the impromptu platform, giving himself room for a running start. A glance over his shoulder ensures that he's cleared for landing and he takes off, leaping onto the seat. He pushes off the edge, flinging his body back in a crescent and going heel over head. He torques his body around as he comes down, tucking his chin against his collarbone to brace for impact and brings his upperback and shoulders down across the busted Romanian ribcage. The inertia carries through the voracious vessel, the force of the fellows giving their bodies a small bounce as the ring thrusts back against the force. Hayden uses the energy return to spring up to his bottom, coming up to sit beside the motionless Monarch, received with a thunderous burst of cheers, every fan in the stadium seeming to sing praises of the Flying Kiwi. Homeless George steps in on the opposite side of the EVPW co-owner, as eager as the patrons to set in stone the epic conclusion of two of the grandest careers in the industry.
"ONE!"
"The Flying Kiwi!! Hayden hit it! That's got to be it!"
"No..."
"TWO!"
The trampled Tyrant lies there silently still, the expressionless ruby bulk of his upturned countenance resembling the squished innards of a blood orange.
"THREE!"
"I have to say... even with everything Vlad has done.. it's just hard to see him like this. Just so absolutely broken.."
"Yeah.."
"FOUR!"
The crowd rallies along the edges of their chairs with bated breath as the mythical Impaler remains devoid of motion, sprawled out in front of the world in a state of vulnerability many had come to think him incapable of. His nigh fabled reputation often seemed to dispute the idea that Vladimir had limitations, but on this his final night in the squared circle, Hayden had exposed them before the world and left them out for all to see.
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
GHW's Finest grabs onto the middle rope, using it to leverage himself back up to his feet. As the realization dawns upon him that the end is finally in sight, his muscles at last begin to relax. He stood upon the summit of Mount Olympus, four small steps from the peak where so very few before him had reached.
"SEVEN!"
Having corrected himself at last, the weary Wellington Warrior saunters over to the GodKing, his heart a contradiction in the moment. While it ached for the combatant he'd come to call a friend and his grim appearance, it also cried with elation for the end of a vicious bout that could be summed up no better than a journey through hell. He whispers gently to the bested Behemoth, his faint musings lost upon deaf ears.
"Thank you, my friend.."
"EIGHT!"
"As this fight comes to an end, I just want to say that I feel very privileged to have been able to witness and be a part of both of these men's careers. They are two of the best the business has ever seen and may ever see again. It's been an honor."
"Yeah, it has.."
Standing at the threshold of his career's apex, the Holy Warrior holds his head high, taking in a final view of what has long been the epicenter of his life. As he does, memories begin to flood his brain, his career flashing by as one's very life might in the face of death. From his multitude of championships to his repeated attempts at the famous NeXuS to holding three titles simultaneous, Hayden truly was the most decorated star in the business. His was a legacy of glory and honor in many a ways, sharp in contrast to the infamous reign of terror and controversy of his opponent. It was a difference that permeated from their very essence to everything they had touched. From the lands of GHW, where sportsmanship and entertainment were key to the barbarism SCW had brought to them, where too far was never enough and the line of morality had long been trampled beyond recognition. From the elegance and grace of the Flying Kiwi to the sickening thud of a Skesis Driver. From the Shakespearean romance that lead to Hayden's engagement with the lovely Chick with Kick to Vladimir savagely defiling her. The men represented two sides of coin joined only by their values in the business and the brutal flip they were engaged in.
"NINE!"
Without warning, the interior of Vladimir's forearm slaps across the crook of Hayden's structural vulnerability, weakening it's integrity and sending the Down Under Wonder face first to the mat as the GodKing rolls over. He plants a knee into the fabric, creating a fulcrum as he pulls himself up, stepping over the prone protagonist and establishing his own support. The Behemoth straightens his other leg, taking hold of his adversary's remaining one to reign in control. He slips the Kiwi's ankle into the fold of it's opposing limb and clamps the calf down over it, sticking an arm into the loop he has created and lacing his fingers. He reels it in close to his chest, forcing the embodiment of GHW into an awkward arch. The Jackass pulls at his hair, the tormenting Texas Cloverleaf sending spasms up the length of his spine. Homeless George rushes to his side with an excitement once reserved only for the promise of alcohol, questioning his will to continue. Despite the torture, the New Zealand Native has no interest in surrender, trying to shake off the effects as he claws toward the edge of the ring once again.
"HE'S ALIVE!! Vlad, just absolutely out of nowhere, he's still in this thing and he's got the Texas Cloverleaf on Hayden! Yes! YES! GO VLAD!!"
"How the hell is he though? I don't think even the best scientists in the world could explain to me how either of these men still can go on after everything they've put each other through tonight!"
Refusing to fall for the same tactic twice, the Barbarian Lord takes a step back and tucks the latching limb into the pit of his arm, removing the other from the void before squatting. He gives a light slab to the ribs of his righteous rival, prompting him to raise his arms. He does so only minutely, but it's quite enough for the GodKing to interject his fingers, prying the limbs back at the hinge until he can slide his own through and meet them with his own. His legs spread out, stabilizing himself and lowering his center of gravity, allowing him to pick Hayden up from the mat, raising the cruiserweight before himself, his head dangling beneath him. Strife squeezes his hold, bringing the ends of his nemesis's body in closer. He pleads with the tightly bound package to yield, begging for an end to their battle.
"GIVE UP!"
"NO!"
"It's over, you stubborn fuck! Just give up!"
"NEVER!!"
With no other options remaining, the GodKing takes things in a direction he hoped it wouldn't have to go: down. He constricts the Kiwi with all of his might, forcing his head back from the agony and the curvature of his body, releasing a fresh chorus of cries. Strife jumps up, garnering what it little more than a hop with his 196 extra pounds, tucking his boots back to remove the only thing between the combatants and and the canvas. His knees pound thunder and dust from the ring, impaling the visage of the five-time King Of The Deathmatch before them. With his legs wound together and subject to the whims of the Czar of Scars, Hayden's body has nowhere to go but out. It bows, a sickening arch following from the base of his cranium to his tailbone, his midsection jutting out and threatening to snap in half. The Titan releases his final foe, unable to contain the rebounding energy as the body fights to straighten itself. The famous Triple Champion crashes unceremoniously with a flop at the base of the Behemoth, lifeless in appearance and, hopefully, nothing more. A silence takes over the Concord attendance, the brutality of the Barbarian Lord claiming the last casualty as the referee begins to etch the record into the annals of history.
"ONE!"
"OH MY GOD!! SKESIS DEATH DRIVER!!"
"GHW's Finest just got flattened by the Judas of GHW with the only move to have been banned in GHW! I LOVE IT!!"
"TWO!"
~Fin~
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