Kasabian Stalker vs. Jakob Azazel

[Ciles Gorey]

EVPW ON THE GO SHOW NUMBER ONE kicks off with the enthralling cries of a distorted child requesting "Everybody come to church." The somewhat disturbing noise culminates in whispered vocals that speak to the very soul of all in attendance. As Evil Blizzard's "Are You Evil?" reaches it's titular chorus the former citizen of the British Isles emerges from behind the curtain which separates the locker rooms from that of the main arena. He stands on the stage with his arms spread wide apart, head titled slightly back and with the palms of his hands facing the arena lights. He basks in the hate he seems to be getting from the Philippine crowd. Sharply he brings his arms down to his side and locks his focus on the ring, which stands just a few metres away from him. He makes his way slowly down the steps from the stage to the main entrance way, pausing with each deliberate step before continuing onto the next one. He walks down the makeshift walkway with fans on both sides of him shouting abuse, a couple of them simply trying to lean into the view of the camera then smile and wave at those watching in the comfort of their houses.

Jeff Young
"Ladies and... er... gentlefolks. This is the beginning... er.. first! I mean the first match of the evening. Yes, that's what I meant. And erm... this match is scheduled for one fall!"

Jakob stops in his tracks and stares at the fucking idiot in the ring. I mean a grown man wearing full face-paint; really? Jeff too seems to pause and put to fingers to the headset in his ear. He turns away from the camera and hunches over, though he can be seen to be nodding. He turns back to the camera with a semi-professional smile and continues to speak.

Jeff Young
"This match is scheduled for thirty minutes of violence. Both competitors can use foreign objects, but they er can't erm... bring any objects with them to the ring. The man with the most falls on their opponent at the end of the 30 minute contest wins!"

The Warlock continues his march to the ring now that the bumbling buffoon who is replacing Lizzie Morna this evening has finally stopped fucking up his lines. He does half a lap of the ring before jumping up onto the apron and catching on to the top rope with one hand. He pulls himself up to a standing position and turns his body to face out to the crowd and the announce team, who are currently trying to get their headset microphones to work properly. Lord Azazel turns his head, his cold stare scanning the arena. Whilst he does this he also unbuttons his black leather duster and flings it open revealing his now on sale for $23 "FUCK YOU ALL" muscle vest. Jakob leans back into the ropes and pushes his crotch forward as he raises both his hands to his sides and gives everyone in the arena the middle finger with both hands.

Jeff Young
"Introducing first. Hailing from... Azazelandria??? Erm, er, he stands at six feet and two centimetres... inches. And weighed in at two hundred and thirty pounds. He is the Most Evil Man in EVPW... Jahkooooob AZAAAAYZEEL!!!"

The Shining Superstar grimaces as the announcer makes a complete balls up of his introduction, but lets it slide. He removes his duster and throws it to a ring side assistant before doing the same with the half mask that adorns his face. He enters the ring between the top and middle rope and quickly enters his corner, letting the referee to a quick weapon check before Kasabian enters the match. The referee for the match checks the wrist tape of Azazel and the boots but finds nothing. He takes the razor strop that hangs by Azazel's side off of him, realising it could be used as a weapon then demands to check the pocket of Jakob's sole kneepad. Azazel sighs before raising his leg for the official to examine. The monochromatic arbiter unzips the pocket and is quick to remove 'Ms. Deeds' the cutthroat razor that Jakob is so fond of using on incapacitated opponents. Jakob throws out a shrug trying to protest his innocence, but the referee shoots him back a black look. While the ref turns away to hand the razor to another part of the ringside staff, The Heir of Empty Breath flashes him a middle finger. The razor is places on the corner of the announce desk, where Metal Dragon prominently picks it up and begins to use the reflection of the announce desk monitor as a mirror as he gives himself a dry shave.

TBCB: Kasabian Stalker
Jakob's contract

------------------------------------------
OOC: No clue who any of the announce team are, so I made Young a bumbling idiot since I don't really care about using a ring announcer.

[Kasabian Stalker]

Jakob Azazel waits. Stone Orchard waits at the commentary desk. Jeff Young waits ready to announce his second competitor of the evening. The Manillan fans wait. They all wait for the arrival of everybody's favourite Pervert, Kasabian Stalker. However, instead of gracing the people with his presence, Gnarflinger's Butchertron fires into life once more. On the screen, in footage grainy enough to make it difficult to distinguish what exactly is going on, the very arena that everybody is busy waiting in is shown, seats empty. The video is captioned with a banner reading - Recorded Earlier Today.

The grainy video footage soon picks up two people. The immistakable shiny bald head of Kasabian Stalker, dressed in leather pants so tight that fans everywhere are suddenly glad the footage is such bad quality. He waits for the second figure to approach him, leaning on the very commentary desk that Stone Orchard now sit at. It is difficult to make out the second figure at first, until he walks, hips swaying, closer to the hidden camera. Only when he is close enough does the video make the figure clear, estranged EVPW commentator Ray White... Kasabian Stalker's biggest fan. White closes in on Kasabian, the bald headed Pervert smiling with all the seduction he can muster. The pair embrace, a hug a little more lingering than simply friendship, before Kasabian gets down to brass tacks.

"Did you bring it?"

Ray White smiles, knowing that he is powerless to resist anything Stalker requests of him.

"It is already here." He reaches underneath the commentary desk that Kasabian is leaning on, retrieving a black duffel bag. "What the heck do you need all this for anyways?"

Kasabian pats Ray on the shoulder, taking the bag from him. Ray hands it over reluctantly, letting it slip from his limp grasp. Then, without so much as a 'see you later', Stalker turns and begins to walk away towards the ring. Ray calls out after the departing Pervert.

"Good luck Kas..." He sighs, seemingly talking to himself. "I'll be watching you, rooting for you."

The scene ends with Kasabian kneeling at the ring, lifting up the apron and hiding the duffel bag underneath.

---

As the screen cuts to black once more, the members of Stone Orchard take it in turn to shudder at the uneasiness of what they had just seen. 

Oliviera: "I don't trust it when we see two guys like that having a secret meeting."
MD: "Guys like what? What are you saying Matt? that Ray White and Kasabian Stalker are not upstanding citizens?"
Oliviera: "That's exactly what I'm saying. We all get shudders from just looking at Kasabian Stalker, and not the good kind that Ray White obviously gets."
Commonwealth: "All that aside, what the hell is in that bag?"

The crew are interrupted with a metallic sounding voice chiming out the swansong of the Perverted One.

"Come with me"

With the sound of a cheesy synth echoing throughout the arena, "Bones" by The Killers begins to play. Hand-controlled spotlights casting a sweep across the arena while purple and green lights converge together on the entrance stage, setting the way for the entrance of the second wrestler of  the night.




While the music plays, the Titan Tron flashes with the name of the challenger, reading:



'Kasabian Stalker'


The words, placed center screen amids a black background , rotate around to show the reverse, then back toward the front of the screen again. As the face of the words come around for the second time, the text had changed, now reading:



'The Pervert'


As the lyrics for the song begin to echo out, the video on the jumbo screen transitions to show a collection of disturbing images. Stalker's video does not show images of his in-ring prowess, but moreso his voyeuristic skills. The video shows him in a number of controversial positions, peeping in locker rooms, looking up the skirts of young ladies in the supermarket and every second or third image is superimposed with "The Pervert" bringing an rather familiar pair of women's panties to his face, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. In all of the shots, the same euphoric smile is worn across his face, the smile of one that is up to no-good, and loving it.

"We took a back road. 

We're gonna look at the stars. 

We took a back road in my car. 

Down to the ocean, 

it’s only water and sand 

And in the ocean we'll hold hands. 

But I don't really like you, 

apologetically dressed in the best, 

but on a heartbeat glide. 

Without an answer, 

the thunder speaks for the sky, 

and on the cold, wet dirt I cry. 

And on the cold, wet dirt I cry."

Finally, Kasabian Stalker shows his face in Manilla. Stepping out from behind the entrance curtain, he saunters confidently across the entrance stage and makes a beeline for the ring. His skin, oiled with baby oil as per usual, shines in the multicoloured lighting that accompanies him. The Perverted One stops only to greet a single fan at ringside, a particularly beautiful looking local. With his sultry, greasy smile plastered on his face, he slicks his fingers through his goatee and wanders over to where the unsuspecting girl is standing beside the entrance ramp.

Not completely knowing what he is up to, the girl reaches out to touch him, as she would for any wrestler who came close enough to be within an arms reach. Kasabian lets her hand pat his shoulder, before he lets his own hands reach out for her chest. He manages to get a nice grope in before she pulls back, gasping in disgust. With all the power she could muster, she winds up and slaps him clean across the cheek, a red hand mark soon appearing. Kasabian simply lets the pain of the slap wash over him, smiling and breathing deeply before sniffing her perfume now lightly coated on his palms. Satisfied, he continues his entrance to the ring while Jeff Young welcomes him forward.

"Don’t you wanna come with me? 

Don’t you wanna feel my bones, 

on your bones? 

It's only natural"

"Err... Introducing second, secondly.


Hailing from Chicago, Illinois. He weighs in at Two Hundred and Forty Pounds.



He is the man known as 'The Pervert'. Lock up your daughters... It's Kasabian Stalker!"



Kasabian looks across at Jakob Azazel from the apron of the ring, a twinkle in his eyes. He steps inside, bending his legs as much as he can to stoop under the top rope despite his tight leather pants that leave nothing to the imagination. Stepping forward, The Butcher grabs the front of his pants by the hem, moving over till he is standing right in front of Azazel. With a smile on his face that matches the twinkle in his eye, the Perverted One calls out to his opponent, just loud enough for the overhead microphones to pick his voice up.

"Do you want to see a magic trick." His unresponsive opponent stands stoically, Kasabian takes the silence as a yes. "I call this one... Free Willy."

With that, he pulls the hem of his pants, splitting them right along the seam of the leg until they pull in half like striper pants. The back half of the pants fall to the ground and Stalker is left holding the front half. When he drops the pants, Stalker is left standing only in his tight wrestling trunks, purple polka dots on a sea of pink. Azazel takes a step back, averting his eyes and the referee coaxes Kasabian to his own corner.

Inspecting both men thoroughly for weapons, he finds none and soon calls for the bell to begin the battle.



Kasabian's Contract

[Ciles Gorey]

I'm at work for the next 8 hours so if Hayden manages to get online and wants to put something up before then I'm happy for him to do so.

[Kasabian Stalker]

*DING, DING, DING*

The bell tolls the beginning of the match, and the crowd in Manilla erupt in a roar. Chants of EVP-Dubbulyah fill the air as both men go through the customary circling of each other, sizing each other up. The Warlock moves, slightly crouched and ready to pounce at the slightest notice. Kasabian looks a little more relaxed, licking his lips as he saunters around a safe distance from his opponent. The pair eventually lock horns, clashing in the centre of the ring in the inevitable test of strength.

Both men are rather evenly matched for strength, so the test of strength doesn't easily get swayed one way or another. The Magician begins to take a small advantage, only for the Pervert to push back. The pair to-and-fro through the test of strength until the dastardly Stalker breaks the connection between the pair with a well placed stomp onto Azazel's foot. Jakob howls in surprise and hops backwards, bringing a smile to the Pervert's face.

The smile on his face is soon wiped clean off as Azazel explodes with an expertly placed Forearm Strike. The strike staggers the Butcher and he teeters into the ropes. The Wizard of Wrestling closes the gap created between the pair, dropping Kasabian Stalker to the canvas for the first time with a Neckbreaker that echoes around the first few rows of the Manillan crowd.

Oliviera: "An even opening to the match, but Jakob Azazel picks up the early advantage."
Commonwealth: "The young punk sent a message with that move. Move over old timer, your time is done."
MD: "If Kasabian Stalker is an old timer... What does that make us? Bloody ancient?"
Commonwealth: "Stone Orchard doesn't age. We are immortal. We are legends. Legends never die."

Kasabian Stalker staggers to his feet, Lord Azazel waiting for him to rise fully to a vertical base. The Pervert swings a wild Clothesline that hits nothing but air, the technical Wizard ducking under the strike with ease before placing a kick to the back of Stalker's knee. Kasabian staggers but does not crumble. Not until Azazel follows the kick up with a Chop Block that crumples the knee out from underneath him. Stalker falls to one knee, clutching at his fallen one. He doesn't have much time to labour on the agony as Azazel wrenches him back to his feet from behind and wraps him up into a Back Suplex position.

As the Warlock hoists Stalker into the air, Kasabian wraps his legs around the back of Azazel's knees, resulting in Azazel being unable to lift him more than a few feet off the ground. He places him back onto the canvas, kicks the back of Stalker's injured knee for good measure and hurls him into the air again with more force. This time, he is able to get Kasabian right up off the ground, but the surprisingly limber Stalker wraps his legs backwards around Azazel's mid-section, a modified Body Scissors that stops the Magician from completing the Back Suplex. Instead, the pair drop to the canvas harmlessly, both scrambling back to their feet to get the upper hand on the other.

Kasabian is the first one to place his hands on the other. He manages to lift Azazel up into a Powerbomb position. With the Warlock on his shoulders, he is just about to plant Azazel back to the canvas when his injured knee crumples once more from under him. Azazel falls but lands on his feet, wasting no time in unleashing a Double Palm Strike to his opponent. With Kasabian staggered, he grabs him with both hands around the shoulders and proceeds to soften up his mid-section with Repeating Knee Strikes. The vicious strikes serve to drop Kasabian back to the canvas once more, into a wheezing heap.

Oliviera:
"Early going and Kasabian seems to have picked up a bit of a niggly knee. Hopefully that doesn't hold him back in the long run of the match."
MD:
"Since when were you a racist Matty?"
Oliviera:
"What? I have no idea what you mean..."
Commonwealth:
"Dragon, I think he said niggly... not, er... nevermind. One thing is clear though, the Magician has come to fight!"

Jakob Azazel waits for Kasabian to almost be ready to push himself back to a vertical base until he takes off. When he does, he charges at the ropes, launching into air and jumping off the second rope. Springboarding himself back into the ring, he opens himself wide up in a Springboard Cross Body, looking to demolish Kasabian as soon as he turns around.

However, the soaring Magician is caught in mid-air by Stalker. With oiled up biceps bulging at the effort, he manoeuvres Azazel's frame into a Cradle position, placing his head underneath his armpit and wrapping his arms and legs up. He takes the time to breathe in Azazel's scent, sniffing the nape of his neck deeply before licking the poor Magician's cheek. Then, with the venomous snap of a python, he drills him into the mat with a brutal Cradle DDT.

Commonwealth:
"Kasabian's Caress! Holy crap, he caught him in mid air and just destroyed him!"
Oliviera:
"It goes to show, everything can change on one big move. The entire momentum of the match has shifted..."
MD:
"As have the brains inside Jakob Azazel's skull after an impact like that. I felt it from here!"

Stalker uses the opening he had created to escape the ring. Scurrying around until he is in front of the commentary desk, he lifts up the ring apron, to the very spot in the video where he had hidden the duffel bag. He buries himself underneath the ring, desperately searching for the bag and its mysterious contents.

While still groggy, his opponent Azazel manages to roll out of ring. Dazed and a little confused, he finds himself standing at a vertical base along the side of the ring. Azazel notices Kasabian retrieve the duffel bag and begin walking towards him with it. The sight seems to wake him out of his dizziness, knowing whatever is inside the duffel bag to come straight from the twisted mind of Kasabian Stalker. Wanting the bag and being ready to claw it out of the cold dead clutches of Stalker to get it, he starts after Stalker in order to meet him head on. The surprise turn in Azazel takes Stalker somewhat by surprise. He stops in his tracks, backing away from the corner of the ring he had reached until only the steel steps separate him from his opponent. Then, without warning, Kasabian tosses the duffel bag right across the other side of the ring, near the entrance ramp. He watches as it sails up through the air, lands on the canvas near the ropes and slides out of the ring again.

This time, it is Jakob Azazel's turn to smile. In Kasabian's haste to toss the bag away to safety, he had made the journey easier for Azazel than himself. He comes at Azazel, looking to run through him in his quest to retrieve the bag once more but the Wizard pushes forward, knocking the steel steps off their perch and directing them to fall in Stalker's path. Stalker crashes into the steps with an almighty boom, topples head over heels and winds up coming to rest against the crowd barricade, much to the delight of the Manilla fans lucky enough to be at ringside. Azazel practically skips off, rushing over to bag and opening it. Expecting the bag to be filled with a variety of weapons that Stalker could use throughout the match, he and the EVPW faithful are surprised and a little disappointed to find the bag filled to the brim of kids magic tricks and decks of cards, the essential magic kit for the 12 year old Wizard.

Commonwealth:
"There's that blasted bag again. What the hell is inside."
Oliviera:
"Look at the screen... It's filled with magic tricks. What the hell was Stalker meeting up with Ray White to sneak a bag of magic tricks into the arena for?"
MD:
"Something doesn't compute, something doesn't make sense. But to his credit, Jakob Azazel took Kasabian's caress and is still walking around. What else can the Warlock take?"

While Azazel is busy searching through his duffel bag of magic tricks, Kasabian claws his way back to the ring apron once more. This time, he pulls out another duffel bag, identical to the first... except for one difference, a label reading: Ray White.

MD: "There's another duffel bag? It's a bloody switcheroo!"

Kasabian places the duffel bag on the apron of the ring and opens the zipper. Reaching inside, he pulls out a few items with a twinkling smile. Firstly, a complete gimp suit, made of leather and with a mask that zips right up the front, containing the wearer inside. Images of Ray White wearing the suit instantly haunt the minds of all who watch on, but Kasabian places the suit down in favour of a second item, a leather whip.

He takes the whip in one hand, the duffel bag in the other and slides back into the ring. Azazel comes to meet him inside the squred circle, but receives a whip to the back for his troubles as he ducks under the top rope. A second, then a third vicious strike with the whip cause wounds to open up on his back, seeping blood ever so slowly. Azazel crumples, crawling out of Kasabian's reach and backing himself into the corner against the turnbuckle.

Kasabian tosses the whip aside, dropping the duffel bag so he can retrieve another item. With the Warlock still preoccupied with the pain in his back, Kasabian pulls out a set of lockable leather wristbands and chains, intended to secure the wearer's wrists together but with a little more freedom than simple handcuffs. He snaps the first wristband on, then the second, closing the locks and pulling the bands tight before Azazel had even realised what was happening. Jakob lashes out, catching Stalker with the chain across the side of the head and opening a cut above his eye. Stalker backs himself up against the ropes, Azazel stepping forward to Roundhouse Kick the Pervert. Kasabian catches all of the kick, sending him backwards in between the top and second ropes. He crashes down to the ringside, landing just out of reach of the magic trick filled duffel bag. Azazel stands in the ring, watching down on him, hands still chained together.

Oliviera:
"Boys... This is officially getting weird. We are being subjected to Ray White's hidden life, all of these objects seem to be from his private collection."
MD:
"And the blood has begun to flow. Took long enough."
Commonwealth:
"Nothing like a bit of blood to bring the real demon out from within a man. Things are getting damned interesting. I hope they tear each other apart!"

With all of the talking from Stone Orchard, the attention had not been on Azazel. Before anybody knows it, the Magician is standing free of the leather and chain confines, a smile on his face. Jakob Azazel had escaped.

MD: "He's free! How did he do that? It's freaking magic!"
Oliviera:
"I'm pretty sure that Kasabian forgot to remove the key from the lock and Azazel simply used the key to free himself." 

Indeed, as Jakob Azazel tosses aside the leather wristbands and chains, he also tosses aside a small key that Kasabian had not had time to take with him before being ejected from the ring. Kasabian had clawed his way back to a vertical base, using the ring framing for support. While Stalker slides himself into the ring, Azazel jumps out of it, landing at ringside on his feet. He scrambles over to the magic-trick duffel bag and reaches inside. 

Putting his fingers to his temple with his left hand, Azazel pulls out a deck of cards with his right hand and tosses it towards the ring. It hits Kasabian on the shoulder, bouncing off and landing on the canvas. The Magician proceeds to hurl decks of cards, magic wands and assorted other novelty items at the Pervert, much to the Pervert's amusement. Only when Azazel reaches over the crowd barricade and takes one of the very steel chairs that an audience member is sitting on, does Kasabian's eyes open in surprise. Kasabian holds his hands up in protest, but the Warlock tosses the chair in his direction anyway. The chair bounces off the ring ropes and falls harmlessly to the canvas but it gives the distraction needed for Azazel to slip back inside once more.

MD: "Jakob Azazel is using Telekinesis! He's moving objects with his damned mind!"

Oliviera:
"I can't see him very well from over there, but I'm pretty sure he's just picking things up and chucking them."
Commonwealth: "Telekinesis or not, he's still raining down a barrage on Kasabian Stalker. Duck and cover!"

By the time the Wizard of Wrestling had managed to slide back into the ring, Kasabian had already armed himself with another set of items. In one hand, he holds a set of nipple clamps; the other contains a particularly large looking ten inch black dildo. Kasabian readies the incoming Warlock with a few good stomps and kicks, enough to have Azazel crawling across the ring looking for cover. He doesn't find cover, what he does find is a rubber dildo to the side of the head, courtesy of the one and only Perverted One. Kasabian swings the rubber phallus with all his might, cracking him across the back of the skull, then the side of the cheek. 

Azazel once more backs himself up into a turnbuckle looking for sanctuary, but this only eggs Kasabian on more. He prepares the nipple clamps, then attaches them like jumper leads to the Warlocks nipples. Instantly, the Magician howls in pain at a pitch higher than any man should ever hit. If that wasn't enough for this bizarre scene, Kasabian draws attention off the pain in his opponent's nipples with a perfectly executed Testicular Claw, grabbing a hold and twisting Azazel's magic bags for all he is worth with one hand... With the other, he proceeds to slap Azazel across the face with Ray White's giant dildo.

MD: "What the...?"
Oliviera: "Fuck...?" 
Commonwealth: "Are we watching?
That's one definition of 'Mindfuck', I'm sure Azazel has a different one when he uses the term. I'm not sure how much more of this I want to watch."

After far too long in the corner with Kasabian Stalker, long enough for his balls to feel like they are dropping clean off his body, long enough for his nipples to be a deep shade of purple underneath the vice-clamps and long enough to intimately know more about Ray White than anybody should ever know, Azazel had had enough. Summoning up strength from within him, he simply explodes out of the corner. Pushing Kasabian off him, breaking the Testicular Claw and watching the rubber penis fly through the air as Kasabian falls backwards, Jakob doesn't even feel the nipple clamps being torn from his chest. He doesn't even notice the metallic teeth of the clamps tearing flesh from his nipples like cats claws. He pounces, slamming Kasabian's head into the canvas repeatedly. The usually technically sound Magician looks like a wildman.

Kasabian pushes Jakob off his body with a Monkey Flip, but the Magician lands on his feet. As Kasabian Stalker had done earlier in the match, it was time for him to punctuate his mark on the event. He charges across at Kasabian, stepping up off the kneeling Pervert's leg, before unleashing a skull crushing Shining Wizard that does just that. Kasabian drops sideways to the canvas like he had been shot with a rifle. Eyes closes, body lifeless, Kasabian Stalker looks dead to the world.

Having had enough of the Perverted One's antics and Ray White's little bag of tricks, Jakob Azazel hooks Kasabian's leg for a pinfall and the match official slides in to count what he hopes will be the first fall of the night.

One...

Commonwealth: "Shining Wizard! I think that shook Kasabian to the core.
Oliviera: And Stalker had better come around quick or he is going to find himself losing the first fall of this thing. You don't want to fall behind in an Iron Man match and play catchup."
MD: "Catchup isn't another one of Kasabian Stalker's sick games is it? I've had enough of that for one evening."
Oliviera: No, I believe that game is called 'Hide the Pickle.'

Two...

TBCB: Azazel

[Ciles Gorey]

The zebra clad official’s hand hovers in the air for the longest microseconds of Jakob’s life. As the all-powerful hand begins to descend to the mat and finalise the fall, small beads of sweat form on the brow of the Master of Majik. Less than an inch from the mat the hand of the referee is halted as the Butcher powers a shoulder up breaking the first pin attempt of the night.

MO: “Stalker kicks out! A Shining Wizard can knock almost anybody out cold, especially one you weren’t expecting…”
BB: “And yet Stalker still had the wherewithal to get the shoulder up and not let himself fall behind in the match. Truly an exceptional effort.”
MD: “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BRYAN THINKS KASABIAN’S EXCEPTIONAL! Nobody tell Ray, first he takes his job; now his man!”

Azazel can scarcely believe it. Throughout his career he’s been able to rely on the Shining Wizard to take out most men. But Kasabian Stalker isn’t most men. No, he’s a kinky creep with a passion for perversion. The Warlock runs his hands back through his long side-swept hair in frustration and growls. How couldn’t that put him away? He rolls over onto his feet, ever-cautious of the still downed Perverted One. Jakob begins to rummage through the entropic pile of decks upon decks of cards until finally picking one up and holding it in the air in triumph.

JA: “Listen up you motherfucks. This here’s my trump card. This here’s my ace in the hole. This is the Ace of Spades!”
MD: “IF YOU LIKE TO GAMBLE! I TELL YOU I’M YOUR MAN!!!”
MO+BB: “SHUT UP!!”
MD: “… youwinsomelosesomeallthesametome…”

Jakob now lowers the card from the air and points his finger at Stalker with his other hand.

JA: “And you’re out of fucking luck.”

Bending over, Lord Azazel unzips the pocket in his single knee pad and inserts the Ace of Spades into the pocket before sealing it up once more. He then leans back on his leg, hands upon both thighs and measures the now stirring Pervert. The Shining Superstar extends a hand out, clasping and unclasping it, desperate for his opposition to position themselves just right. Stalker brings himself up to a knee, signalling the moment that Jakob was looking for. Azazel darts toward him, stepping atop the knee of Stalker as a base and swings his hip and leg round. The Ace of Spades loaded kneepad comes hurtling towards the bald, lubricated head of Kasabian for a second Shining Wizard which would surely spell doom for the tie in this contest but at the last possible second, the Butcher ducks underneath. Azazel lunges forward to stop himself falling over as Stalker raises his head back up assuming his safe in avoiding the move. The Magician smiles as a looks back over his shoulder. He pulls himself back with his hind leg and brings the fore leg swinging back with him. The Bastard Son smashes the side of his foot into the back of Stalker’s Skull, laying him out with tremendous impact.

BB: “Stalker ducks under the Shining Wizard only for Azazel to blast him in the back of the skull with a sickening Roundhouse!”
MO: “I believe he calls that Black Magic. Again, the unexpectedness of that move really adds to the danger of it. A kick to the back of the head hurts a hell of a lot more if you’re not ready for it.”
MD: “I can’t believe I can’t think of a song off the top of my head about Black Magic to sing.”

Jakob scrambles over and hooks an arm underneath the armpit of the laid-out lover of lube and pushes with all his might to roll the deadweight that is Stalker over onto his back. Lord Azazel hooks a leg and pushes his own shoulders with all of his might down into the chest of the veteran violator of innocence. The monochromatic umpire of the contest once again slides into perfect view of the victim’s shoulders and begins his count.

One…

MD: “Kasb’s had his brains scrambled not once, but twice. He’s not getting out of this one.”
BB: “What did you just call him?”
MD: “What? OH! Kasb? Yeah, it’s what all the cool people call him. Not surprised you didn’t know considering.”

Two…

No! At the count of two Stalker powers out, flipping his entire body over in the process and stunning the already frustrated Azazel. Jakob smashes his fists against the canvas in frustration. He places a hand under the chin of the Pervert and one on the back of his dome and tries to pull him up to his feet, though Lord Azazel’s hand often slips off of the oiled up skin of the King of Kink. As he finally manages to bring the Butcher to a vertical base, the Pervert latches on to the crown jewels of the Azazelite, who grimaces in pain at the second testicular claw of the match. Stalker’s face tells a story of a man indulging in absolute pleasure. With each pulse of the testicles being crushed in his iron grip, Kasabian oozes an aura of ecstasy. He purses his lips together and blows an imaginary kiss to the red, grimacing face of his caught prey. He sucks the sweet, succulent air in from around him through his teeth, feeding off the horror that the other man is going through. Here in Manilla, the insatiable Kasabian Stalker is close to heaven. The face of the other man, the man with his balls unfortunately in a vice, Jakob Azazel tells a whole different tale. A tale of anguish, of desperation, of the urge to have been born a woman! Sir Realist digs down deep and brings himself to do the only thing he can possible think of doing. He wretches at the thought, but lunges forward with his own hand and cups the spunk launcher in the very short pants of his opponent. Stalker looks down at the Testicular Claw being applied to his own junk and ever so slightly feels a rising twinge. He smiles and takes his other hand, wrapping it around the throat of Jakob. Jakob’s eyes scream out in horror; he knows that he’s made a huge mistake. Stalker utilises his impressive might and lifts the smaller Demon Hunter up over his head. The body of the Pervert glistens under the arena lighting as he stands in the middle of the ring with Lord Azazel suspended in a gorilla press above his head. Breaking this moment of magic, the greased-up Stalker marches toward the rope and sends the Shining Superstar soaring over the top rope with a satisfying ‘splat’ as his flesh slaps off the unpadded floor at ring side.

MD: “Stalker just made an Emo Missile! I love it!”
BB: “I thought Azazel was a punk?”
MD: “Eh, same shit. Both are pussies.”

Stalker rolls out of the ring, standing by the toppled steel stairs that were thrown into him. He eyes the heap of meat laid out at ringside and licks the scar on the back of his hand where Azazel’s former protégé – Chris Dolmeth – forced a piece of glass through. The wrestler from the Windy City vaults up over the steps and begins pacing toward the self-proclaimed “Most Evil Man in EVPW”. The Butcher takes the EVPW newcomer in his mits and drags him to his feet. He turns a full three sixty degrees before flinging him head first into the steel crowd barrier, sending it back a couple of inches. The Warlock curls up in a heap on the floor. Using this time while the technical wizard is rendered disabled, Stalker begins an adventure in the delights that hide below the EVPDubYa ring. He drags kendo sticks, tables, chairs and even the national flag of the former country of Yugoslavia. But it is a small, black bag that the sexual deviant stops on. He slowly undoes the ribbon fastening and peaks inside, squealing with delight as he turns his head away. He dances on his toes, giddy as the first time he entered a sex shop. Stalker turns the bag upside down and upon the cold, hard floor of the arena does hundreds of shining thumbtacks fall. Kasabian runs his hands through them, turning as many as he possibly can onto their tops, the sharp spikes pointing up. Adding to his fiendish plan, he sets the chair up, placing it above the pool of tacks. Stalker stays true to his name and stands above his fallen foe, grinning as he does so. He slaps the back of Azazel’s head; he wants him to be aware of what is happening to him. Stalker bends both of the Warlock’s legs at the knee, and tucks the laces of Azazel’s boots underneath the Pervert’s own armpits. He then proceeds to grab the wrists of Jakob and pull up, lifting him off the floor and causing tremendous strain in the shoulder joints of his opponent. Stalker shuffles toward the chair, the face of the Heir of Empty Breath barely missing the needle-like hell of the tacks. Laughing as he does so, Stalker begins a rhythmic series of pelvic thrusts, the crown of Azazel’s skull tapping against the lip of the edge of the chair, almost tipping it over on a number of occasions. Suddenly the pendulous movements of Stalker’s hips stops and Jakob hovers just above the dreaded tacks. Panic sets in. Desperately Azazel starts pleading and shaking his head, but the Pervert ignores the pleas of the poor man and relinquishes his grip, dropping the Azazelite into the thumbtack hell of his nightmares. The Master of Majik pushes up off of the floor and cries out in anguish. His face a mess of brass and crimson red. Tacks fall from his face creating new exits for the blood to ooze out from. A pin remains lodged millimetres above the eye and many more decorate the bloodied face of the suffering superstar. The torture is not over for the unfortunate soul. No. The Butcher folds the legs of his opponent over one another and trap them against his own leg. Once again he proceeds to grab onto the wrists of Azazel and pull them back, lifting the body up off of the floor. Stalker pivots, aiming the mangled face of the master magician over the cold, unwelcoming seat of the chair. Lord Azazel doesn’t even bother to beg this time, instead he accepts his fate. People are on their feet in the arena, quivering in anticipation. They hold their breath as the two men remain locked in this position for an eternity. That is until Kasabian raises his free foot off the floor and plants it into the back of Jakob’s skull. Azazel’s face smashes against the chair, but his head continues moving down, the chin and jaw crashing into an already bloody pile of tacks. The chair falls over, it’s frame slightly buckled from the impact.

MD: “HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME!”
BB: “CURB STOMP ONTO A CHAIR?!”
MO: “INTO A PILE OF THUMBTACKS!”
MD: “What? I was on about my Pokémon evolving… SOMETHING COOL HAPPNED AND I MISSED IT?!”

Stalker stands triumphant over the corpse of Azazel. He has but one task now; carry the lifeless body of his opponent into the ring. Stalker looks at the clock. A little over seventeen minutes has gone since the start of the match. The Butcher tries to drag Jakob up to his feet, the deadweight of his being proving difficult to handle in such a situation.

MD: “Man, I thought the Pervert would be a pro at this.”
MO: “At what Dragon?”
MD: “At moving lifeless bodies.”
BB: “He’s a creep, and a complete pervert but I don’t think he’s a murderer Dragon.”
MD: “Murder? Who mentioned murder? Haven’t you people ever heard of roofies and date rape?”

Eventually Kasabian finds using the back of Azazel’s tights while supporting the rest of him with his arm is an effective method of standing the two hundred and thirty pounder up. He rolls him into the ring underneath the bottom rope and slithers his own way into the middle of the squared circle. He pushes into the sides of the bloodied former-Brit and lays atop him, thrusting his groin into the side of the poor man. The referee who was so helpless in stopping the display of vulgarity that just occurred reluctantly gets into position and begins the count.

One…

BB: “There’s not a hope in hell of Jakob kicking out here.”
MO: “I know. And once Stalker goes ahead, all he’s got to do is play defensively and hold out until the clock strikes zero.”
MD: “There’s no zero on my watch… How the fuck does a clock strike zero?”

Two…
Thre…

Somehow, some way the Master of Majik is able to keep this bought drawn, thrusting his arm up into the air, it violently shakes as his body runs on adrenaline. In a mirror of earlier events, Stalker can hardly believe it. He sits with his mouth agape, shocked that he has not gone one nil into the lead of this contest. The crowd cheers the sheer willpower of Azazel, who is slowly dragging himself to the nearest set of ropes. Still stunned that he didn’t get the pin fall, Stalker makes it to his feet the same time as Jakob. He storms over to the badly hurt superstar who explodes from the ropes, lifting his he Warlock up off his feet and plants him back first into the mat with a body slam. The adrenaline still seeming to be carrying Jakob on, he rolls through with the momentum and is quick to his feet, only to be scooped up and planted with another body slam by Stalker. Once again Azazel is quick to his feet, his back tight and tensed, both hands clenched in a fist at his side. The stunned Stalker opens up with a series of chops to Azazel’s chest turning it a raw red as he backs him up into a corner. The Pervert presses his body up against that of the Shining Superstar before Irish Whipping him into the opposite corner. Jakob mantles up to the top turnbuckle but Kasabian chases behind, pushing the legs of The Magician out from under him and forcing him the land crotch first on the ring post. Azazel bends over the post in agony as Stalker makes his way to the top rope behind him, wrapping his hands around the waist of his opponent. Kasabian pulls Jakob up so he can stand perched above the ring. Stalker begins to rub his hands up and down the length of Azazel’s body. Jakob desperately tries to escape the clutches of the Pervert who lifts both of Azazel’s arms up so they are spread wide. Suddenly the entire crowd erupts into chorus.

“NEEEEAR, FAAAAAH, WHEEERRRREEE EVAH YOU AHHHHH!
I BEREIVE THAT THE HEART DOES GO OOOOOON!
ONCE, MORE YOU OPEEEEN THE DOOR!”

Jakob looks around the arena in great confusion as Stalker continues caressing his tender body. Metal Dragon curls up in agony at the announce desk, covering his ears.

MD: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING?!”
MO: “I believe they’re singing… they’re fucking singing Celine Dione.”
MD: “AAARGGGH MAKE IT STOP!”
BB: “Why? I’m rather enjoying seeing you like this Dragon.”
MD: “YOU’RE FUCKING ENJOYING THIS? ARGH! IT’S MAKING MY EARS BLEED! IT’S MAKING ME FEEL FUCKING NAUSEOUS!”

In a final act of defiance, Azazel brings his hands out in front of him, giving the fans the bird and interrupting their bastardised rendition of the Titanic theme. Kasabian softly kisses between the shoulder blades of the unimpressed Warlock before springing backwards. Both bodies crash into the mat of the squared circle in a beautiful avalanche German Suplex.

MD: “Ah thank fuck that’s over. I think… I think I’m going to be sick.”
MO: “Huh. Who knew that pop melodies would be the thing that can turn the stomach of the revered Metal Dragon.”
MD: “Shut it Oliviera.”

Stalker begins to make it to his feet. He once again looks at the clock. Only six minutes left of the match. He looks down at the battered and bloodied Warlock and smiles. He exits to the ring apron through the middle and top rope and takes a deep breath in. He slowly mounts the turnbuckle, gradually making progress on his climb back to the top. His breathing is heavy, and the oil that usually covers his skin has become dilute with sweat. Patches of Jakob’s blood spatter the body of Stalker as he stands tall on the top rope. He slowly raises his hands to his head and sensually runs them down the length of his body. He snakes his hips and closes his eyes as he lifts his head in delight. The People’s Penis is coming. Or so he thought. Much to the chagrin of the Pervert, Azazel rolls to the other side of the ring, out of his range. And mama Stalker didn’t raise a fool. No, she raises a sick, sick masochistic fetishist that shouldn’t be allowed out without an armed entourage willing to subdue him at a moment’s notice, but definitely not a fool. So disheartened the Butcher descends from the top. He marches over to the flawed fighter and takes a handful of his luscious locks and begins to pull him up. It is at this moment that Lord Azazel thrusts his arm up between the legs of the Pervert with such ferocity that even a man as experienced in genital punishment as Kasabian Stalker is doubled over and short of breath. With the low blow temporarily dazing the sick former champion Jakob ceases his chance to strike. Leaping up onto the Butcher, The Shining Superstar latches around the neck of his opponent and wraps his legs around the waist of Stalker and pulls back.

BB: “AZAZEL WITH THE NEW MISERABLE EXPERIENCE! THIS COULD BE IT!”
MO: “Stalker needs to break the lock. There’s not much time left in this Iron Man match and if Stalker can’t break the hold he might just have handed Azazel the win here tonight.”

Stalker immediately begins to pound at the thighs of Azazel with his fists, obviously having built a gameplan to combat this particular move. The blows manage to weaken the body scissors that the Warlock had in place, enough for Stalker to create a gap between their bodies and place his palms on the waits of Jakob. With all of his might, the Butcher explodes up and pushes the body of the technical wizard high into the air. Stalker twists his body and swings his arm up, catching the Wizard of Wrestling on the bloodied chin as he comes hurtling back down with a tremendous Butcher’s Hook. Both men collapse on the floor with Stalker favouring that knee that’s been niggling since near the start of this match. With Jakob in the centre of the ring and no wear to go Stalker begins to drag his way to his prone nemesis. Kasabian collapses next to Jakob, only his arm slumped over his chest, but enough to warrant another pin attempts. Once more, perhaps for the final time in this match the official begins the count.

One…

MD: “There’s no way. There’s less than a minute left on the clock here.”

Two…

MO: “Stalker’s won. Call the fat lady, tell her she can start singing.”
MD: “NO MORE FUCKING SINGING!”

Thre- Suddenly Lord Azazel’s failing body springs to life as he snakes his arms around the neck of Kasabian, consuming it in a deadly vice. Once more Azazel wraps his legs around the body of the Pervert and with his entire body shaking he pulls back on the head of Stalker. Kasabian writhes and writhes desperately trying to claw his way out of this hold. Once again he tries to hammer the legs of Azazel to break free from his death-grip but the Most Evil Man in EVPW merely cranks up the pressure and leans further back into the hold. The movements of Stalker become less and less eratic as the effects of the choke begin to set in. Jakob puts all of his might into the hold, leaning all the way back so he can see the countdown on the screen.

TEN.
NINE.

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