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Post by Vladimir Strife on May 18, 2019 23:09:54 GMT -4
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Post by Vladimir Strife on Jun 11, 2019 19:50:15 GMT -4
Vladimir's eyes drifted around the gymnasium as the referee prepared to get things started, the scent of overpriced cola and popcorn intermingling with the sweat and blood that had already flowed tonight onto the mat beneath his feet. It was nothing like the size of the Cow Center that a major EVPW show would have once commanded, but he was nonetheless glad that it appeared they had managed to sell out the humble gymnasium he'd fought in more than anywhere else in the world, dating as far back as the third match of his career over a decade ago. A nostalgia took hold of him and threatened to trap him in it's daze until the three sharp cries of the bell pierced through. With that, the Barbarian Lord began to circle around the ring that'd felt as much like home to him as any place he'd ever laid his head, bringing his focus to the man that had stolen from him the reigns to EVPW.
Crystov Razetti, on the other hand, had never taken his eyes off of his opponent for even a second since Vlad had emerged from the entrance, his heart pounding every second that passed between then and his chance to finally have a revenge long since overdue. He strafes about the ring in time with the GodKing, looking for any opening in his guard to launch his first attack. The distance between them begins to shorten, the men closing in slowly as if circling a drain.
Vladimir raises his arms to lock up with the Reaper, but the smaller and weaker Razetti throws a hard kick against the side of his knee, opting for the first chink of many in the armor that it would take to keep a man like Vlad down for 10 seconds. Crystov is able to keep Vlad hoping to engage in the time honored start long enough to pelt him with a couple more, earning a modest grimace from the King with the last, but drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring as Romanian tries to charge after him at last. The crowd boos at him for this, among other things, but Crystov paid it no mind. He had no delusions about his chances against the man who had had more championships than defeats in his career. He had a long road ahead of him if he was going to finally have his retribution, but he'd spend however long it took whittling him down and playing things as wisely as possible to get there.
Vladimir, however, seemed to have no such patience. He slid under the bottom rope to the ringside, Crystov clearing the area and going around the corner of the ring before slipping through in the opposite direction. He makes his way upright in a hurry, more than ready when Vlad follows to work in a few stomps on his right shoulder before the GodKing can make his way up. Before he can clear out again, Vlad grabs Crystov by the wrist and launches him towards the ropes, then swings a hard lariat at his neck as the Reaper bounds back. The wiry cruiserweight dips down under the attempt and takes to the air, bringing his weight down onto the middle rope and allowing the momentum of it shoving back to carry him into a backflip. The Reaper juts out his elbow to the side, catching Strife across the nose as he's turning back to face him and both men drop to the mat before Crystov kips up to a fresh round of jeers.
Now it was Vladimir that lead things back to the outside, rolling under the ropes and tending to his throbbing face and watering eyes while the Reaper stalked him from inside the squared circle like a vulture. He watches on patiently until the Barbarian Lord begins to show signs of turning back toward him and then goes into a sprint, launching himself at the ropes once more, this time just beside the post. He drives his weight into the middle rope and springs into a backflip yet again, this time angling himself to cross over the top rope and come crashing down into Vlad on the outside, both men slamming into the ground hard. Crystov rolls off of him and gets back to his feet, faring much better in the collision and begins to lay into the chest and stomach of Vladimir with one stomp after another. After a few, the smaller man turns back towards the ring, but with no intention of re-entering it just yet. Instead, he pulls up the flap of canvas that hangs over the side and reaches under, rooting around shortly before coming up with a kendo stick.
As Vladimir starts to get his legs back under him, a sharp crack rings out through the gymnasium, the wooden weapon nearly snapping over his shoulder blades courtesy of Crystov. Strife is undeterred in his path though and takes 3 more whacks from it as he's getting himself upright, wincing with every lash. When he finally stands tall, another blow catches him on the forehead, making him stumble back a step. The Reaper charges at him with white knuckles wrapped around the handle, but Vlad drops to the side and out of the way. As he falls, he kicks a leg into the rear of Razetti's knee, having planted the other before his ankle and knocks the support lose, sending him crashing face first into the steel steps with a bang.
Crystov blinks as he starts to lift his head from the cold, unforgiving steel, trying to make sense of things through the blur in his vision and shake out the cobwebs. He reaches around and his fingers find the taped handle of the kendo stick, taking hold of it tightly again. No sooner is the weapon back in his grasp and it's gone. A sickening scream of metal yielding to metal rises above all of the din in the Jared Nathan Memorial Gymnasium, Crystov nearly deafened by the collision of the steel steps under his head and the folded chair brought down upon it. The Reaper slumps over onto the black pads and Vladimir sets his newly acquired weapon onto the edge of the ring, having repaid a debt he owed Crystov for what he and Alex Stall had done to him weeks prior.
Looking down on the effect of that single, brutal shot, Vlad considered that there was a small chance even that it might have been enough to win him the match, but it wasn't enough to satisfy him just yet. He reaches down low and takes a handful of Crystov's hair and yanks him back up abruptly, then slams his face into the steel steps again.
Taking hold of the already twisted chair once more, Vladimir raises it over his head and turns it around as if he means to straighten it back out. With another gruesome crack of steel, Crystov again slid from atop the steps, this time more slowly and heavily, the second step catching him just behind the ear as he tumbled to floor level. The GodKing casts the chair aside as the referee watched the downed Crystov from the side of the ring and began his count.
"ONE... TWO..."
The Barbarian Lord strolled away from the carnage and over toward the announce table, first taking up a fresh chair in his hand and folding it up.
"THREE... FOUR..."
Vlad then reaches back behind the dinged and beaten bell, it's coat of paint worn in most places after years of faithfully announcing the start and end of EVPW's contests, and takes hold of a microphone laid just beyond it.
"FIVE... SIX..."
Armed with two of the most classic weapons in the industry, he began to slowly make his way back over to the man who had taken EVPW from him, Crystov Razetti, taking his time and feeling certain of his victory.
"SEVEN..."
The Reaper began to lift his head hazily, but his vision was too blurred to make out anything in the swirl of colors and shapes around him and his head rang louder than the muffled sounds that tried to compete with it by the second.
"EIGHT..."
This burst of sound was clearer than the others and the wiry cruiserweight lifted up his head more. Vladimir opened the chair a bit and slid it down over the Reaper's head, the seat behind it and the bottom lip of the piece meant to support the back of whoever sat in it came to rest on his Adam's apple. The referee strayed from his count and began to plead with Vladimir to stop what he's doing. The Barbarian Lord raised his microphone up and cut him off.
"Do you hear that, Crystov? He's begging me to stop.. to let him finish the count and let this whole thing be done.. Now, I could do that.."
Vlad presses the wing of his boot down onto the top of the set of legs, but only just enough to clamp the parts about Razetti's head closer and see the grimace on his face as it pushes into his windpipe.
"..Or I could bring every ounce of my weight down onto this as hard as I can.. Might crush your windpipe.. Might break your neck... maybe both. There's only one way to know for certain.."
He presses down harder still, a gurgle and choke coming out of the Reaper as he does. The gymnasium had become deathly quiet amidst all this, allowing the noise to ring out for most to hear.
"You tormented me... set me down a path that ruined everything for me... ruined my marriage... friendships... then you have the nerve to take my company that I built up from the ground and come after me again? I have left men - yourself included - maimed, scarred, unrecognizable and utterly broken for little more than sharing this damned ring with me and not a one of them ever wronged me half as much as you.. but I'm not the same as I used to be.. or, at least, I'm trying not to be.."
The hush seemed to lull even quieter somehow now. Vladimir Strife had displayed many traits and talents in the ring throughout his career, but it was likely that this was the first time mercy or repent had ever been among them.
"Alex wasn't entirely wrong in what he said to me that day the two of you tried to cave my head in.. I injured and maimed and ended the careers of more than a few men who didn't deserve it and who this business would have been better for if I hadn't... some that this company's name might have still meant something if they had been around.. now it seems everyone is willing to do the same and I don't have much interest in being part of a status quo, so I'm going to give you a chance that none of them got.. This old zebra is going to continue his count and you're going to lay your scrawny ass right there or else, trust me, Crystov.. I'll add one last one to that list."
With that, Vlad took his foot off and the referee composed himself.
"NINE!"
Crystov propped himself up to his elbows quickly, a rage burning in his eyes, but didn't push himself any further as the match came to a quicker and less violent ending than anyone could have anticipated.
"TEN!"
The GodKing walked past the Reaper cooly and made his way back through the entrance, the bell ringing out for the final time of the night as Crystov pulled the chair off from around his neck and stewed in fury, feeling as though Vlad had made a fool of him.
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