Post by Vladimir T. Strife on May 5, 2012 3:02:51 GMT -5
The Ladder Queen, invigorated by the agony stemming from her normally rampant mouth, slides back under the bottom rope and quickly clamors to her feet. Extending his arm, the Czar of Scars swings for her collarbone, knocking her back and into the ropes. She bounces back, responding with hard low kick that torques his knee and sends pain shooting up his leg. The success of the blow leads the way for his opponent to follow up, planting one into his solar plexus this time and sending him stumbling into the adjacent ropes. The GodKing pants heavily, trying to suck air back into his emptied lungs. The Cutting Chick sees an opening from his misfortune and strikes, rushing him before leaping up and wrapping her hands around his skull, locking fingers as she brings her patellas up beneath his chin. Gravity takes the lead from there, driving her unsupported body back to Earth as she carries the Legend with her. Vladimir's quick wit snaps in though and he reaches back, grabbing onto the rope behind him with all of his might. The unexpected resistance causes the Special One to lose her grip and her hands slip down the side of her hated nemesis's face as she crashes onto her spine with nothing to show for it.
Spared from the KKO for now, Vladimir relents his hold and clenches his right fist tightly, his knuckles flushing to white as he pitches them down squarely onto the England native's nose, pounding the back of her cranium into the canvas it had just rebounded from. Kahlan's body goes limp from the monstrous shot, limbs splaying out lifelessly as her world cuts to black. Confident he can call that a wrap, the Behemoth steps around her before bending down and casually collecting her by the hair, using it to drag her to the center of the ring.
Al: LIGHTS OUT! I'm not sure that shot has ever lived up to it's name so justly before. Vlad just absolutely knocked the sense out of her!
Fuzz: Jesus... Say what you will about the King, but for all that he lacks in pizzazz, he more than makes up for in sheer brutality.
Al: Pizzazz? Seriously? It's a wrestling match, not a dance contest, Colin. Have you been moonlighting over in EVPW with Ray White or something?
Fuzz: Hey, it's a form of entertainment. Brutality may win matches, but pizzazz fills seats, my friend.
The argument is ended as more important matters take place inside the squared circle, with the Titan covering his smaller rival and the referee dropping into place.
"1!"
"2!"
In what appears to be a miracle, Little K meekly shifts herself, lifting her shoulder off of the mat and ending the count.
Fuzz: SHE KICKED OUT!
Al: WHAT!? How?! It looked like Vlad had practically murdered her with that shot!
Fuzz: What did I say about underestimating this woman? She may not have the size or the strength of Vladimir Strife, but what she does have is speed, agility, and most importantly - such an overabundance of energy that it's nearly impossible to count her out in any given situation.
Al: Good, then Vlad can beat the crap out of her for even longer!
Frustrated by the near fall, the Hall Of Famer swing another mighty right, this time driving his fist into the mat in anger. This was his big return and he would be damned if he would walk away from it with any sense of disappointment. As he comes up to his knees, the Impaler prepares to validate his superiority and dominance and once more silence any lingering doubts of his ability in the wake of his absence from the business that had made a nearly mythical name for him. Clamping down upon the dark blue locks of the Ladder Queen again, the Czar of Scars tugs at them, reining her to a vertical base alongside himself. His prey is disoriented to the point of defenceless, ripe for the picking as he takes further control of her by the rear lip of her pants. He pivots upon his heels, directing his catch about in a semicircle before forcefully slinging her towards the corner. The Devious Diva lacks the time or awareness to follow the pace, lunging downward and skidding upon her stomach across the canvas before plowing shoulder first into the ringpost with a horrendous crack that churns the stomachs of a few patrons in the first row. Even the solid steel is unable to stop her momentum though, Little K preceding to plunge over the edge of the apron before rolling to a rest against the barricade.
Al: OH MY GOD!! That was absolutely sickening! Did you hear that impact?!
Fuzz: I really wish I could say I didn't, man.. That was just... I don't even know HOW to describe that..
Al: You know, I almost feel bad for Kahlan after that..
Fuzz: Almost?! What on Earth did she do to deserve this kind of treatment? There's nothing to prove here. Vlad is nearly twice her size! What does torturing a woman get him? It's just completely senseless!
Al: Oh, give it a break! She willingly put herself into this match. This was supposed to be Brad Windsor's fight and she opted to take his place. She's been in the ring with Vlad twice before this, Colin, so she knew the score when she made her decision. If she gets hurt, it's her own fault.
The crowd begins to turn on the Judas of GHW, jeering quite vocally their distaste for his vicious assault on their fellow countrywoman. Ignoring the boos as they begin to verge on the brink of deafening, Strife steps out over the middle rope and onto the outskirts of the ring. He drops off, his steel toed combat boots plopping down onto the thin padding that covers the ringside area. Gentle weeping emanating from his fallen victim, who has yet to stir, captures the Barbarian Lord's focus and begets a devilish glee that becomes steadily apparent in his countenance. He calmly closes the distance between them without concern for time, setting the sole of his boot onto her damaged shoulder before exerting his weight gradually, her soft sobs giving way to a piercing scream. With no relief or release in sight, the Ladder Queen finally pounds the floor with the palm of her available arm, surrendering the bout to the Behemoth atop her.
Al: He did it! Kahlan tapped out!!
Fuzz: Honestly, I'm just glad it's over. That shoulder really needs to be checked out after that brutal impact.
Al: Oh, she'll be fine. If anyone knows how to get pounded and slammed by multiple men in the same night, it's a British woman.
With the crowd growing more discontent and audible in light of the results, Vladimir scoops up his proclaimed Slayer and tucks her head down between his thighs, pressing them against her ears to keep her in place. He hooks her unaffected arm with his own, reciprocating the action symmetrically while gazing over her bent form at the disgusted and vehement faces of the Britons in attendance. Releasing his force on her cranium, Strife heaves Kahlan up, dangling her in the air upside down. As he falls into a seated position, the GodKing lowers her and drives her shoulders, neck and skull into the vacant land between his outstretched legs. Unceremoniously discarding her to the wayside, he climbs up to a standing again and makes his way over to the announcer's table, snatching up the first microphone that comes into his view.
"FUCK TEA, FUCK THE QUEEN, AND FUCK ALL OF YOU, YOU MISERABLE TWATS!"
Having spoke his mind, the Carpathian Conqueror sets the mic back down and strolls past the motionless Mistress of Mayhem before ascending the ramp towards the back without even another glance to the riled up Londoners. A middle finger raised over his shoulder emphasizes his point before he disappears into the back, passing a medical crew on their way to gather the laid out Ladder Queen.
~Fin~
Spared from the KKO for now, Vladimir relents his hold and clenches his right fist tightly, his knuckles flushing to white as he pitches them down squarely onto the England native's nose, pounding the back of her cranium into the canvas it had just rebounded from. Kahlan's body goes limp from the monstrous shot, limbs splaying out lifelessly as her world cuts to black. Confident he can call that a wrap, the Behemoth steps around her before bending down and casually collecting her by the hair, using it to drag her to the center of the ring.
Al: LIGHTS OUT! I'm not sure that shot has ever lived up to it's name so justly before. Vlad just absolutely knocked the sense out of her!
Fuzz: Jesus... Say what you will about the King, but for all that he lacks in pizzazz, he more than makes up for in sheer brutality.
Al: Pizzazz? Seriously? It's a wrestling match, not a dance contest, Colin. Have you been moonlighting over in EVPW with Ray White or something?
Fuzz: Hey, it's a form of entertainment. Brutality may win matches, but pizzazz fills seats, my friend.
The argument is ended as more important matters take place inside the squared circle, with the Titan covering his smaller rival and the referee dropping into place.
"1!"
"2!"
In what appears to be a miracle, Little K meekly shifts herself, lifting her shoulder off of the mat and ending the count.
Fuzz: SHE KICKED OUT!
Al: WHAT!? How?! It looked like Vlad had practically murdered her with that shot!
Fuzz: What did I say about underestimating this woman? She may not have the size or the strength of Vladimir Strife, but what she does have is speed, agility, and most importantly - such an overabundance of energy that it's nearly impossible to count her out in any given situation.
Al: Good, then Vlad can beat the crap out of her for even longer!
Frustrated by the near fall, the Hall Of Famer swing another mighty right, this time driving his fist into the mat in anger. This was his big return and he would be damned if he would walk away from it with any sense of disappointment. As he comes up to his knees, the Impaler prepares to validate his superiority and dominance and once more silence any lingering doubts of his ability in the wake of his absence from the business that had made a nearly mythical name for him. Clamping down upon the dark blue locks of the Ladder Queen again, the Czar of Scars tugs at them, reining her to a vertical base alongside himself. His prey is disoriented to the point of defenceless, ripe for the picking as he takes further control of her by the rear lip of her pants. He pivots upon his heels, directing his catch about in a semicircle before forcefully slinging her towards the corner. The Devious Diva lacks the time or awareness to follow the pace, lunging downward and skidding upon her stomach across the canvas before plowing shoulder first into the ringpost with a horrendous crack that churns the stomachs of a few patrons in the first row. Even the solid steel is unable to stop her momentum though, Little K preceding to plunge over the edge of the apron before rolling to a rest against the barricade.
Al: OH MY GOD!! That was absolutely sickening! Did you hear that impact?!
Fuzz: I really wish I could say I didn't, man.. That was just... I don't even know HOW to describe that..
Al: You know, I almost feel bad for Kahlan after that..
Fuzz: Almost?! What on Earth did she do to deserve this kind of treatment? There's nothing to prove here. Vlad is nearly twice her size! What does torturing a woman get him? It's just completely senseless!
Al: Oh, give it a break! She willingly put herself into this match. This was supposed to be Brad Windsor's fight and she opted to take his place. She's been in the ring with Vlad twice before this, Colin, so she knew the score when she made her decision. If she gets hurt, it's her own fault.
The crowd begins to turn on the Judas of GHW, jeering quite vocally their distaste for his vicious assault on their fellow countrywoman. Ignoring the boos as they begin to verge on the brink of deafening, Strife steps out over the middle rope and onto the outskirts of the ring. He drops off, his steel toed combat boots plopping down onto the thin padding that covers the ringside area. Gentle weeping emanating from his fallen victim, who has yet to stir, captures the Barbarian Lord's focus and begets a devilish glee that becomes steadily apparent in his countenance. He calmly closes the distance between them without concern for time, setting the sole of his boot onto her damaged shoulder before exerting his weight gradually, her soft sobs giving way to a piercing scream. With no relief or release in sight, the Ladder Queen finally pounds the floor with the palm of her available arm, surrendering the bout to the Behemoth atop her.
Al: He did it! Kahlan tapped out!!
Fuzz: Honestly, I'm just glad it's over. That shoulder really needs to be checked out after that brutal impact.
Al: Oh, she'll be fine. If anyone knows how to get pounded and slammed by multiple men in the same night, it's a British woman.
With the crowd growing more discontent and audible in light of the results, Vladimir scoops up his proclaimed Slayer and tucks her head down between his thighs, pressing them against her ears to keep her in place. He hooks her unaffected arm with his own, reciprocating the action symmetrically while gazing over her bent form at the disgusted and vehement faces of the Britons in attendance. Releasing his force on her cranium, Strife heaves Kahlan up, dangling her in the air upside down. As he falls into a seated position, the GodKing lowers her and drives her shoulders, neck and skull into the vacant land between his outstretched legs. Unceremoniously discarding her to the wayside, he climbs up to a standing again and makes his way over to the announcer's table, snatching up the first microphone that comes into his view.
"FUCK TEA, FUCK THE QUEEN, AND FUCK ALL OF YOU, YOU MISERABLE TWATS!"
Having spoke his mind, the Carpathian Conqueror sets the mic back down and strolls past the motionless Mistress of Mayhem before ascending the ramp towards the back without even another glance to the riled up Londoners. A middle finger raised over his shoulder emphasizes his point before he disappears into the back, passing a medical crew on their way to gather the laid out Ladder Queen.
~Fin~
