Post by Nicholas Carson on Dec 22, 2011 21:52:44 GMT -7
Nicholas, Dom, and Jack stand in opposing corners, ready to unleash acts of depravity upon one another. 30:00 shows on the Honor-Tron, and the bell rings, sending the fans into an eruption of eager excitement, and the combatants to the offensive.
TBCB Jack or Dom
OOC: Didn't want to run into yet another extension thing, which happens weekly now lol.
Imperial Champion (x1) King of the Deathmatch Champion (Current) OOC World Champion (x3) 2011 H-Games Finalist Killed Vladimir Strife
Post by Dominik Santiago on Dec 30, 2011 22:05:13 GMT -7
Before either of his opponents can make a move the champion strikes. Dominik quickly drives a boot between an unsuspecting Nicholas Carson's legs; as it crashes into the behemoth's reproductive organs, the Maniac Mauler collapses to the canvas in a flooding of pain, wincing heavily upon rolling under the bottom rope. With the former Imperial Champion having fallen victim to the vile, ambush attack, the Assassin had put the odds in his favor, making it a one on one contest. On the offensive end once again, Santiago vigorously drives a boot into Tracks' ribs, causing his back to arch and his shoulder blades to contract. From there, the King of Deathmatches unravels a stern right hand into Jack's cheek, with a second and a third quickly following. Tracks retreats into the ropes as his cranium assimilates the damage. Radiating with an aura of confidence the Lord of the Flies saunters toward his reeling opponent. Dominik's arrogant display gives the former Television Champion an ample amount of time to recuperate and plan his retaliation. When his foe comes within range, Tracks lifts off the ropes and juts out his leg, driving his boot into the champion's knee. Santiago's leg buckles momentarily, allowing the blue chipper to further increase his physical trauma. Opening up Dom's arms, Jack reels back his arm, striking the dual champion across his bare chest with a flesh wrenching open palm-slap. The King of Deathmatches yelps audibly, and winces as the "WOO" chants flood the arena. The Bostonian's call to the Nature Boy once again, as Jack unleashes a second blistering chop. Before another knife-hand chop can further redden his chest, the Californian resorts to low, underhanded tactics, compromising the young promising superstar's sight with a quick, malicious raking of the eye. With his vision impaired due to the burning sensation in his apertures Tracks leaves himself vulnerable. The Assassin exploits his condition, plunging his knee into the face's solar plexus. The ravaging strike to the Indiana native's midsection forces him to double over, allowing the champion another opportunity to exert his will. Grasping the back of Jack's head, Dominik twists his body toward the ring cables before ejecting him out of the squared circle, launching him through the middle and top ropes.
"Smart strategy on the part of the champion. Eliminate the biggest man in the match, and focus on Tracks, who is out of his element in such an environment." "It doesn't take a genius to swing a steel chair around Al. No pun intended toward Matthew Oliveira!"
The grappler tumbles from the squared hell and manages to land on his feet. Still visibly disoriented, he staggers across the ringside area before making his way to the security barrierl, hoping to regain his bearings. The vindictive Assassin steps through the ropes and climbs to the outside, quickly going on the pursuit. The champion wraps one hand around Tracks' head, snapping his head back whilst peering into his eyes with a cold-blooded stare, before sending it forward and bouncing his skull off the top of the gaurdrail. Jack turns his back to the barrier and leans on it, head dangling to the side as the impact reverberates throughout his brainpan. The H-Games winner grasps his adversaries's arm, both upper and lower before dragging him off the rail. As he continues forward Tracks demonstrates his technical prowess, slipping underneath the grapple-hold and switching his position. Having baffled the Undisputed Champion and placed himself in a position to attack, the GHW Live legend doubles the Assassin over with a stiff toe kick to the midsection. The Californian takes in a deep breath, his chest expanding greatly, all the while being stricken with a burning sensation in his gut region. The crowd stands in anticipation as the Indiana native hoists his nemesis across his shoulders in a Fireman's Carry. After a brief moment Tracks runs across the aisle before leaping backward, and into the air. The two competitors reach the floor supinely, with the former TV Champion dropping his entire two hundred thirty pound frame onto the helpless Californian, simultaneously using him to cushion his landing.
"What a brutal Samoan Drop! And that's how Jack's grappling skills will suit him in this match. He doesn't necessarily have to resort to weapon wielding warfare." "A steel chair across the forehead will certainly change his disposition."
The referee exits the ring and approaches the two combatants, and with Santiago's shoulders flattened onto the floor, Tracks goes for the cover.
The count is broken by a double-axe handle, courtesy of the Maniac Mauler, fully recovered from having his testicles smashed. The Necromancer climbs back to a vertical base, his hands wrapped around Track's head in a vice-grip like squeeze. From there he lifts the fan-favorite to his feet before tossing him into the security barrier. Jack's body tenses as the strain on his lower back increases as a result of the impact. Without hesitation, Nicky charges forward, moving like a massive freight-train and extending his broad arm. His aforementioned limb clashes into Track's sternum, with the force sending him up over the guardrail. Having isolated the variable, Carson turns his focus to the groggy champion. Already beside the timekeeper's table, the Imperfect grabs a steel chair, quickly folding it and raising it overhead. As some of the crowd look on with a quiet amazement, majority of the patrons ignite with cheers as they sense their thirst for blood is about to be quenched. The steel equalizer descends from its apex over the towering giant, and slices through the electric ambiance to careen across the top of the Assassin's noggin with a thunderous impact. Members of the audience closest to the action recoil and flinch with fear and sympathy for the recipient of the savage chairshot. The aforesaid victim rolls back into the ring in a state of complete mental numbness. Carson tosses the chair aside before lifting up the ring cover. After rummaging in the unknown, he withdraws a lighttube, sliding it inside the ring as he climbs onto the apron. As he ducks from the ropes and re-enters the squared hell, he plods heavily toward his storied rival. He grabs a handful of the champion's blond hair, dragging his face off the canvas and lifting him to his knees. Displaying enough wits and wherewithal, the King of Deathmatches grabs the the lighttube lying beside him, and quickly stabs it into the stomach of the masochistic monstrosity. Carson covers his breadbasket with both arms, leaving him unprotected for a withering whacking across his head. A dust cloud enters the atmosphere, meanwhile an assortment of glass shards pierce the peak of the Heavyweight's crown. With Carson collapses across the ropes, Dominik slowly reaches a state of full verticality, with a ringside cameraman able to capture a trickle of blood cascade from a small laceration along the champ's forehead. The bloodied Assassin climbs through the ropes, stepping onto the apron before making his way to the corner. Nicholas sees Santiago perched through his peripheral vision, and quickly pulls the ropes down, causing the Lord of the Flies to lose his balance and slip. An immobilizing pain shoots through Dom's torso as he crotches the top turnbuckle. Carson takes a moment to convalesce, as a psychotic smirk arises on his sweaty mug.
Nick makes his way over to the corner, slowly stepping onto the bottom turnbuckle. The former EVPW Imperial Champion acquaints the Californian's cheek with his forearm. Despite receiving the stuporing shot, Dominik manages to retaliate with a blistering closed fist punched to his opponents temple. Carson's eyes flicker rapidly, yet he's able to land a hang on the ropes to preclude plummeting to the mat. With his freehand he seizes the champion around the neck, attempting to suffocate and asphyxiate him with his massive hand. The Maniac Mauler steps onto the middle turnbuckle, prompting the World Champion to take desperate measures. He extends his thumb before thrusting it into his foe's throat, causing him to relinquish his grasp around the Californian's windpipe. Having prevented Nicholas from "Coming Home", the King of Deathmatches executes a front-face lock. The crowd ignites, as they deem the perilous predicament the superstars find themselves in is quite familiar, in regards to the executing of the aggressor's signature maneuvers. Carson has other plans however, plowing his fist into the champion ribcage repeatedly, causing Dom's grip to loosen, allowing the conductor of controversy to liberate his cranium. In a last ditch effort to gain the upperhand, Nicholas slams his own head into his rivals, dizzying him severely, whilst smearing the Assassin's blood across his face. In a split-second, the Necromancer encircles his right arm around Santiago's chest, and wraps his left arm around the former Tag Team Champion's thigh. Glory and Honor Wrestling's resident rapist leaps inward to the ring, throwing his adversary down, causing the King of Deathmatches to land supinely with a resounding impact.
"HOLY SHIT! SPINEBUSTER OFF THE TOP ROPE!" "That one even made Arn Anderson smile. What a move!" "They battled and exchanged counters up there. It looked like Santiago was preparing for a Brain Damage, but Carson was able to block it and counterattack. And boy did he ever."
The crowd found concordance, voicing their agreement to the tune of tumultuous cheers, applause, and unified chants of "THIS IS AWESOME". As the spectators continue to show their appreciation, both men inert, with Dominik sprawled, and Nicholas lying prone with his face buried in the mat, with Jack Tracks recovering in the crowd.
Post by Nicholas Carson on Jan 3, 2012 5:31:49 GMT -7
Away from the action in the ring, Jack Tracks finds his footing at last and through directional aide from the fans manages to stagger over the barrier. He quickly realizes his chance at being the proverbial thief in the night and beats feet to the ring, sliding under the bottom rope then popping to his feet. Carson had already made it to his hands and knees, but any hopes of triumph is snuffed out by Tracks, who zooms in and thrusts his boots out in front of him. The low altitude snap Dropkick smacks against the Mauler's head, sending him between the middle and bottom ropes to the outside unceremoniously. To the crowd's boisterous delight, Tracks commences the lateral press on Dom and hooks the leg.
ONE! TWO! THR-AWWWWW![/b]
As he'd done so many times before, the Undisputed Champion kicks out when the ref's hand is a nat's dick hair away from the almighty three. Despite the match still in Jack's favor, a crestfallen feeling consumes the spectators, for they know the longer Dominik stays in a match the worse it'll be for the opponent later on. Mild frustration sets in on the young lion. He quickly mounts the Assassin and grabs a handful of his hair, then begins to pummel him unmercifully with his fist, nothing fancy of course, but very effective. The gash along the World Champion's forehead widens even more, as Jack purposefully aims his strikes to the damaged epidermis. The volley of knuckle bombs finally cease, but only when Tracks taps into his killer instinct, which is most needed in a match this violent. Jack stands up with his victim in tow and hooks his arm around his head in a Front Facelock, but his plans are anything but a sissy-ass wrestling move. With crisp and explosive movement, the Indianan falls backward with authority, driving Santiago's crown into the canvas. The destructive-fying DDT sends a warm jolt of pain through Dom's cerebral cortex and spine, and coerces his body into a gnarly looking "spike", which is a excellent move sell by the multi-faceted Champion, before ending up supine.
"What a brain obliterating DDT from Jack Tracks. I haven't seen one delivered that well since the golden age of Matthew Oliveira. He's going for the cover. ONE!" "We may see the first fall here!" "TWO!" "Close but no cigar."
Jack grabs his own hair in dispair, stressing the roots of his folicles as he tries to comprehend how in the hell Dom kicked out of such a epic DDT. He looks to the crowd for answers, but even they are dumb-struck over it. Tracks shakes his head and drags his prey vertical again, then runs toward the ropes to level the barely standing King of Deathmatches with a tool of his trade, the Discus Elbow.
The Singapore cane shot across the back instantly drops Jack to the mat prone. Carson had been "camping" like he does on Call of Duty and Battlefield 3, waiting for the right time to unleash hell after he'd been disposed of a few moments ago. Alas, it had arrived. While the Indianan writhes in pain, Nicky-Boy leans forward against the ring apron and mimes using the cane as a pool stick, and thrusts the tip of it into Tracks' ball sack with extreme violence. Everyone in the audience, including the women, yell out their sympathetic "OOOOH" as the popular rising star thrashes around clutching his groin. And not far from him, Dominik's legs falter, sending him to his hands and knees while a small puddle of blood forms on the mat under him.
"Jesus Christ on a stick! Jack's gotta be in unfathomable pain right now. It must feel like he's got three Adam's apples and no nuts in his sack. Carson is once again living up to his cruel, demented reputation, Al." "Well at least the pain in Tracks's back has gone away. I'm sure he's not even thinking about it right now." "Oh no, no, what's Nicholas doing now? He's scouring the undertow of the ring." "Bad things happen when he does this, Collin. Business is about to pick up." "A table, he's busting out the wood. Wait, he's going for more?" "Ooohhh shit, he's nabbed himself a pane of glass. He's... damn, he's going back yet AGAIN!" "Nick's going too damn far! He's produced a damn ladder now. He's got a table, a glass pane, and a ladder for god knows what!"
The voices inside Nicholas's head had lured him away from a logical, strategical mindset, replacing it with a unrelenting drive to simply end one, if not both individuals careers now. So instead of entering the ring and isolating one of his downed opponents like most competitors would do, the Lord of Lunacy busies himself on the outside, setting up his little playground of pain. He moves the guardrail a little closer to the ring and sets up the pane of glass so that one end rests on the ring apron and the other end rests on the security rail. Next up is the table, which he sets up in like manner next to the glass pane, about 12 inches apart. Despite being the most hated entity in the history of wrestling, Carson is subjected to thunderous applause from the fans who have a morbid fascination with the type of destruction only he can conjure up.
Carson's sausage link sized digits curl around the steel legs of the ladder in order to set it up too, but as he turns toward the ring with it, that no good dastardly Assassin hurls himself over the top rope, flipping his middleweight frame into a Forward Somersault as he rapidly descends. The velocity is tremendous and smashes the ladder back into Carson's body and face, before the big man falls onto his back, winding up pinned beneath the ladder and the Undisputed Champion. Dominik's devil-may-care tactic paid off but at a cost to himself also, as evident by Santiago rolling off of the ladder spasmodically, like someone would when in a epileptic seizure. This left Jack Tracks in the driver's seat, and nobody is better behind the wheel than him. Dipping to the outside to join his foes, Jack, still nursing his reproductive organ a little bit, supports himself against the ring steps and smiles deviously as he catches glimpse of Nicky-Pooh.
"Don't smile Jack, you're not in the winner's circle yet. Grab something and beat that monster over the head." "Jack's not even on the final lap yet. He better exploit this while he can, because it's not every day you have Carson and Dom at your mercy."
Jack unhinges the ring steps and strains to pick them up chest level, but after sucsessfully doing so plods forward and straddles Nick. Then, with a warrior's war-cry, Tracks lifts the steps-turned-weapon overhead and brings them down onto the ladder, crushing the Artist of Atrocities even further. He repeats the action a second time, then a third, before finding sick satisfaction with his barbarism. Shifting focus, the race car guru takes the steps and leaves a bloodied and bludgeoned Clown Prince of Chaos behind as he journeys toward his next target, the lowly Assassin. Jack's strides open up fast as he places the steps high across his chest and steams toward his foe, who had found his footing after his high risk high reward manuever minutes ago. But in the blink of an eye Dom turns to face him, and drops down while wrapping his feet around Tracks's shin and ankle, utilizing the very fundamental Drop Toe Hold to usher the end of Jack's short lived momentum.
Steel remains undefeated against flesh as Jack falls forward suddenly, his face colliding with the steps and bloodying him up more. The Lord of the Flies rises, hissing with every breath, his face a wrinkled up mess of red. His cold blue eyes peer through to the scoreboard, hoping it's still 0-0-0. It is, and with 13:24 to spare. Opting out of traditional punishment for the young upstart, the Assassin ponders a submission of sorts. Allowing his ingenuity to flourish, Dominik pulls Tracks to the ladder and leaves it lying flat on the ground. From there, he lifts up the rungs facing the ceiling, then places Jack in the open space with his back facing skyward, and pulls Tracks's arms up through two of the rungs, before pushing the rungs down, virtually sandwiching the challenger in steel. The spectators stand in a fixated trance of sorts, as the World Champion straddles the young man's back and squats down. With great exertion, the Lord of the Flies reaches through both sets of rungs and lifts up mightily.
"What the hell is this?" "That's VINTAGE Dominik, Al. A Ladder Assisted ummmm Full Nelson um Camel Clutch? You won't see the likes of that mindless brute Nicholas doing such a thing." "He's gonna mangle that kid. Dom's demanding Jack submit and he might better. Sacrifice the fall, man." "Tracks won't tap. He's too damn gutsy and prideful!"
Santiago keeps it locked in place for the longest age, until the odd sight of Carson's butler-slave Jangabang Niggerstain coming down the aisle forces him to relinquish his control. It's not so much the butler that vexes the Assassin, but the same Trunk Monkey that had interfered in the Tracks-Carson Number One Contenders match, which now happens to be holding hands with the butler as the slave appears to be giving orders to attack the Lord of the Flies, so that he could tend to his master, Nicholas Carson. The Californian rolls into the ring and beckons the oddities to enter, and one of the monkeys (the ACTUAL monkey) obliges by climbing to the top buckle. But Dom isn't one to beat about the bush, not when one of his titles are on the line. The KotDM Champion rushes headlong at him and meets him there, eating two strong monkey-slaps in the process. None of it matters though. The Assassin powers though and secures him in a Three Quarter Facelock, then leaps from the buckle with the uninvited animal in his grasp. The sold out arena goes absolutely bat shit insane as the monkey is planted and possibly murdered in the middle of the ring with the most deadly finishing move in history.
"OH MY F***ING GOD!!!!!! SKO TO THE MONKEY!" "Great, now the damn animal rights groups are going to be suing us left and right. They better take that shit out of Dom's check not GHW's as a whole!"
Dom's animal cruelty may live on in infamy, but that may not be the case with his title reign. After boot prodding the possibly dead animal out of the ring, he slithers out and races toward Nicholas's location, plowing over Jangabang with a Stan Hansen Lariat during his travel. But what lurks in wait is the epitome of evil, and Dom's most dangerous opponent. The Assassin nears the crazy clown, who has his back to him, but his world is cast into peril as the Lord of Lunacy spins around and clobbers him in the side of the face with, whadda know, a STEEL CHAIR. The shot propels Santiago backward through the air, as if he'd been shot with a gun not a chair, and renders his inertia tersely inert. Carson, the annual recipient of the Chair-Swinger Of The Year award, tumbles and collapses, having used much of his energy to hopefully shatter Dom's face, but leaving himself no room to capitalize and possibly go up 1-0-0. Moments linger by with the three gladiators lying torpid around the ring. Tri-fold dueling chants pound the arena hard, with Jack's crowd getting the upperhand, which in turn provokes him up first. Unable to stand fully erect, the tortured rookie blots it all out and grabs the ladder, and is able to drag it toward his opponents location, seeking to use it in conjunction with the table and glass pane Carson had set up.
Upon his arrival to the scene, the fan-favorite is shocked to see Nicky standing, facing him, albeit stumbling around like a blind man in a rock quarry. Jack does his best to put a scheme into action, but is abruptly knocked on his ass by a listless but effective Big Boot. The diabolical monster towers over his two adversaries, a monopoly of barbaric brilliance consuming his mind as each voice gives sadistic counsel on how to permanently injure the two. But, for once, Nicky was going to try something fun. He ignores the voices long enough to place his victims atop the table and the pane of glass, then he stands the ladder up and locks it in place several feet away, before reaching under the ring one more time and procuring a big plank of wood wrapped in barbed wire. The referee tries in vain to talk sense into him, as he holds the ladder in place while the colossus climbs to the heavens, with his back to his foes, the barbed wire wrapped contraption joining him in one hand. Not a ass was fitted in a seat, as it'd been since the bell, they couldn't belielve what was happening.
"He's actually going to try it. Carson's going to fly, and by God he's got carry on luggage with him!" "Big men don't fly though! I hope he slips and falls and hits every rung on the way down. He doesn't care about winning the match, he just wants to maim them."
Tonight Big-Nicky would overcome his fear of heights, at the expense of Jack's and Dom's careers. Each rung climb higher gives the beast a weakening in his knees, slowing his advance, but the Mauler carries on until he's three rungs from the top. No theatrical pause comes from the Lord of Lunacy, he simply launches himself backward and quickly brings the barbed wire item across his bear-chest as his body flips into a slow but remarkably well formed Moonsault. The fans wait with giddy anticipation, knowing deep down that both men would move at the last second. That's how it always happens. Predictable wrestling.
Nothing is predictable when Nicky is involved. The GHW Universe comes to a stand still as Carson careens into them with the impetus of a 300 pound comet, crashing through Jack and Dom and the shmorgishborg of sexy death he'd created. Glass, wood splinters, and barbed wire cut and burrow into all three men as the whole set-up is annihilated, leaving the crowd and those watching at home petrified.
Post by Jack Tracks on Jan 3, 2012 18:53:08 GMT -7
The crowd all stands on their feet, gawking at the carnage outside the ring. The bodies of the three competitors are crumpled within a mess of debris, the glass laying around them slowly beginning to turn a dark red. With the trio in a heap like this, it's very difficult to tell exactly where it was all coming from. But odds are, it was probably all three of them. The crowd doesn't take long to get over the shock, though, maniacs that the GHW crowd always are. In a matter of seconds, they already begin their chants.
"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"
As the raucous crowd makes their voices heard, the referee, who hadn't done much other than count the near-falls, ran over to the ropes, peering over in disbelief. The official looks at the stage, then back down to the wrestlers. He takes this a few times, apparently wondering if he should stop the match, or what.
"I don't think any of them are moving..." "That ref better not call the match just from a little crash! You wouldn't be able to call yourself the King of the Deathmatch if something like that would finish you off, no matter where you were on the landing!" "What are you talking about? For all we now, they could all be-" "Shut up and look!"
The referee, about to send up the signal for the EMT's to come down, is cut off by the crowd within closest view of the crashed competitors. His head snaps down to look, and what catches his eyes causes him to quickly stumble out of the ring and to his hands and knees, as close as he can get without being in that horrible pile of debris. The camera quickly shifts to the pile of bodies, to find the arm of Dominic Santiago draped over the prone chest of Jack Tracks! With the shoulders down, the ref slaps his hand to the concrete outside.
1... 2... 3!
The referee stands up, signaling over to the timekeeper. Charlie Coors, a bit in disbelief himself, stands up and tries to announce, over the roars (and boos, from Tracks' more devoted fans).
"L-Ladies and Gentlemen, the first fall of the match has been earned! The score is now Dominic Santiago 1, Jack Tracks and Nicholas Carson 0!"
With the first fall of the match official, the crowd absolutely goes apeshit. By the time he was done, Coors had already been drowned out by the noise of the masses around them. But the shrieks do more than just interrupt the announcer. With the audience making such a huge noise, the energy coursing through the building seems to almost revive the competitors. Dominic, now relatively safe with the first point in the match, rolls off of the young contender, the sound of crushed glass crumbling under his weight a now-welcome sound for him, as it at least means he's moving. Fighting to a kneeling position, Santiago starts to crawl away from the carnage, a trail of blood rolling down his back, staining the glass beneath him in blood. But with the only point scored, he knows that if he can just hold on, the belt would stay his.
That'd be easier said than done, however. The other fan-favorite of this match, the normally-energetic Jack Tracks, slowly brings his body to a sitting position. He turns his head back and forth, the glass falling out of his long hair, as he sees the crowd on their feet. Something must have happened while he was out. A quick glance at the scoreboard told him all he needed to know. A point was finally made. And it wasn't for him. With the clock winding down, Tracks knew that he'd have to get up and recover lost ground ASAP, or his big shot would've been for nothing. Tracks begins his own fight to his feet, trying to use the apron to pull himself up, smearing it with the crimson stains that have been growing on his hands.
"I don't believe it! With less than 10 minutes to go, we finally have our first fall of the match! But even if it was just a lucky moment of clarity that Santiago was able to get his arm over one of his opponents, it seems they're really starting to stand up and fight again!"
"Well, two of them are. After that horrendous fall, I wouldn't be surprised if Carson down there doesn't get up for the next few days!"
"He's had some brutal injuries before, but he may have cost himself the match with this. He's still down, and it seems one of his opponents has already gotten back to his feet!"
Indeed they have, as the King of the Road, shaken up as he is, is starting to make his way over to the champion, keeping one hand on the bottom rope for the sake of balance. A close-up from the camera on one of the ropes show some drops of blood falling from them, with a sparkle of glass dust contained within.
Tracks eventually makes it to Santiago and with his legs starting to work again, he reaches down and grabs the King of the Death Match by the hair, forcing him back up to his feet. It's quite a fight, as, despite being in the lead, Dominic's legs barely have the strength left to hold his entire weight for long. Which they don't have to for long. With Santiago standing just enough, Tracks wraps his arm around the champion's head, pulling him down into a suplex clutch. Grabbing Dom's nearer arm, he draps it over his own head, and takes hold of the champion's waist. His body showing a burst of the speed he's normally known for, Tracks pulls his entire weight backwards in a sharp, short angle, letting momentum do the work for him. The snap suplex sends the champion right back where he doesn't want to be, as his back lands right on top of the shattered glass.
"Oh god! There's already damn near a whole window in the champion's back as is!"
"God, that hurts just to look at! Tracks has some pretty painful suplexes, and that has to make it a million times worse!"
With the champion writhing in pain, Tracks turns over, breathing so hard one could easily see his chest moving. He begins to crawl over to the wounded champion, his half a foot of movement seeming to take an eternity, as the crowd stays on its feet, anticipating another point to be added to that scoreboard. Tracks makes his way over, and drapes an arm over the champion. The referee, trying to stay as far away from the carnage as possible, has to rush to get in position. Once he does, he begins his count...
ONE.... TWO.... TH-
Jack Tracks' body is suddenly yanked off of the champion by a familiar pair of wiry black hands. Tracks twists his body in a confused reflex, no idea what could have moved him off, especially with Carson all but dead. As he turns up, a leather shoe smacks him right between the eyes, driving his head back to the concrete.
The bloodthirsty GHW fans, denied the chance to see the underdog tie with the champion, fill the arena with loud, hateful boos, as Nicholas Carson's indentured servant Jangabang, who had stayed low during the ladder incident, was putting the boots to Tracks. While skinny as a beanpole, even his stomps would do a number on an already-hurt man, as tough as all three competitors normally are. And if his master wasn't going to be the one to win at this rate, Jangabang damn sure wasn't going to let a guy like Jack Tracks get the belt instead.
"God dammit! That slimy manservant! With all the craziness going down, I forgot this snake was slithering around!"
"Don't take your eyes off anyone on that lunatic clown's payroll for even a second! Tracks forgot that, and he's paying for it! So much for your title hopes, kid."
"Is he even actually paid?"
But the jeers quickly turned to thunderous cheers, as the butler's eyes bulged out of his head, the shine of a familiar-looking chain wrapping around his neck. Jangabang is sent falling back with a quick, violent jerk, pulled right against the guard rail. Standing above him, holding on to the other end of the chain, was the striking figure of "Jumpin'" Jack Flash, Tracks' friend and tag partner! His eyes full of rage, he leaps back, pulling the chain with him, and dragging the skinny butler along the ground, choking for air. Flash swings the chain towards the apron, sending Jangabang's head cracking into the side of the ring. The slave's eyes start to roll into the back of his head, and with the servant stunned, Flash, the chain wrapped around his wrist, takes a few steps over to check on Tracks. He leans down, talking low enough that he can't be heard by the camera, but Tracks, his eyes open again, seems to acknowledge him. After some words, they slap each other one the shoulder, before Flash goes back to his prey.
"Thank god for Jumpin' Jack Flash! We'd heard that Tracks had told him not to get involved tonight, but I think it's fair game to keep that little shit Jangabang from ruining this match!"
"He's a little too late, though. The damage has already been done."
"Better late then never. At least now there won't be any further interru- Oh god, what's he about to do now?"
Back at ringside, with the manservant still tied in the noose-like length of chain, Jack Flash had decided to use it just as such. Untying the chain from his own hand, Flash tosses it over the top rope, draping it so that he could grab the length again from under the bottom rope. With the chain firmly in his grasp, he clasps both hands around it. He brings one boot up, pressing it against the side of the ring, and PULLS! The draped chain, wrapped as it is around Jangabang's neck, pulls the skinny butler up, his head past the middle rope. His body thrashes, clawing at the chain in vain. With Jangabang tied up, Flash starts to use him as a pinata, sending a series of powerful kicks to his stomach, prompting even more sputtering and struggling. After wearing him out with half a dozen blows, which were met with much approval, Flash finally unties the chain from around the little weasel's neck, his skinny body collapsing to the ground. Satisfied with the damage done, Flash grabs the butler by his collar and waist, and hurls him halfway up the ramp. The little shit starts to scamper his way to the back, with Flash following behind, kicking him right in the ass every few steps, chasing him all the way backstage. But leaving his chain there in the ring. The crowd, happy as all hell to see Carson's slave gone, finally turns their attention back to the wrestlers. Tracks, having had already been mostly up, was resting against the guard rail, planning his next attack. Santiago, back bleeding harder than ever, had managed to roll himself back into the ring, staining it with blood. But at least he's finally out of that awful pit. As for Carson...he's finally moving, having found himself up to one knee after having the longest time to rest. And probably needing it the most after his nearly suicidal dive.
"Now with that annoyance removed, it looks like all three men are finally recovering. And with 3:25 left on the clock, the two challengers better get moving! If neither man scores a pin, the championship will stay right where it is!"
As though hearing the announcers, or at least realizing it himself, Tracks locks his eyes right on to the killer clown. One knee. Perfect. Pushing himself off of the barricade, Tracks uses what little energy is left in his body in one last rush, blasting forward at the still-recovering Carson. The crowd knows exactly what is coming, as the sound of crackling glass tinkles beneath Tracks' boot. His stride continues forward, and...