GHW Championship - McCoy vs Santiago III

[Mr. McCoy]

Blood Runs Cold goes takes a brief intermission following the returning to the ring of one Pavor Nocturnus, and subsequent barn burner between he and Might Man Millson. The audience was still on the edge of their seats, meanwhile the nearby ring staff tidy up the ring to prepare it for the next bout, the third match in a ongoing rivalry. The tron suddenly flickers to life, *insert promo here.* The words of the challenger briefly echo throughout the sold out Boston arena, before the lights begin to dim, followed by the sounds of "Straight Jacket Fashion" by Chevelle which rumbles onto the P.A. system. The crowd ignites with uproarious cheers in anticipation for the rival of their beloved superstar, as he continues his quest to become World Champion.

.Charlie Coors.]-:
"The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and has a 30 minute time-limit, and is for the GHW World Championship!"

.Pete Loeffler.]-:
"Don't stand around
So far, it's empty
Just pull close these witnesses
That follow, so trusting
There they go
By the way
We last because we're colorful
And as for fools, just play the opposite
Cause quietly, you're overrated anyhow
And currently, you've spread yourself so thin"

Just then the lights suddenly kick up fully and the curtains are thrown aside as Freebird McCoy makes his entrance. The patrons ignite with another chorus of cheers for the fan favorite who stands at the top of the entryway, wearing a "Im With Stupid" t-shirt, black bandana and ripped jeans. McCoy dances in place much like a prize-fighter, commencing to shadow box, throwing punches in the electric filled air to psyche himself up for what was going to be a grueling, and possibly historic contest. Per his usual pandering, the Oklahoman tosses his fist pridefully into the air, eliciting applause and a wave of appreciation from his devoted supporters; this was his third chance to dethrone his hated nemesis, and the GHW Universe was hoping three would be the charm. There support continued to shower down on the Heavyweight as he began his trek down the ramp, slapping the hands of the enthusiastic fans on his way to the squared circle.

.Charlie Coors.]-:
"Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Tulsa, Oklahoma, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty five pounds, standing at six feet, two inches tall... he is FREEBIRD MCCOY!!"

He stops his stride halfway before removing his T-shirt, showing his lack of muscle definition in the form of his massive pot belly. He tosses the shirt into the crowd; the sweaty piece of merchandise is received by an attractive caucasian woman in her early twenties. The female stares at the shirt for a brief moment, and turns to her friends before shrugging to herself and clutching the the official uniform of the Tulsa native. McCoy playfully points at the crowd, and slides his hands across his waist, promising that the prestigious championship on the line would be changing hands and would accompany him back to his families' farm.

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"This is the Trifecta Colin. The third and final time. Its now or never for this incompetent farmer to try and live his pipe-dream."

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Opportunity has knocked at the door repeatedly. This is the Blue Collar Brawler's last chance to answer the call. Will he be able to cement his legacy in the history books tonight? The crowd is pulling for him Al. "

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Much like they've been doing the last two times. Their support is misplaced, and they're misguided. This hick has been turned away on two separate occasions. He can't beat Dominik Santiago, and tonight will be no different."

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Anything can happen Al. The champion and the challenger are the only ones with a say in the matter, and they will speak with blood, sweat and sheer physicality. What will be said tonight, in this third and epic battle?"

.Pete Loeffler.]-:
"Climb up your pedestal
To hang yourself from it
"A cold day in hell's" the phrase
I used when I never ever meant to change
Scab
By the way
We last because we're colorful
And as for fools, just play the opposite
Cause quietly, you're overrated anyhow
And currently, you've spread yourself so thin
Spread yourself so thin
"

Freebird slides into the ring belly first, and quickly springs to his feet before making his way up the nearest turnbuckle. He surveys the roaring crowd, inviting them to increase their cheers and adulation. They oblige, with the noise level increasing, much to the delight of the former farmer. As his theme tune begins to die down, McCoy continues playing to the crowd, knowing their support will be paramount in his effort to beat his antagonist.

.Pete Loeffler.]-:
"His straight jacket fashion
Can't believe he could
But I'd crawl a mile
To say that he should
This straight jacket fashion
I can't believe he could
Starve ourselves just to say
You know that you should"

With that McCoy climbs down from the turnbuckle, with his gaze fixed at the entryway; he takes a deep breath, not to calm jitters or nerves, but to mentally prepare himself for the trip to hell he was going to have to embark on to do the impossible - beat Santiago.

TBCB by Dominik

[Dominik Santiago]

The electricity in the air intensifies, meanwhile the ever-buzzing GHW spectators remain in their seats in a collective jeer. The mounting anticipation and the collective humming is suddenly broken, whilst the seats are immediately emptied -as the arena lights suddenly begin to dim. Alas this would signal the arrival of the champion, effectively tainting the ambiance with hatred and detestation, as boos suddenly fill the sold out venue despite the loathed superstar having not even shown his face yet. In an attempt to drown out the negativity of the fans, the first riifs of "Ugly" by the Exies begin. The familiar entrance tune only increases the heat administered by the audience.

As the intro passes and the first verse kicks in, the velvet curtains finally sway, as the Californian emerges before the disapproving crowd. The Lord of the Flies embraces the atmospheric hatred with his usual cocksure grin, proceeding to survey the arena through both sides of the stage platform. Dominik removes his coveted GHW Championship from around his sleek waist, and clutches it in his left hand, before turning and with a deep rooted fascination, gazing at the KOTDM title which lies in his right. With utmost pompousness, the dual champion hoists his prestigious prizes into the air, garnishing more heat from the Bostonians. As his swollen head begins to lower to normal proportions, the champion locks his glare on the Oklahoman, now standing in the center of the squared circle. Thoughts of their past two encounters race through his psychotic mind; the Assassin was mentally preparing himself for the arduous task that would be to bury his rival for the convincing third and final time.

Are you ugly?
A liar like me?
A user, a lost soul?
Someone you don’t know
Money it’s no cure
A Sickness so pure
Are you like me?
Are you ugly?

Dom begins his saunter toward the ring, as Charlie begins his introduction.

Charlie Coors: "Now introducing the opponent, standing at six feet, two inches and weighing in at two hundred and twenty seven pounds. He is the holder of the King of the Deathmatch Championship, and the reigning GHW Champion... known as "The Assassin" and "The Lord of the Flies", he is... DOMINIK SANTIAGO!

As his name echoes throughout the spectrum, the champion stops in the middle of the aisle. He doesn't acknowledge the fans on either side of him, extending their hands out, or the ones shouting obscenities at him. Dominik stands with a belt in each hand, hanging beside him, dawning his usual black tights. Per the norm, his fists are shrouded in black tape, his black boots laced in a professional fashion, and his upper body concealed in a white "Greatest Fighty fighty person Ever" T-shirt. His dampened blond hair hangs carelessly down his cranium, while his cold-blue eyes stare into the ring, with the man of the receiving end on the glare inviting the champion to enter his dominion.

We are dirt, we are alone
You know we're far from sober!
We are fake, we are afraid
You know it’s far from over
We are dirt we are alone
You know we're far from sober!
Look closer, are you like me?
Are you ugly?

Dominik knees up onto the apron and comes to a stand, shaking his head violently from side to side, perspiration flying through the ringside area. As he continues to stare into the confident eyes of Freebird, he poses once more with both his prestigious titles hanging freely in his miracle working hands, evoking another chorus of boos. Santiago turns himself around and passes his KOTDM title to the timekeeper, before proceeding to enter the ring. He strides across it while still keeping his attention on the nemesis in his presence, and opts not to sit navigate to the nearby corner, but merely stand in the middle of the squared hell. He hands his remaining championship, the one in jeapordy to the referee. The champion commences to remove his piece of merchandise, tossing it into the crowd, revealing a brilliant tapestry of tattoo artwork inked on on his shoulderblades, arms, and pectoral muscles. His complexion and aura of arrogance remain unchanged. Dominik poses for a third and final time, raising and crossing his arms in his trademark 'X' formation, taunting his adversary. As his theme begins to fade the champion continues to smile his contemptuous smirk, and his beckoning goes warranted, as the zebra-clad official steps in between the two competitors.

Al: "The tension can be cut with a knife Colin. These two combatants want nothing more but to rip each other limb from limb!"
Colin: "And rightfully so. They're competing for the greatest prize in our industry... the GHW Championship."
"A lot of blood has already been spilled in this rivalry which has dominated GHW this month. This is the culmination of a bitter rivalry, where Freebird McCoy will finally be put out of his misery..."
"Or rise to the occasion and achieve a feat many men go careers without accomplishing. Two men enter, but only one can leave with the big gold belt folks!"

As Dominik backs into the nearby corner, and Freebird near the ropes, the referee hoists the GHW Championship into the air, igniting the spectators who climb to their feet and cheer vociferously. The official then hands the belt to the nearby ring attendant, before signaling for both superstar to ready themselves. In an attempt to provoke the thirty year old, the younger champion barks "You should have stayed on the farm inbred!" Instead of responding, McCoy simply nods his head, deciding to retaliate with his fists, and waiting on the sound of the bell to do so. His waist is tentative, as the referee signals for the match to begin. The bell chimes thrice, and the much anticipated third contest between Freebird McCoy and Dominik Santiago was now underway.

TBCB McCoy

[Mr. McCoy]

The two rivals lock up in the traditional collar and elbow tie. The demonstration of power and test of might doesn't last long however, as the two superstars break, followed by a quick haymaker attempt from the challenger. The adept champion, quick on his feet, deftly ducks beneath the wild punch, causing his adversary to shift his positioning do to being off balance by his very own momentum. As Freebird turns, Dominik lights his chest on fire with a flesh ripping backhand chop. The strike echoes throughout the arena, but McCoy stands tall, shaking his head with disapproval, proving impervious to the Assassin's attack. From there he retaliates with his own chop, quickly reddening the bare chest of his antagonist. The strike sends Dominik reeling, as the GHW Champion falls into the ropes and drops to a knee to catch his breath from the air stripping blow. The Blue Collar Brawler advances to Santiago's position, proceeding to grapple him around the head before dragging him back to a vertical base. The Californian quickly escapes Freebird's grasp, before lifting his boot and driving his toe into the Oklahoman's abdominal region. As McCoy doubles over, Dom strikes him across the face with an open palm, receiving heat from the crowd for his blatant display of disrespect. As the farmer holds his cheek, Dominik begins to mouth off, continuing his discourteous behavior. It doesn't set well with the challenger, as the steam fires out of his cavities. Now enraged, Freebird hastily lifts up and grabs the champion around the head before mightily tossing him into the nearby corner. The crowd ignites as the pugilist corners his prey and begins unloading on him with stiff rights and lefts. The eyes and the legs of the Lord of the Flies grow weary and buckle respectively, as each clenched fist lands precisely on its target. As the barrage of fists comes to a cease, McCoy quickly lifts his knee and maliciously plants it into the cocky champion's midsection, expelling the air and arrogance straight from his lungs and sending it sputtering out of his gaping mouth.

The fan favorite grasps Santiago by the arm before pulling him out of the corner. As Dominik comes forward, McCoy lifts him upside down before hoisting him into the air and onto his shoulders. Sensing the impending danger, the alert champion slithers down Freebird's back, coming back down to earth and safety. Now behind his opponent, the Lord of the Flies staggers back, slightly off balance from his daring escape. Spinning around, Freebird looks to go back on the offensive, charging like a bat out of hell. Taking advantage of the brief distance between he and his foe, the Assassin leaps into the air, bringing his knees inward. Doing his best rendition of a spring, Dominik throws his legs out, making the full extension just as his opponent comes within striking distance. The soles of the champion's boot crash into the face of the former farmer; as quick as the flip of a switch, Dominik takes control, sending his rival to the canvas upon drilling him with the textbook Dropkick.

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Damn that was quick. Dominik just leveled the challenger with a blink of the eye like Dropkick."

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"McCoy needs to be careful. He can't afford to have anymore of his teeth knocked out. Dental care is not provided by this company!"

The Assassin kneels up before sneering down at his sprawling foe. After taking a deep breath, Santiago climbs back to his feet, slowly commencing to saunter toward his downed foe. Looking to systematically and methodically pick apart his challenger, the champion lifts Freebird to a seated position, before dropping down to knee and viciously planting his bent leg into the Oklahoman's spinal region. With his knee stabbing McCoy in the back, the King of Deathmatches wraps one hand underneath the brawler's chin and the other on the top before wrenching his head backward. The flawless execution of the rear chinlock leaves Freebird's arms flailing, as a shock of excruciating pain shoots up and down his neck and back. The resilient challenger refuses to concede to the pain and submit however, forcing Dominik to take more malevolent measures. Already holding his adversaries head in toe, the champion rises to his feet, before beginning to repeatedly, and barbarically burrow his knee into his foe's upperback. Following three or four merciless strikes, the champion releases Freebird; McCoy's body clenches, meanwhile his head raises to the sky with his eyes clenched and teeth gritted in an effort to try and cope with his back strain. In doing so, he leaves face unprotected, beckoning a savage kick from the ruthless Assassin. His boot collides into the Blue Collar Brawler's countenance with a rigorously force, knocking him back down to the mat. With his nemesis lying dormant, the nefarious champion goes for the cover, executing a lateral press and the first pinfall attempt of the contest.

"ONE"
"TWO"
"THR-"

Once more demonstrating his tenacity, Freebird is able to roll a shoulder over to break the count. Almost instinctively, Santiago goes back on the attack, rolling onto his side beside his opponent before sliding his arm underneath McCoy's chin. A consequence of the champion clasping his hands together, is the reverse variation of the chinlock, serving the same tactical purpose of the submission used moments prior; to stretch and stress the challenger's battered limbs and force him to tap out.

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"This what sets the champion apart from everyone else. When he takes control, he never lets up. He's beating the hell out of that hick!"

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Don't write off Freebird just yet Al. He didn't come this far to to throw in the towel this early!"

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Don't be naive Colin. He isn't in Dominik's league. He's facing a man that retired Hayden Hardkore, out-wrestled Mighty Man Millson and put Jaggeroth in a casket in the same night. He never stood a chance!"

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Freebird's no stranger to adversity. If anyone can overcome the odds, its the Blue Collar Brawler!"

Despite the flow of oxygen to his head being stifled, Freebird refuses give the champion the satisfaction of a submission victory. Instead he extends his arm out and shakes it violently, playing to the crowd in an attempt to rile them up. The patrons clap and stop their feet in a unified response, mustering up the will to continue in the fatigued middle aged superstar. Exploiting the support of the fans, McCoy slowly begins to climb to his feet, causing Santiago to follow suit, although continuing to execute his stretch. As the two wrestling titans reach a vertical base, the lovable brawler begins stabbing the champion in his breadbasket with the back of his elbow. He follows up with two more well placed strikes; the Assassin's grasp loosens, therefore allowing Freebird to escape. With Dominik doubled over, the Tulsa native quickly grapples him around the head before lifting and bending his leg, rattling the Californian's brain. The Knee Lift sends Santiago staggering into the ropes, with the cables standing in the way of the champion timbering like a tree. With the momentum slowly shifting in his favor, McCoy takes a back in a effort build a head of steam. After a moment catch his breath and prepare himself, the challenger charges toward his foe. Taking advantage of the incoming freight train's momentum, Dominik doubles forward, springboarding Freebird into the air and over the ropes. Preventing himself from spilling to the floor below, McCoy grabs onto the ropes, pulling himself down feet first onto the apron. The Assassin steps forward, looking to knock Freebird to the floor, but is met with a blistering right hand for his troubles. Having stunned the champion, the Oklahoman quickly executes a front-facelock, before tossing Dom's arm over his shoulder. As the crowd erupts with cheers and climbs to their feet, the Blue Collar Brawler lifts his adversary into the air and upside down. Simultaneously, the challenger begins to recline backward, showing absolutely no regard for his own physical well-being. The competitors come plummeting down from the apron, each landing with a painful, resounding thud on padded surface below. The roof of the arena is blown off, as the two combatants lie completely motionless, possibly injured, but definitely strained physically in the early goings of what is already a grueling title bout.

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Don't be fooled by that padded floor folks. They felt every bit of that bone breaking fall, courtesy of that devastating Vertical Suplex! Freebird may be on his way to bursting through the ceiling Al!"

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Yeah but unfortunately for Farmer John, if either of them is counted out, the champion retains his belt. And that's the very circumstance he's facing as the referee begins his count!"

"ONE"
"TWO!"

TBCB Dom

[Dominik Santiago]

"THREE!" "FOUR!" Freebird gradually regains a vertical base, his hand gingerly massaging his lower back, now strained by the near un-cushioned fall. His eyes are clenched, with his teeth gritted tightly, attempting to alleviate the pain in order to continue what was turning into a gaudy performance. Leaning over, he grapples the head of the stirring champion, and commences to drag him to a state of full verticality. With the suddenness of a hiccup, the villainous Assassin breaks from McCoy's clutches before acquainting his knee cap with the revered hick's solar plexus. His knee burrows into the pit of his rival's stomach, effectively doubling him over. Having created a window of opportunity for himself, the Lord of the Flies literally swings the momentum back into his favor, and with emphatic fashion. Upon bending and cocking his near arm back, the Californian swings his limb through the electric ambiance; his forearm clashes into the hick's lower jaw, sending him to the floor in a dazed, sweaty heap courtesy of the chin rattling European Uppercut. "FIVE!" "SIX" Now in complete control, the odious champion's first inclination is to provoke the crowd via his usual arrogant smirk. The once agony ridden mug of Dom Santiago now morphs into a pretentious expression, nauseating the patrons and garnishing heat from them. As his head balloons from all the negative attention, the King of Deathmatches slithers into the squared circle. At this point he could've waited to see if his foe had the fortitude to overcome his distress and answer the referee's count. Instead the champion quickly slides back out of the ring, deeming it much more fulfilling to defeat his nemesis inside the confines of the ring, much to the chagrin of the official who begins rebuking the double champ. Santiago shrugs his shoulders indifferently as the count is restarted, slowly ambling toward his adversary, whom is now situated on all fours. "ONE!" "TWO!" With a handful of his antagonist's messy brown hair, the Assassin lifts the farmer turned Fighty fighty person back on his two feet. From there he transitions his grasp to the granger's arm, looking to launch him into the ring apron. "THREE!" However Freebird precludes the Irish Whip attempt, firmly planting his feet into the padded floor and using every bit of his frame to halt his momentum. With Dominik slightly befuddled, McCoy turns it on him, grabbing Santiago by both his upper and lower arm and reeling him in like a fished hooked on a line. Taking evasive measures to prevent a vicious collision with the security wall and subsequent discombobulation, the former tag team champion lifts his leg up, planting his foot onto the barrier and suppressing the impetus. "FOUR!" In one fluid motion he plants his foot back onto the floor and swiftly pivots before swinging his arm wildly toward his foe's cranium. Deceptively nimble and quick of foot, the challenger circumvents the Clothesline, ending up behind the now off-balanced, disoriented Californian. In a prime offensive position as a result of his athletic display, Freebird strikes, quickly tucking his own head in his foe's armpit before encircling his arms around the champ's torso. Upon the clasping of his fingertips, the Oklahoman pops his hips and hoists the abominable Assassin into the air. He drives his momentum backward, causing both men to land supinely on the floor, with Santiago's neck and upper-back absorbing the impact from the debilitating maneuver.

"Good God Colin he just Misawa'd the champion! He may be paralyzed!"
"Yet he'd still find a way to get under everyone's skin."
"Trader Joe could have just ended Dom's career because of that dangerous Back Suplex and you're making jokes!"
"Paralysis isn't that bad. In fact, Christopher Reeve wen't on to make many Superman cameos!"

Amidst the roaring crowd, Freebird rolls onto his knees before willing himself to his feet. He quickly lifts the Assassin's inanimate carcass off the floor and hauls him toward ringside before tossing him inside the squared hell. He then rolls in himself before immediately going for a cover.

"1!"

"2!"

Displaying the resiliency champion's are made of, Santiago musters enough strength to roll his shoulder over. Freebird slightly sighs in disbelief, meanwhile his opponent crawls toward the ropes. Dominik's search for distance and solace proves fruitless as the humble agriculturalist silhouttes across his very own figure. McCoy allows Santiago to climb to his feet, only to unleash his mammoth arm across the Californian's impaired spinal region. The yelps of pain issued from the champion ferment the audience, as they look on intently, continuing to watch the challenger exhibit his dominance. The Tulsa native's exertion of will is suddenly stifled by a desperation elbow shot, as Dominik blasts his adversary in the bottom lip, creating some much needed breathing room. After taking a moment to recuperate, Santiago spins off the ropes and retaliates with a ruthless right hand that connects with the rancher's cheeckbone. Spit flies from Freebirds's gaping mouth, yet in spite of the damage he appears impervious. The Lord of the Flies doesn't even have time to slip into a state of bewilderment and fear, as his bare chest is quickly lit on fire by a flesh wrenching chop that sends him retreating into the corner.

Freebird takes a moment to size up his wounded prey before stampeding into the corner. Proving the best offense is a good defense, Dominik swings his feet into the air, tattooing the bottom of his boots into the Oklahoman's mug, whilst sending him stumbling back like a drunk. Having stunned the grizzled farmer, Dominik jolts forward and extends his leg. Showing enough wherewithal, McCoy captures the aforementioned protruding limb with cupped hands, but before he can counter, the champion leaps into the air and swings his free leg. The Blue Collar Brawler's brainpan and the Assassin's boot are familiarized with one another, meanwhile the sound of the collision itself reverberates throughout the arena. The Enzigiuri renders the hick down on one knee, his eyes weary and weakened and head dangling slightly to the side. With his foe punch-drunk, the Triple Crown champion springs back to a vertical base before dashing toward the ropes. He leans into the cables, using their elasticity to build momentum. As the ropes throw him forward, the weapons specialist steps onto Freebird's raised knee, before bending his free leg and vigorously swinging it across his body. The challenger is liberated from his state of mental numbness and inebriation, as the ravaging knee strike knocks him into an apparent state of comatose, as he is left spread-eagled on the canvas.

"I think half that hick's homeschooling was just spilled in the ring! What a Shining Wizard!"
"I got a headache just looking at that!"

With his foe lying quiescent and sprawled, the champion rolls under the bottom rope, and slowly pulls himself up on the apron. Now on the outside looking in, the infamous Assassin begins pumping his fist into the air in a fashion strikingly similar to his counterpart, invoking a chorus of boos for the unequivocally detestable gesture. Having kicked his opponent while he was down, the Californian jumps onto the top ring cable. Upon balancing himself, the Hollywood native leaps forward, flourishing his uncanny athleticism, as he proceeds to rotate in a 450 degree fashion. As the Firebird Splash seems moments away from connecting and the completion of its flawless execution, the intended target moves. With a impressive display of body control, the champion lands upright and on his feet, albeit stumbling and off-balance. The momentary disruption in his opponent's equilibrium is enough for McCoy to take advantage. Scrambling with haste, he moves behind the staggering champion and in for the kill. The Blue Collar Brawler lifts Santiago up onto his shoulders in an Argentine Backbreaker Rack. With the Assassin's head still entrapped by his arm, Freebird flips Dominik off his shoulders and in front of him, all the while dropping down to the canvas. Expertly applying a front-facelock, he maliciously spikes the dual champion face first into the mat with an astounding force which resonates throughout the spectrum. The Bostonians react with a pandemonium of cheers in light of the recent development. Meanwhile both men remain inert, with the deliverer of the innovative DDT staring up at the ceiling lights, and the receiver of the aforesaid maneuver buried prone in the white linens of the squared circle.

"McCOY DRIVER! This is it Al!"
"The champion went to the well and came up empty, and he paid for it with a televised plastic surgery!
"We may be three seconds away from a parade filled with squared dancing, cheap liquor and hay rides!
"The thought of that just makes me want to hang myself..."

TBCB Freebird

[Mr. McCoy]

The crowd is enraptured following the momentum shifting, brain shattering DDT. Finally able to get the gears grinding in his massive body, the challenger rolls onto his belly before sliding his huge frame across the mat toward the fallen champion. With urgency, Freebird turns Santiago over, quickly executing a lateral press and hooking his nearest leg. Still in a frenzy, the audience looks on intently as the referee slides to the mat to begin his count.

"ONE"
"TWO"
"-THR"

Much to the chagrin of the entire arena, the champion is able to roll his shoulder over in time to break up the count. Freebird rises to his knees, an expression of disbelief and confusion plastered on across his bearded face. The Blue Collar Brawler grabs a handful of Dominik's hair, slowly dragging him to a vertical base as he himself reaches his twos. Lowering his shoulder, the woolly mammoth injects his shoulder blade into the Assassin's stomach before driving him back first into the turnbuckle padding. McCoy takes a step back, much like a bull preparing itself to charge in on a matador. With reckless abandon, eyes narrowed and steam blowing out of his nostrils, two heavyweight charges in as if he were fired out of a cannon. With the window closing fast, Dominik thinks quick, and evasively rolls out of the corner. With no human cushion awaiting him, McCoy hits the padding sternum first. As he staggers back from the air stripping impact, the shrewd champion looks to immediately take advantage, slipping behind his adversary and pulling him onto the mat shoulder first. Afterward he stacks himself on top, executing the School Boy pin and desperate attempt to steal the victory.

"ONE"
"TWO"
"THR-"

Coming a split second short of crushing Freebird's dreams, the champion is thrown back as the Blue Collar Brawler kicks out of the pinfall maneuver. The momentum sends Santiago rolling under the bottom rope. As Dominik attempts to climb to his feet on the apron, the Tulsa born farmer springs to his before dashing toward the ropes. His impulsiveness is his undoing, as the King of Deathmatches pulls down the ropes, lowering the bridge and sending the grizzly of a man tumbling over and crashing down to the padded floor below. The Undisputed Champion rests his head in the ring cables, having bought himself time to recuperate and contemplate his next plan of attack. Meanwhile, the fan-favorite, thought slightly stupefied, begins to stir. The recent development with his challenger prompts the Californian into action. Dominik climbs to his feet, and takes a look back to measure the distance as his next move become quite clear to the crowd. Like a true showman, the Assassin leaps onto the ropes before diving backward, executing a phenomenal backflip in mid air. As he soars through the electrified atmosphere, Freebird doesn't time to brace himself for the impending impact. Like an anvil cutting through the ocean, Dominik plummets down on his foe's head, sending him to the floor.

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"The Lord of the Flies is taking over. He's turning this into a quick paced, gymnastics display. What a Moonsault! "

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Freebird is indeed reeling right now. He has to get his feet back under him before the champion closes the window on this contest!"

"ONE"
TWO"

As the ref's ten count begins, the champion slowly climbs back to his feet. In complete control of the bout at this juncture, he gradually lifts Freebird to his feet. Adding to the challenger's already wobbly kneed state, Dominik greets him with a stiffened right hand. McCoy devours the knuckle sandwich upon staggering into the ring apron. As if his bran hadn't already absorbed enough punishment, the callous Assassin grapples the hicks head before bouncing it off the side of the apron. With evil intentions, the champion grasps Freebird's arm, looking to launch into the steel stairs and otherwise, answer the age old question of who wins when flesh meets steel. He doesn't have a chance to however, as McCoy spins around before pulling Dominik forward. In a quick, sudden turn of events, McCoy crouches down slightly, allowing himself to lift the incoming Middleweight across his broad shoulders. Dominik desperately tries to escape the Fireman's Carry, but efforts are futile. The realization and true nature of fear sets in on the vindictive Assassin is turned toward the security wall.

"THREE"
"FOUR"

Intending to use the champion like a human battering ram, Freebird sidesteps before falling forward. Both the back of the head and neck of the Lord of Flies is vigorously driven into the security wall, sending fans jumping back with both fright and shock. As the "Holy Shit" chants begin to mount, many members of the audience remain silent, as the two fierce competitors lie motionless; the challenger physically spent as a result of his adrenaline rush, and the champion folded upside down against the aforementioned barrier.

.The Fuzz.]-:
"God God Almighty! He didn't drive him through the wall, but surely sent him to Death Valley Al!"

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"I can't fathom how a human being could possibly come back from something like that. "

.The Fuzz.]-:
"I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Thank you Colin! That means a lot."

"FIVE"
"SIX"

As the ref's continues, Freebird gradually climbs to his feet, his cringing face displaying the wear and tear on his body from what was turning into a physical struggle. Transporting dead-weight, the champion lifts Dominik to a state of full verticality before dragging him across the floor and slowly rolling him back inside the the ring. McCoy buries his face along the side of the ring apron, clearly exhausted from the strenuous energy he had exerted and the pain which he had endured already. The crowd looks on, wondering if the Blue Collar Brawler has the fortitude and conditioning to keep going and ultimately dethrone the champion. They would continue to speculate, meanwhile the challenger re-enters the squared circle after taking a deep, elongated breath. The tentative delay had given Santiago ample time to convalesce, ruining the Oklahoman's chance of capitalizing off of his devastating maneuver. In spite of that, the champion was still visibly weakened, with all his motions ginger and lethargic. Skulking behind the groggy champion, Freebird cuts his thumb across his throat, signaling to the crowd that the time was now to put the nail in the coffin. As the battered Assassin regain a vertical base and spins around Freebird lifts his leg into the air; his protruding limb connects with Santiago's breadbasket, doubling him over, putting him prime position for the challenger's patent finisher. Quickly jumping on top of the situation, McCoy executes a standing headscissors, before underhooking the King of Deathmatches arms. The patrons ignite with a bedlam of cheers in anticipation for what they think is moments from transpiring. However the dual champion would have the final say in the matter, displaying his technical prowess, quickly freeing his arms and rolling free. Having escaped captivity, Dominik returns the favor, burying his boot into his adversary's midsection, forcing him to lean forward. With haste, he applies a front facelock, before spinning inward, rolling Freebird off his feet and causing the both of them to land supinely with a thud.

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Everytime you count Dominik out, it blows up in your face Colin. His Spinning Neckbreaker has once again put him in the driver's seat."

.The Fuzz.]-:
"This match has gone back and fourth Al. I haven't counted either of these men out. This is truly anyone's ball game."

.Al Mulligan.]-:
"Unlike Freebird, when the champion is down in the count, he doesn't concede to the pressure. He hits Homeruns, and we're a few minutes away from his stroll around the bases.

.The Fuzz.]-:
"Everyone strikes out at some point Al. McCoy still has a chance to send him back to the dugout!"

TBCB Dom

[Dominik Santiago]

The Assassin slowly climbs back to his feet, sweat cascading from his brow, his eyes weak and tired, all ramifications for enduring the physical battle up to this point. Amidst taking a deep breath, the champion peeks at the top turnbuckle, and then his gaze shifts to the slumbering pugilist on the canvas. By then the proverbial lightbulb had illuminated, and the vindictive Californian's idea was set to come to fruition. With a slow, methodical plod, the Assassin moves to the corner, and with his back turned to the world, he gradually ascends the turnbuckle. His once motionless foe suddenly stirs to life, willing himself to his feet in spite of the mental and physical distress. Freebird scrambles toward the corner, looking to intercept his adversary and stifle his plans. In hot pursuit, McCoy climbs up the corner, quickly laying into Dominik's lower back with a stiff forearm shot. He continues to wreak havoc across the champion's spine with the crushing blows, forcing Santiago to retaliate with a back elbow, stabbing the Blue Collar Brawler in the facial region. The Oklahoman only winces slightly, before taking the Assassin's head and colliding it with his own. The meeting of minds is enough to disorient the King of Deathmatches, whilst allow Freebird to take advantage. McCoy strategically takes his hands and pass them underneath Dominik's arms, before clasping them together behind his head. The suspense builds tentatively, with the anticipation embodied by the crowd now on its feet. Shifting his momentum backward, the Tulsa native pulls Santiago off his perch. As the two illustrious superstars plummet through the ambiance, the humble heavyweight releases his adversary mid-arch. Both competitors crash down with a resounding thud, with the dual champion lying folded like an accordion, as his cranium assimilates the devastating impact. McCoy convulses into a fetal position, as the debilitating suplex had taken its tole on him as well. From his knees, he desperately crawls across the ring, with the prospect of victory suppressing his aches and pains, if only momentarily. With hope and promise beaming from his pupils, the challenger leans over his opponent, prompting the referee to drop to the canvas for the pin attempt.

"1!"

"2!"

Dominik writhes his shoulder from the ring surface, escaping from the jaws of defeat once more. As the moans of the restless, disbelieving crowd fill the arena, McCoy leans up, the glowing expression of hope, and the life long realization of a dream having been removed and replaced with despair, meanwhile the factor of self-doubt begins to creep into the back of his mind.

"The champion just withstood a Full Nelson Suplex off the top rope. He just refuses to stay down!"
"And you've got to wonder where Freebird's composure is. He's thrown everything but the kitchen sink at Dominik and still can't beat him."

Freebird continues to stare into space in disbelief, meanwhile the battered champion rolls onto his knees and begins climbing to his feet. McCoy follows suit, slowly reaching his feet before lacing the champion's cheak bone with a withering shot. Dominik back pedals slightly as his face absorbs the impact, looking as if a strong gust of wind could knock him off his feet. However, the Assassin remains on his feet, mustering enough fortitude to exact retribution, quickly extending his foot and plunging it into the Oklahoman's solar plexus. McCoy's midsection crumbles, forcing him to double over, allowing the champion to further inflict trauma upon him. This time he connects with a malicious European Uppercut; the precise forearm shot to the forehead leaves Freebird glazed, his knees buckled and head dangling precariously from side to side. Dominik presses his hand against the back of McCoy's cranium, grasping a handful of hair which he uses to launch the Blue Collar Brawler over the top rope. Once again displaying his acumen and wherewithal, Freebird extends his hand out, almost reflexively, grabbing the ring ropes and catching himself on the apron. As his aggressor approaches, McCoy drives his shoulderblade in between the middle and top rope. As if expectantly, Santiago sidesteps, avoiding the maneuver, before grabbing his foe's nearest arm. Upon extending it, Dominik swings his leg upward, blasting his nemesis in the sternum. The air expels from Freebird's lungs as the champion relinquishes his arm. Narrowing his eyes, the Assassin grapples the lovable hick around the head before swinging his knee and blasting him in the temple. McCoy's head jerks violently to the side, the enervating strike to his brainpan leaving him hanging over the ropes. Smelling blood in the water, Dominik swings his far leg across his body in a semi-circular motion, further brutalizing the farme's cerebral system with a thunderous kick to the side of his head. Having left his foe suspended across the ropes in a state of disorientation, the champion grapples him by the head and twists his body so that the Oklahoman is lying on the ropes back first. Afterward he shifts his own position, now standing back to back with foe. Dominik suddenly drops to his knees, violently whiplashing the challenger across the ropes, and impacting his head across his shoulder. McCoy collapses from the ropes to the canvas, hands clutching the effected area, his back searing in pain as his body jerks and convulses due to the surge of pain throughout his nervous system.

"Broke Back Mountain! The end is near Colin!"
"It might be anti-climatic after that vicious Hangman's Neckbreaker. He hung him across the ropes, folding him like a cracker that only Harold "The Preztel" Man would endorse."

The Lord of the Flies slides over for the pin, looking to further cement his legacy in the echelon of singles competition. Despondent, most members of the crowd lower their heads in anticipation for a forthcoming three count.

"1!"

Santiago presses down, using his entire frame to subdue his challenger and prevent him from escaping. The official's hand swiftly glides through the air and slaps the mat with no interruption.

"2!"

For a second consecutive time palm meets mat, the predicament remaining the same, with the champion draped across McCoy's broken body. Dominik closes his eyes with expectancy, waiting to hear the harmonious sound of the ring bell gonging thrice, a bittersweat symphony and reward for his triumphant feat. Instead he hears the once dejected audience break into riotous celebration. The champion's pupils unclench, as he turns to see the referee's hand hovering mere inches away from the canvas. Stricken with perplexity, the Assassin turns over, only to see the horror of Freebird McCoy's lower leg stretched across the bottom rope. Dominik knees up in protest, ushering expletives, meanwhile his cold-blue eyes burn a hole through the official who continues to point at the obvious. Seething, the champion begins to churn and boil, with his head spinning as he surveys the arena. The crowd is cheering in support of his antagonist, further exasperating him. Livid, an no longer thinking logically or with a clear-mind, Santiago rolls out of the ring. The Californian lowers himself to his knees before lifting up the ring cover, rummaging under the squared hell in search of a particular weapon from the menagerie of foreign objects. He retracts a steel chair out of the darkness, the depths of the unknown. He first uses it as a crutch to stand, hissing through his gritted teeth and tightened jaw, as every movement is one in agony. Now in a slouch, he brandishes the chair before the Bostonians, giving them a precursor of things to come. With twisted ideas circulating through his mind, Dominik re-enters the ring, slowly taking to his feet. The official commences his administrative banter, and rebuking, scolding him to put down his steel equalizer. The cries of the referee fall on deaf ears, as the champion had mentally slipped into a different dimension. Having no choice, the zebra-clad attempts to take the weapon away from the King of Deathmatches, only to be shoved back on his arse for his efforts. The Lord of the Flies gestures and taunts his foe to rise; McCoy obliges, as his bearings are regained and his inanimate carcass becomes lively. Stumbling to his feet, Freebird shakes his head from side to side to clear the fog from his mind, before rotating around, thus spurring the callous, psychotic champion into action. Looking to behead instead of beat his adversary, Santiago swings the steel chair through the atmosphere. The Blue Collar Brawler manages to duck, evading the attack, causing the object to slip from Dominik's grasp as a result of him whiffing. Furthermore, the missed shot had thrown him off balance, and the time it takes for him to get his footing back is enough for Freebird to go on the offensive. The challenger lifts his foot, and with it, ravages through Santiago's midsection, forcing him to lean over. Upon pulling Dom's arm in between his legs and hooking the other, McCoy lifts the Undisputed Champion on his shoulders. Knowing what lies at the end of the spectrum following a Pumphandle Lift, the former Tag Team Champ begins to squirm, managing to slide down his foe's back.

The Californian coils himself like a viper ready to strike. The spinning around of the Blue Collar Brawler impels him to pounce. Lunging at the head and simultaneously turning his back, he attempts his kindred lightning strike of a finishing maneuver. Having scouted it, the middle aged Heavyweight throws Dominik forward, sending him straight for the corner. The champion suddenly leaps onto the middle turnbuckle, looking to turn his countered move into another offensive attack. After a brief moment, the acrobatic middle weight leaps out of the corner, turning his body mid-flight to face his opponent. Having miscalculated the distance, the thrice World Champion plummets down into McCoy's boot. With Dom doubling over in pain, the Oklahoman reaches around his waist before lifting him up and hoisting him over his shoulder. From there, the southern farmboy pulls the Assassin's head over his shoulder, and bends forward, holding him back to back in an almost strangling sort of fashion. After a brief moment, he flips him forward, and transitions to a complete vertical position, causing Santiago to straddle his shoulders. All in one fluid motion, he drops to a seated position, before thrusting him into the canvas with a hate induced vengeance. The mere execution of the innovative slam depleted the challenger's strength and energy, causing him to transition from being seated, to sprawling, as he outstreches across the ring. Both combatants lie in a motionless collection of sweat and broken spirits, while the ruckus crowd reacts with chants of "This is Awesome" in unanimous appreciation of the incredible contest.

"FREEBIRD'S WRATH! FREEBIRD'S WRATH! He just broke him in half with that Powerbomb!"
"It took everything he had in him to hit it too, and because of it he can't capitalize."
"They're both out cold, if the situation doesn't change, the referee could be forced to call this a draw!"
"And that embarrassing tub of lard wouldn't be able to get his hands on the GHW Champion. That's all the matters Colin."