Mystery Opponent vs Mystery Opponent

[Brad Windsor]

An Epic is the tale of a legendary hero. A hero is the champion of the people’s hearts and minds. But the hero doesn’t always win the battles. There comes a day when the hero becomes nobody. There comes a day when the notion of a hero is laughed upon. There comes a day when a hero may not exist… ever… again, for there comes a day when a vanquisher of the hero arrives to conquer and destroy the hero’s legend.

Fuzz: Welcome back to Etihad Stadium. Ladies and gentlemen we’re on air, live from Manchester in England. GHW’s tour of Britain began here and what a night it has been so far. I must admit, the crowd here is fantastic! A brilliant, rare atmosphere is set up for a night to be remembered. Indeed, this is the perfect stage on the heels of the most iconic, brutal Total Carnage pay-per-view in history.
Al: What a treat it was Colin. We experienced a big return, we crowned a new champion, and we had possibly the greatest Hell in a Cell ever, most definitely a match of the year candidate in my book. All of that to officially kick off the road to the most anticipated Nexus, as of yet.
Fuzz: Let me make a prediction. Desperado is going to make it to the final stage of the Nexus Death-match.
Al: No way! You’re kidding me, right?
Fuzz: Just wait and see.

A senior GHW official steps into the squared-circle, bringing with him the ever present Charlie Coors, who is universally loved for what he does. That is making announcements. The smart young man, wearing a well cut, black tuxedo suite takes his place in the centre of the ring. In his left hand he is holding a stack of cards and in the other, a microphone. He brings his right hand up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the mystery match!”

Al: A mystery match? What in the blue hell is that?

“As a direct request made by the General Manager of Triumph, Mr Jamie Graves, the following mystery contest is scheduled for a one fall. The only way to win is by pin fall or submission.”

Fuzz: Well if you let the man finish we will know. There, see? A normal singles match. I’m down for that.
Al: So there are two mystery opponents. A total wildcard form our esteemed GM. This is fantastic! Is it Hayden Hardkore? Its Hayden Hardkore isn’t it? I knew it! The rumours were true! He said he would be back for Nexus. Hayden is back! Yes!
Fuzz: It could be Skull. There are rumours that he is to return. Oh dear, it could be both at the same time! Brilliant!
Al: Ace job! Once again, Mr Graves, “damn you for booking such a solid card”!

The murmuring within the Etihad stadium, resulted from this unprecedented announcement begins to subside. The crowd stand up off of their seats to stretch out their necks, trying to get a better glimpse of the stage. A few ‘Skull is back’ signs are raised, and a series of sporadic chanting breaks out. At one corner a collective group of people crank up the start of a particular chant that quickly catches on. Shouts regarding Hayden spread throughout the arena like wildfire. The excitement from anticipation reaches its pinnacle, when the populous gymnasium is thrown into complete darkness. The lights all go out unanimously. The engulfing blackness gobbles up the entire scenery.



A quick symphonic build up, the rolling of the drums, and then the electric guitar kicking in, raises the level of the muttering noise. The big screen and a lone spotlight shining directly onto a spot atop the stage, both push everyone irreversibly over the limit. All because the big screen and the man basking in the circle of the brilliant whiteness, both indicate to one thing.

YOU TAKE A MORTAL MAN,
AND PUT HIM IN CONTROL,
WATCH HIM BECOME A GOD,
WATCH PEOPLE’S HEADS A ROLL

Al: HOLY-

The rest of the comment along with the few in immediate pursuit, get drowned out inside a magnanimous explosion of cheers. The roof of the Etihad stadium very nearly comes off, literally. The fans are bamboozled, flabbergasted and then they are thrown headlong into total bliss.

Fuzz: OH MY GAWD! OH MY GAWD! OH MY GAWD!
Al: I cannot believe my own two eyes! The fantasy has become reality! At last, on home soil, the Beauchamp has graced us all! Indeed, today will go down in the history books as the day the phrase ‘OH MY GAWD’ was truly invented!

The tall, muscular figure seems to be casting a sort of afterglow standing there with such imperial composure and bearing. The pure whiteness of his gear, his shorts, boots and pads are trimmed with a thick golden colour, maybe a mellow statement of the man’s standards. There is an aura of concentrated arrogance in his features. From the snobbish sneer plastered across his face, to his impeccable straight back, he is aristocracy in flesh.

Fuzz: I am speechless.
Al: Maybe if you would just keep quiet for a minute and let us admire a superior human being.
Fuzz: Sup-
Al: A man cannot possibly be more perfect than what you are seeing here. He is rich, intelligent, dashing, and in a class of his own when it comes down to talent. What more could you ask for?

The lights come back on. The focal point of everyone’s attention extends form the stage to two rows of women in the UK’s official military uniform, running the expanse of the way from atop the stage to the squared-circle itself. While there is the conjoint gasping, the Beauchamp takes his very first of many strides to come, going through the path laid out before him towards the ring.

Al: Oooh, baby.

The standing ovation from the Manchester crowd is one truly befitting of a legend. Soaking in all of it, Brad crosses the distance and reaches the set of steel steps. Before long and for the first time ever, the Beauchamp sets foot inside a GHW ring. Casually he waits for Coors to go and fetch him a microphone of his own. When he does finally receive the Mic, he turns toward the audience. The fans shut up immediately, perking up for the comments that they know are going to be made. They lean forward listening for the measured tone and the smooth voice. They expect each of his words to be expressed to the utmost perfection.

The Beauchamp lets the microphone slip out of his hand.

Fuzz: What? He refuses to speak? That is a backhand straight into the mouths of everyone here who cheered this man’s debut. He-
Al: That is because everyone shouldn’t be expecting anything. They’re all getting more than they deserve. Are you kidding me? The Beauchamp has honoured us with his presence! This is the mark out moment of the entire GHW’s history. The greatest debut ever! How dare them to expect more!

Now standing in a corner, belittled by the physical presence of such a glorious athlete, Charlie speaks up again.

“Introducing first, hailing from Kent, England. He stands at six-foot-three-inches tall and weighs two-hundred-and-forty-pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my utmost honour to present you with a two time free style amateur wrestling world champion…the Beauchamp! BRAD WINDSOR!”

Al: The fact that they’re calling this man’s opponent a mystery opponent is ridiculous. There is no wrestler in this company, past or present that can ever go one-on-one with the Beauchamp. This man is carved out of greatness itself. Quite frankly even if Hayden Hardkore is indeed back there preparing to come out, he isn’t going to break the spell of this merry occasion. There is nothing bigger than the Beauchamp. Do you know of the expression larger than life itself? It applies right here.

TBCB Mystery Opponent

[Vladimir T. Strife]

A woman's voice starts to chime in through the speakers, quite familiar to some from a recent promotional video.

“They all say a man can be defeated. A man can be beaten. With enough force… they all agree that a man, as powerful as he might be, can be overcome like any other sort of obstacle. They are all unanimously together on this… one… simple… fact."

A smirk stretches across the lips of the Beauchamp in recognition of the words of praise for him. He looks around the arena, taking in a deep breath as the woman continues to say the things about him that he's long known to be true.

“But I have faced him. He is no mere man. He is no mere man at all. He is like… he is like an entity… an unstoppable source of energy. Nothing can resist him. Nothing can outwit his intelligence. He knows. He knows the counters to the many counters of all the counters that counter any of the counters known to man. I have seen it and I fear.”

“Be warned. Be warned for he is coming. Be warned for he is no mere man."

In lieu of the clip where she was abruptly cut off in the midst of identifying the source of her terror, the high pitched and faint notes of a guitar begin sounding through the P.A., growing louder and louder. The cocky Brit gazes towards the stage, ever curious as to who the GHW management had scrounged up to square off against him. The tune was unfamiliar to him, as it was to the audience, many of which wave their signs proclaiming "#AGoreyDemise" and "Hayden's gonna kill you!" with high hopes in their hearts.



As the volume peaks and the drums and bass kick in, fog pours over the stage, glowing red from the well placed lighting as they envelope the hidden trap door and lift in the center of the stage. The form of a man begins to rise from it, the thick brunette locks of hair atop his head peak through the mist soon thereafter. It is not, however, until the furrow brows and piercing hazel eyes become revealed that they break out in pandemonium. The song punctuates the revelation, bellowing out a most fitting of lines for the moment.

"JUDAS IS RISING!!"

The famed Judas of GHW steps forward off of the platform onto the stage as it finishes it's ascent, his arrival still being celebrated from ringside to rafters. Inside the ring, Brad begins stretching, preparing himself for the fight of his life as what was supposed to be a simple debut for him had just transformed into a career defining moment. He had come looking for a fight, but a war laid before him now in this moment.

Fuzz: So... there's nothing bigger than Beauchamp, huh?
Al: Well, I didn't think they'd drop a damn A-Bomb on us!

As the Hall Of Famer makes his way towards the GHW ring for the first time in over half of a year, his eyes lock onto his opponent, the untamed rage behind them burning like a wildfire. He had never so much as shaken the Beauchamp's hand before, but the determination in his mind to make his return to the squared circle both successful and dominating drove him to already ponder the multitude of ways he could punish and brutalize him. He slips his long black trench over his shoulders and lets it slide down his arms before falling into a pile behind him. Standing there, eyes still locked with Brad's, the stunned Charlie Coors finally gather himself enough to officially introduce the man that needed no introductions.

"And his opponent... hailing from Sighisoara, Romania... he stands at six feet tall and weighs two hundred and thirty four pounds. He is the GHW Hall of Famer... the Legendary Behemoth.. VLADIMIR T. STRIFE!"

Al: I think I am forever indebted to Mr. Graves for this moment, Colin..
Fuzz: You might just be. I honestly don't see how this moment could get any more epic than it is right now. Brad Windsor just made his eagerly anticipated debut and his opponent is none other than the Hardcore King. If this is a dream, do not wake me up!

As Vladimir climbs the ringside steps and crosses through the ropes at last, his music fades to silence, the only noise left in the arena being the satisfied cheers of the thousands that surround Brad and him. Lost in the glory of this moment, the men nearly fail to notice the ring of the bell as their battle officially begins.

TBCB Brad

(Sorry if it's a little lack-luster. I still have a bit of ringrust to work off)

[Brad Windsor]

The on-going pandemonium grows to become a grand spectacle, a true once-in-a-millennium moment. The Beauchamp, confident of his own ability, knowing that he carries an undefeated professional streak, glares back at the Romanian Behemoth standing across from him. The legendary Strife has his brows drawn in together, eyeing his famous opponent with a look that only a man who has won as many battles as he has can summon. The immense intensity in the atmosphere has it almost look as if the air is crackling around these two iconic figures. The fans are on their feet, cheering like they’ve never cheered anything so much before. They know that this is indeed a clash of the Titans.

To their horror, Brad brings a finger up and starts to shake it. The message for Vladimir is further simplified, when the former two time world champion in freestyle amateur wrestling, backtracks a few steps to the ropes, only to slip through them and jump off the apron. People, who up to that instant were still cheering the man, even though he had failed to deliver through the microphone, now start to spit their hatred. They are aghast. Their country’s hero is letting them down big time. Worse yet, it is all happening on home ground. Watching this act of cowardice, Vladimir straightens up, visibly more relaxed. A dark, self-satisfied smile works its way onto his lips.

Al: Oh, why? Why? I was so engrossed, waiting to see an absolute epic.
Fuzz: Just before I was thinking how this wasn’t on a PPV, when it could easily main event Full Circle ahead of the World Title, instead being fought on Triumph. It was never to happen, that is why.
Al: Dreams rarely come true.

Having circled the ring back towards the ramp, Beauchamp turns to once again look up at the man who once held an undefeated streak, much like himself. The sneer he gives Strife as he backs out towards the curtains is one absolutely befitting of the Devil’s own. Not missing a beat, Brad Windsor leaves everyone disappointed and disappears behind the veil. People continue to jeer, while the lone figure of the Cesar of Scars strikes a very familiar image in the minds of all viewers. Him standing tall in a cleared out wrestling ring.

TBCB the mysterious mystery opponent

[Nikki]

“Oh Vladimir, you notoriously naughty little lad, I’ve missed you!”

The all too familiar voice of Kahlan rings true around the gymnasium. Moments later, the Ladder Queen appears onto the stage, on her way strolling down the ramp with a limp. Her head is bandaged, obviously a reminder of her Hell in a Cell experiment less than five days ago.

“Did you miss me too? Of course you did! After all, I’m your little slayer aren’t I? I mean before there was the King Bear and before my protégé Desperado ever got to you; do you remember the first main even of that tiny Lion’s Den Wrestling Association promotion you and Devin Bozz were running? Yes the failed project. Do you remember the match, which records you have worked so hard to erase? Do you remember how you were all high and mighty and then in a third-rated show came along I, who ripped your pride wide open? How does it feel to know that your mighty streak was really ended by a woman? A truly remarkable woman, I give you that, but a woman all the same.”

Kahlan reaches the ring side and heads off towards the steps. She climbs them to slip into the ring with Vladimir, however keeping a safe distance away from the awfully silent legend.

“Allow me to do your job for you Charlie. Introducing myself, I hail from Newcastle, England and I weight a mere one-hundred-and-twenty-two-pounds. Yet I am Kahlan, the Strife Slayer, the woman who has ended this man’s streak and who is going to once again, humiliate his pathetic, over-rated return.”

The microphone is thrown out of the ring with a thump. Kahlan snaps her neck left, then right and on she rushes attacking Strife fists leading.

TBCB VLAD

[Vladimir T. Strife]

Lost in the confusion, the GodKing catches a hard right cross to the jaw and staggers away from it. The Ladder Queen is undeterred, however, following in with a flurry of shots that rattle the Legend's skull side to side until she has him backed into a corner. Strife raises his arms in front of him, shielding his head from the onslaught in an attempt to stall his assailant long enough for him to regain his bearings. Kahlan backs away from him, but just enough to swing her right leg up and drive her boot into the side of his ribs. The crowd lets out a collective "OOOOOOOOHH" at the slap of flesh and leather as the Romanian's arms drop back down to cover his midsection. He loses his standing, falling onto his bottom and lurching forward while the referee attempts to regain control over the bout and steps in between the combatants.

Fuzz: I was really excited to see Vlad face the Beauchamp, but I have to say that Kahlan is really giving him more of a fight than I believe most would expect. She may not be anywhere as big as the King, but she always has this explosive energy to her that makes her a legitimate threat to even the greatest of stars.
Al: No, no, and no. Let's call it like it is, Fuzz. Kahlan just got the jump on one of the greatest men to ever grace a ring and managed to put him down for a second. The element of surprise may be on her side right now, but the SECOND she messes up or Vlad gets himself sorted out, he's going to dominate like he paid for her.
Fuzz: Well, if he underestimates Kahlan anywhere near as badly as you do, then the GodKing is going to be in for one hell of a surprise.
Al: Says you. I say that unless Jesus Christ himself is a Kahlan fan, she's going to be sitting in a support group next week across from Amanda Hallsworth, if you know what I mean!

Kahlan, recalling that she can't be disqualified, ushers the official aside and pushes her opponent back into the corner. She moves in and grabs the ropes, using them for leverage as she takes advantage of the opening she's created by pressing the sole of her boot down onto the Barbarian Lord's esophagus. Strife gags and gasps for air, clawing at her foot as he tries to remove it from his windpipe to no avail. Cockily, the Newcastle native rests her arms across the top rope, smiling out to the audience and waving merrily. The Impaler brings his arm under her foot and bats it away to the side, wrapping his arm over it and locking her ankle between his side and bicep, snapping her out of her moment of glory. He pulls his knee in towards him, before thrusting out with all of his force and slamming his heel into the space between her thighs, a yelp escaping the self-proclaimed Strife Slayer as his heel slams into her bikini area. Her standing leg buckles in the moment and she collapses to the mat with a thud.

With the Fire Cracker's leg still in his grasp, Vladimir rolls himself over, twisting it and forcing her to follow suit. He comes up with one knee on each side of hers before seating himself upon her bottom, pulling back and maneuvering successfully into a half Boston Crab. Little K desperately lunges her hands out, taking hold of the ropes in a move she's accustomed to meaning relief from submission attempts. She's out of such luck tonight as the referee simply shrugs his shoulders and maintains his silence. To her good fortune though, the Bambi Killer shortly thereafter releases the hold, not hoping or believing that the contest will end so shortly.

Al: The words 'I told you so' come to mind.
Fuzz: Come on. Vlad certainly just got the better of her, but Kahlan is by no means out of this yet. It's going to take more than a cheap shot and a basic submission move to beat the Ladder Queen.
Al: I already told you; once that element of surprise wears off, Kahlan has NOTHING on the GodKing. He's bigger, stronger, tougher, and he's nearly undefeated. Everybody loves an underdog story, but when you're simply outmatched, there's nowhere to go but down in agonizing defeat.

The Hall Of Famer bends down and clasps onto the wrist of his welterweight rival, using it to pull her back up to her feet with cruel intentions in mind. Still mildly dazed, the Demonised Angel is helpless to prevent the mighty chop that drives the air from her lungs. She fires back, almost instinctively, slapping the edge of her palm against the Behemoth's pectorals. Vlad doesn't even flinch, however, having taken a great deal of them from men much stronger than she. He smirks as she rubs her chest, knowing that the strength advantage is blatantly in his favor. The Ladder Queen chooses to flaunt her wit instead, wiping the grin from the Titan's face abruptly as she punts him in the genitals in some measure of revenge for his similar attack. The original King of the Deathmatch falls to his knees, clutching himself as he yells out one swear after another. As his head nods forward, she wraps her arm around it, securing it just above her hip. Her fans begin to cheer loudly, recognizing her chance to get the GodKing into the most devastating hold in her arsenal.

Fuzz: Say what you will about Vladimir but if Kahlan locks in the Tea Bag Choke here, I think this one is done for.
Al: Utter nonsense. Vlad would sooner see himself choked to death than to tap out to someone like Kahlan. Could you imagine the fabled GodKing tapping out to a woman? It's simply unthinkable. He has way too much pride to allow that to happen and rightfully so.
Fuzz: How is it any better if she chokes him out? Either way, he'd have to finally acknowledge Kahlan as the Strife Slayer that she says she is.
Al: I'm not saying that it's any better one way or the other; I'm saying it won't happen. How often does a woman beat a man in this industry? Beyond that, a man like the legendary Vladimir Strife. It simply won't happen, Colin. This is a wrestling match, not a sandwich making contest.

Comprehending the danger that he's in, the Judas of GHW latches onto the front of Kahlan's thighs, keeping her from being able to move in and wrap them around his waist. He heaves up, lifting her off of the mat and into the air. The Special One is quick of mind though and shifts her lower body weight, pulling her legs aside and out of his grasp. She twists herself around him, keeping her back toward the mat as the two spiral down. She spikes the top of the Romanian's skull against the canvas with a makeshift Tornado DDT that shakes the ring before letting go and watching him flop over and come to rest with a blank gaze towards the rafters. She stretches an arm over and across his chest, signalling for the count as the referee gets himself into place and begins.

Fuzz: What a beautiful DDT! She may have finally done it!
Al: It was flashy, alright, but how effective? Vlad will find a way out of this, I'd damn near bet on it!

"1!"

"2!"

Big Al's statement proves true as the Hardcore King raises his shoulder off of the mat and denies Kahlan the victory she believes to be long overdue. She makes her way up to her feet, waiting eagerly for the scrambling Czar of Scars to do the same. Once he does, she charges towards him, expertly ducking below a belligerently swung clothesline before spinning around on her heel and tossing her weight against the ropes, gaining momentum from the rebound. The Titan tucks his arm back, jutting his elbow into her path, but she again hunkers down under it and passes by unharmed. As the Cutting Chick clears his obstacle, the Romanian reaches out and grabs her by the hair, yanking back and whipping her down to the mat. Her head slams against it forcefully, blurring her vision and leaving her vulnerable.

The ringing in the Ladder Queen's ears deafens her to the audience's responses as Strife darts towards the ropes himself and bounces back. He swiftly comes rushing back across the squared circle before launching himself towards her laid out body. In midair, the Legendary European turns himself, stretching his leg out and allowing gravity to do the rest as he drops down across the length of her body. His bottom lands in her lap, causing minimal injury. The source of the agonizing pain that follows is, instead, the heel of his boot crashing against her teeth. The Special One bucks him aside before rolling away and out of the ring, resting against the ring apron to recover as a small trickle of blood runs down from a split in her gums and into the palm of her hand.

Al: SON OF A BITCH LEGDROP!
Fuzz: Wait, can we say that on air?
Al: Well, if not, it's the production crews problem now. Either way, the King just delivered a royal case of domestic abuse to the Queen and I'm loving it!

TBCB Kahlan

[Nikki]

Kahlan gazes intently into the palm of her hand, seeing her own blood for the second time this evening. Her eyes dart up to make contact with those intense ones of Vladimir. Serenely she wipes her hand clean on the apron, leaving a pale crimson smudge in its wake. Her sneer leaves Vladimir frowning, and it only deepens when Kahlan’s other hand comes up its fingers curled tightly around the girth of a weapon that made Hell in a Cell so special. With the Kendo-stick leading the way, the Slayer slithers back into the ring. She comes up into a crouch and strikes forward. The end of the stick lands a stinging blow across the wide chest of the Romanian, but he stands fast in his spot, not even a light wince touching his rugged face. Instead, when the second attack approaches he raises his hand to grab at it. Abruptly the stick halts in Kahlan’s hands. Her surprise is answered with a dark, sarcastic sneer in return.

Not to be outdone so easily however, Kahlan bursts ahead rounding the Godking. Stopping behind her opponent, she brings the stick up in front of him and reaches over his shoulder to grab at the other end. She jumps jabbing her knees on either side of her adversary’s upper spine and pulls back firmly. With gravity becoming her ally against the legend, she falls down on her back to impale the Impaler. The force of collision snaps the stick in two halves as it pressed down hard over her opponent’s windpipe, leaving him choked. Kahlan discards either half aside and rises to her feet. So does her massive opponent. In spite of obviously hurting he is far from defeated. He takes a stride forward towards Kahlan, albeit too slow for the feisty one to allow. Kahlan Jumps him with a hug of all things. She winds her legs tightly around his waist and drapes an arm over the back of his neck, wrapping it soundly under an armpit.

Al: Oh my God the Original King of the Death-match is being tea bagged by Kahlan! I cannot believe the words I am saying. Kahlan is tea bagging Vladimir frigging STRIFE!
Fuzz: HAHA! He is going to tap out! Vlad has to tap out! There is no way that he can withstand the TBC! We have seen this time and time before, once she locks it in, Kahlan clutches on like a four-legged octopus! She does not relent!
Al: We may be on the brink of an historic moment. The once undefeated behemoth is close to yet another defeat, this one at the hands of a woman. Can you believe that?!
Fuzz: Of course I can! Regardless of her recent despicable actions, Kahlan is the heart and soul of this company. She is the leader of GHW resistance!

The leader of the resistance has her teeth gritted together, whimpering under the stress she is exerting over onto her opponent through the Tea Bag Choke hold. Her limbs coil around Strife even further than before, like an Anaconda snake she tries to choke and grind Vlad into submission. Her monumental effort finally brings the proud King down to his knees. Adamantly Kahlan persists ahead. She shuts her lids, taking away sight from her eye balls to focus every ounce of her remainder strength into crushing her hated antagonist. Her perseverance towards glory topples the King over. Kahlan’s back meets the canvas as she carries on holding Vlad’s limp body, distorting his neck. “Come on you piece of crap! Is this all you got? Do something! Tap out you stupid!” Kahlan’s creams add extra torment to the torture she is putting Vlad through. The serious nature of the threat to a third defeat for the man who holds the record undefeated streak has now reached the fans. They are all on their feet, hushed into a silent anticipation.

The referee becomes the focal point at this moment. The GHW’s official scrutinizes the state of the scenario and decides to act upon it. He lifts Vlad Strife’s flaccid limb up and lets it go watching as it falls. A second try produces the exact same result. When for the third time the raised arm is released, the arena is filled with a unanimous gasp. Alas not because the hand strikes the mat to proclaim a victory for the Ladder Queen, but rather the opposite. The hand stops inches away and hovers for a few seconds. Unexpectedly it travels up carrying the forearm to where it lands next, digging down into Kahlan’s exposed throat. Suddenly the table seems to turn. A counter begins to undo the lethal effects of the TBC hold. Reinvigorated, the Godking starts to push down and crunch Kahlan’s only airway to her lungs. She falters under the pressure and is helpless to prevent her will shattering. This moment of weakness provides her opponent with the opportune moment to escape the clutch.

Al: And Vlad is free! I knew it! If there was one person in the entire industry who could escape the Tea Bag Choke it is him! You don’t become an undefeated behemoth for the majority of your career for nothing. Time and again, Vlad has escaped near impossible predicaments.
Fuzz: This one has to be one of the most near ones though. It almost had me for a second. I along with everyone else here thought it was going to be it! Kahlan almost had him.
Al: And now pay-back is a bitch. Come on Vlad punch her good.
Fuzz: Vladimir is now absolutely pummelling Kahlan into oblivion. Keeping her down and Sat up on top of her like that he is just raining those hard rights.
Al: Ground-and-pound baby! Ground and pound!

Vladimir stands up having left a bloody mess under him. His opponent’s mouth is busted open, blood now running freely down her chin. Her eyes are rolled up hiding her pupils as Vlad bows down to run his fingers through her blue hair. Making a tight fist, the Godking straightens up bringing with him the shell of what is left of his adversary. He pushes her head down to reach in behind her and grabs her free hanging wrist from in between her buckling legs. Once ready, he smoothly picks and turns his light opponent to hang her back first over one shoulder. Carrying Kahlan like a tree log, Strife regards the crowd surrounding the ring with eyes raging with fury. A faint expression of the unspeakable crimes this man has committed in the past and is still capable of. With a snap he drops down to his knees to jerk Kahlan’s motionless body over the one shoulder, breaking her back in half.

Vladimir stands to pick at the sprawled out figure next to him. He brings her up to her feet, clasping her tightly around the throat and cutting the flow of oxygen down her windpipe. He tries to drain the very life out of her through the grip and is largely successful. He is largely successful up to the point where Kahlan counters back. The battered Brit refuses to give in this easily, for she grabs and twists the wrist belonging to the offending hand in one continuous motion. She allows her opponent to feel the pain and contemplate on it before she springs the trap completely shut. Wildly she jumps to scissor-cross her legs around the extended arm, the consequence of which brings both wrestlers down to the floor of the ring. Kahlan greets the canvas with her back and in possession of Vlad’s arm twisted clockwise, pushed away from her body as her legs pin his shoulder down to be locked into a submission hold. Her opponent stuck with his nose in dirt.

Fuzz: Another submission hold! Kahlan has taken Vlad by complete surprise! The last time these two met she tried to hit him with every high risk manoeuvre that she could dream of. That didn’t work, so what do you do next if you know you can’t match Strife in power? You out wrestle him!
Al: You can’t out wrestle the wrestling God!
Fuzz: If you’re Kahlan you can. She might be a woman, but we’ve both seen her proving to be the most technically sound wrestler this roster currently has. Top three names that are active today and come to mind, Santiago, Delta and Wolverina; neither can match Kahlan for pure technique.
Al: But this is Vladimir Strife you fool! Not some third rate rat calling themselves a New Age just because the past legends have retired prematurely.
Fuzz: But Vlad has had too many brutal hard-core matches in his career and the no disqualification rules of this contest may have caused him to lose sight of what Kahlan really brings into the ring with her. This is not the Kahlan of two or three years ago. This is the Kahlan that is GHW today!