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Post by Matt Oliveira on Oct 29, 2007 19:26:58 GMT -5
As we return from the previous segment to allow set-up time, we are welcomed once again by our hosts and voices behind the violence, Jimmy Pate and Ray White. JP: "Hello again, folks. We'd just want to take the time to say a quick thank you from all of the Fighty fighty persons, staff, and from us personally thanking you for helping us make history both tonight and for the past year. We thank you for welcoming us into your homes for the twelfth time, to think about and for us for over 365 days. We thank you for living our lives, and we thank you for living this experience that is GHW."Ray: "Absolutely. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me my job so I can get paid to stare at sweaty, muscle-ripped brokeback fantasies all the more.""Erm...so, the time has come for our final contest of the evening, and, even ARGUABLY the biggest match of the night. However, all of this action and much more to come is brought to you by: Metro PCS, provider of fine wireless applications in selected areas. Metro PCS, unlimit yourself!" "And by...Wal-Mart! Buying the world one independant business at a time, trust Wal-Mart.""And finally...oh, Vlad'll love this...Killian's Irish Red Premium...Killian's: 'What?..No! We're not brewed by Coors! Hehe...nope...silly'." We pan over to the ring, revealing to the television audience what the challanger of the evening had planned in this construction. One side of the ring is set a section of chain-link fencing, roughly ten to fifteen feet in height, fastened to the outside ring posts. The side opposite has normal ring ropes wrapped in standard issue barbed wire, rendering them still useful. The far camera side, and near, have normal ropes, yet the far side has a "ladder"held up by ring post extensions, supporting three horizontal ropes of chain. On those chain, dog-clipped, is weapons. Ranging from Singapore canes, staple guns, street signs, steel chairs and the like. Behing that on the arena floor lay a ladder, and adjacent the announcer's desk is a stack of unset tables. On the other side, camera side, are set 4 panes of glass, bridged between the ring apron and barrier. And finally, to the side of the entrance ramp and aisleway sits four new trash cans, all closed, lids on.  "It's a good thing I went Commando, Jim, because this place looks like a war zone already!" "It's also a good thing that there's a buffet of weaponry ten steps away so I can knock you out as well, Ray. Let's get down to business. Lizzie will teel you the rules in a moment, folks, but one small note before we cross-section these combatants. Those four trash cans each contain a specialty weapon, unknown to the public and to the Fighty fighty persons. They are also fair game, but expect these to possibly be used as a lifeline in this match. Other then that, currently and since 8 AM yesterday morning, both men have been put in isolation, deprived of food for 24 hours, water for 12 hours, and all contact and sensory use. No light, most likely no sleep, etcetera. Expect to see a new or different side of these men, as weapons are only legal, but suggested. A match that has been one year and two careers in the making, this is Gods Versus Heretics, this is GHW, this is Amherst Alleys, this is your main event, and THIS is Matthew Oliveira versus Vladimir Strife."[/color] Back to Vlad, beating Gnarff over the head with a chair and picking up both the CG and KOTDM belts until... "Jesus almighty! Dave taps! Matt wins the NeXuS Deathmatch! He beat over twenty men in one night! Matt wins! Matt wins! This could only be the beginning!"Vlad defeats Ricky Rodriguez, 17. Kobashi and Desperado, 18. Lrey, 19. Alex Stall, 20, winning the Hardcore Games. JP: "Strife wins it again! We still have our King!"Matt defeats both Steel and Gnarfflinger in a hellacious match, covered in blood and the like. Another quick clip of him and Stall dropping through a pane of glass from ten feet up also hits. JP: "Dear god! Matt's near dead! Did you see that?!"Back and forth, chair shot: Vlad, Matt. Table: Vlad, Matt. Each one matching the others actions at different times. Vlad beats Lrey, Matt pins Gnarff, Vlad slams Diamond, Matt hits TPK with a drawer. Then, both men are at the bar, no audio, only a handshake shown. "Quite easily, Matt and Vlad could be the most dominating violent force to ever grace a GHW ring, and I fear not only for their opponents, but the fans and the well-being of others." Vlad and KB right-hand each other back and forth, Matt fireballs Carroll into a 12 foot drop. Strife hits Alex with a drill, Matt hits Bomber with a stiff chair shot. "This is insane, they're teaming up for the first time and, as expected, it's hellacious." Various spots of KULT in the SCW Match play, ending off with both men holding the tag belts overhead. "Can it ever end?" Matt: "You know, Vlad, these people, and plenty in the back want to see us fight..."Vlad: "So that's EXACTLY what we'll give them!"JP: "Can you believe it? Oliveira and Strife are going to face off for all the marbles, and they've already lost their own!" "Gods Versus Heretics, King of the Deathmatch, the King against the Genius, will they make it out alive?" The video ends with increasingly sped up acts of violence with the two, ending with a slow stand-off of both men in the same ring, KOTDM belt on the ground, staring into the other's eyes. [/quote] *We return as the bell chimes for the audience's attention.* Lizzie: "Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is your main event of the evening and is for the King of the Deathmatch Championship! It is scheduled for ONE fall and can only end by a participants disability to answer the referee's count of ten. There are no disqualifications, no countouts, no pins or submissions, and is dubbed an Amherst Alleys Match!"*The bell rings again, the titantron coming alive to a feed from the hallway. A group of policemen and security staff are around a door marked "Oliveira". One of the men knocks on the door, since the man inside it knows no sense of time nor place.* "Mr. Oliveira, Matt? It's time to come out now, time for your match."A gravelly, broken voice is heard from behind it, seeming miserable and angry. "....then take me to meet my maker..."The officer, backed by two others open the door and enter the room. After a moment, they exit, one man in the lead and the two others holding Oliveira closely by the arms. Matt is in a pair of black denim shorts, pads and boots, along with a dirty straight jacket and a blindfolded hood over his head. His legs are in shackles, clanking as he walks, swinging back and forth, unknown where he is stepping. They walk down the all, into a more open area, the group of officers making a circle all around Matt and the attendants. Eventually, they make it to an area abundant in black curtain, closer to the stage, where the feed cuts off. It returns to the stage where the lights dim, a crimson cascade shining through the Knoxville arena, over 100,000 in awe and edge of seat. Shockingly, "Red Lottery" by Megasus begins to play, ( ) Matt's new theme as he, along with two police officers at each side, emerge from the curtains. Oliveira still in jacket, shackles and blindfold. "Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 265 pounds and standing 6 feet two inches, he is from Amherstview, Ontario, Canada, the Silver Devil Champion...he is 'The Hardcore Genius'...Matt Oliveira!"They walk down the ramp, no salutations, and straight to ringside, stopping Matt. One of the officers retrives a key from his pocket as the other unties the straps at the back of the jacket. The shackles are unlocked and tucked away and Matt's arms fall loose to his side, showing some sort of lifelessness to them. Then, once the jacket is loose, with one officer holding Matt by the shoulders, the other removes the hood revealing his face and showing the paint on one side of the Genius's head:  Instantly, Matt charges forward and slithers under the ropes, free of the policemen's grip. He crawls, like an animal, across the ring and into the far corner, nearly hissing at a nearby attendant. His face pale, brow furrowed, eyes dead. The officers walk back up the ramp, and "Red Lottery" begins dying down, Pate finishing off with the last few words. "And I think THAT'S Matthew CHRISTOPHER Oliveira."Matt continues in his corner, rocking back and forth, one eye noticeably squinting, teeth in a grit. TBCB Vlad |
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Post by Vladimir T. Strife on Oct 30, 2007 2:17:56 GMT -5
The titantron cuts to the back once more, a nightvision enabled camera focused on the green form of Vladimir Strife. He sits in the floor, legs in front of him and shackled at the ankles. His upper body sports a straight jacket as well, making him look like a common crazy man with the hood on his head concealing his identity. His head darts side to side randomly, almost as though he hears noises through the empty room. Vladimir begins to ramble on, his voice barely audible as he begins to share the poem he's thought up aloud, despite the absense of anyone else's presence.
"Cast into darkness
Shadows all around
Paranoia- High alert
Sanity spiraling down
Shun from society
Accept the futility
You've been left on your own
There'll be no rescue
No one for you
So crawl through the horror alone
World so strange
Adapt to the change
Fight to live the day
No god in here
Morals disappear
Hope is slipping away"
Vladimir suddenly whips his head back violently, slamming the back of his cranium against the wall with a thud. A maniacal hyena-like laugh follows.
"Feed on the fruit of corruption
Taste the joy in destruction
Construct your cacoon of your mind
Enter your institution
To plot restitution
Revenge will be yours in due time
Break through conformity
Become your own entity
Just another god of the mind
See through thier trickery
Perfect insanity
Spread your wings and fly
Shatter thier deception
Observe your prefection
Untouchable by all of their hate
Twisted Perception
Spread your religion
Chaos is yours to create"
Vladimir rocks back and forth, the confused and twisted thoughts of his mind pouring through his words. The sound of metal scratching against metal is heard faintly, stopping Vladimir's movements. The unlocking of a key can be heard moments before the squeeking of a door as they have come to retrieve the Hardcore King. Vladimir laughs as they pull him to his feet.
"Matthew. Christopher. Oliveira....
Welcome to the depths of Hell
Right there in that ring..
Welcome to the depths of a mind insane,
Prepare to face the King!"
The guards pull Vladimir along, leading him down the hall as he fidgets about, twitching and shaking. As they go to turn a corner, Vladimir shoves hard with his shoulder, tossing a guard to the ground. He laughs as he hears the man complaining and grumbling about the incident. The man blows it off and gets back up, grabbing Vladimir's arm tightly as he helps lead him towards the entrance. A younger guy from the stage crew steps in front of them, blocking their path and holding a clipboard in hand.
Guard #1: "Move it, kid, you're in the way."
Stan: "Listen, guys, I just got a call from Kingbear. He said to let the maniac go before he gets to the entrance, he's got a present for our champion.."
The guard looks at him funny, but shrugs and goes to unlock the shackles on Vladimir's ankles, the camera going to black as he does. Throughout the arena, the lights go out, leaving only random starlike dots throughout the arena of cell phones and cameras that have been snuck into the arena.
A deep voice sounds throughout the arena, his voice deep and soothing with a bit of a rasp to it, seeming as though the voice of God.
"For, if you overthrow this doctrine, it is probable that the emperor will punish you. If everyone were to do the same as you, there would be nothing to prevent him being abandoned, alone and deserted, while earthly things would come into the power of the most lawless and savage barbarians, and nothing more would be heard among men either of your worship or of the true wisdom. Let there be one ruler, one king."
The light strumming of a guitar comes through the PA system of the arena, the last few seconds of Strapping Young Lad's 'Polyphony' that leads into 'The New Black'. Devin Townsend's vocals cut through clearly and eerily.
"I know you're trying... to go home."
The thunderous warlike pounding of the drums kicks in, shaking the seats of those lucky enough to be near any speaker connected to the system. A loud blast of an explosion accompanies the beginning of the drums, courtesy of the stage technicians, making unexpecting fans jump. A white light shines onto the top of the entrance ramp, where two men hold the black curtains wide open. Two men walk out of the back, dressed in ragged clothing, tattered and torn. They look like peasants as they carry the end of long poles above their shoulder. As they make their way out of the back, a seat becomes visible on the top of the sticks. The seat appears to be a throne made of wood, aged and dark in appearance. The arms of the chair are covered with the points of nails, sticking up in tightly packed rows. On top of them lay forearms, clad in raven blue cloth.
Above the arms of the chair is wrapped in barbed wire, sharp points stabbing into the back of the man who dares sit upon in. At the top corners, long metal spikes protrude. Skulls rest on them, the points stabbing through the top of the craniums. Fans take in the sight, bursting into applause at the sight of the man sitting in it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen.... weighing in at 269 lbs... he is the King Of The Deathmatch Champion with a legendary winning streak of 26 wins, 0 losses.... Hailing from Sighisoara, Romania.... He is the Messiah of the Asylum... The Hardcore King, VLADIMIR T. STRIFE!!!!"
The men stop on the top of the entrance ramp and slowly lower the throne to the ground. Once safely there, the men scurry away quickly, knowing the price paid by those who stand in the way of the King. Vladimir stares down the ramp into the ring at his opponent, a strange calmness about him despite the furrow of his eyebrows. Blood runs between them, a crown of barbed wire on the top of his head. He looks down slowly to the King Of The Deathmatch title that rests in his lap, then to his right fist, the thick links of his steel chain grasped tightly within it. His eyes then focus on Matt uneasily, sensitive to the lights following his time in the pitch blackness of the room. He reaches up with his left hand slowly, pulling the barbed wire crown of thorns from his head and dropping it onto the steel ramp. His music fades out as the lights throughout the arena fade in.
JP: The King has arrived and boy, has he done it in fashion!
Ray: You're telling me! He's so damn cute when he's angry.
Vlad's left hand reaches down and he slowly wraps his fingers onto the black leather strap of the King Of The Deathmatch. He stands up from his hardcore throne, the thick chain in one hand, title in the other as he begins to walk down the ramp towards the ring. The entire time, his eyes are locked with those of his opponent, sticking out creepily inside his pale, zombie like face, thick bags from lack of sleep under his eyes highlighting the intensity in his gaze. He makes his way past 2 of the trashcans, heading up the steel steps step by step and making his way onto the apron. He slips his leg through the top 2 ropes and climbs into the ring, his head barely avoiding the end of a kendo stick that hangs from a chain above.
As the referee steps forward to get the title from Vladimir, Vlad slings it to him, the referee not expecting it and fumbling the title before quickly picking it back up. He lifts it into the air with embarrassment on his face still, reminding the audience and the competitors what is at stake in this match. They stand across the ring from one another, gazing at each other as though only they existed now. Through the man that stood across the mat they would find either the glory of a god or the mere honor of a heretic.
JP: Words cannot describe the atmosphere in this arena enough. There is so much tension between these men that it feels like this arena could detonate at any given moment. This is as big as it gets, ladies and gentlemen, 'The Hardcore Genius' Matthew Christopher Oliveira versus 'The Hardcore King' Vladimir Tepes Strife for what is arguably the biggest prize is wrestling history. Matthew Oliveira, out of Amherstview in Ontario, Canada weighs in at 264 pounds, merely 5 pounds lighter than the champion from Sighisoara, Romania. He stands at 6'4", giving him 4 inches of a height advantage. A GHW original, Matthew Oliveira is most commonly known as a veteran to hardcore ways and as General Manager of Sunday Night Surge. Matt turned heads and captured attention after a lengthy feud with former Blood Brothers tag team partner Mike Lethal before shocking the wrestling world by beating the odds and defeating 22 men in the NeXuS deathmatch, destroying all competition in his way as an underdog. Since then, he has etched and carved his way through the ranks of Saturday Night Decimation, beating nearly every single man that stood in his way.
His only loss under the Revelations campaign, that being the shows of Saturday Night Decimation, Wednesday Night Genesis, and the PPV matches from them... comes at the hands of Alex Stall, who beat Matt in a controversial call in the semifinals of the Hardcore Games. It came as a shock to many, who had long dreamed of seeing these 2 men collide, but it seems as though destiny had plans to make it happen anyhow and I'm damn glad it did.
Ray: And of course, you can't forget the legacy of the Hardcore King. Vladimir Strife, in contrast to Matt being a Gods and Heretics original, is an original member of Solid Core Wrestling who captured the hardcore division Solid Kore title in his second match in SCW. His reign from there was unstoppable, beating challenger after challenger to be the ONLY man to have ever held that title. Coming into GHW, Vladimir shook the foundation by utterly destroying Tai Nai O Neill in his debut GHW match and thanks to the brutality he brought, possibly being the reason Tai shortly thereafter retired.
Vladimir defeated 5 other men in the Electric Pool match in his 10th victory in order to merge the title into the King Of The Deathmatch, a title he's held ever since it's creation. Week in and week out, this star has long been the subject of controversy due to his vulgarity on the microphone and his barbarism between the ropes. Vladimir has torn through the shoulder of a man with a power drill, paralyzed a Fighty fighty person from the neck down, causing the first ban of a move in GHW and created and wrestled Brett Steel in the Asylum Cage, a match that lives forever in it's infamy and sheer violence.
JP: That's true, Ray. However, Vladimir has never faced an opponent like Matthew Oliveira. Brett has always been a technician and Alex and LRey a high flyer and Jake being some of both, just to name off a few of his prolific battles. Perhaps the only men that compare to this are Rurouni Kobashi and Gnarfflinger, both being sadistic freaks. However, Matt is a smarter fighter than those guys. He may seem complete straight forward attack, but don't let it fool you, this man definitely knows what he is doing. Vladimir will have little to know idea what to expect here tonight and if he underestimate the Genius for even a second, Matt will make him pay and the toll might be a strap of shiny gold.
Ray: But at the same time, JP, you must remember that Matt has never faced a man like Vladimir before. To be frank, how could they either one do that though, there just simply IS noone else like Vladimir Strife or Matthew Oliveira, these guys are 1 of a kind models!
As the bell rings out, every fan in the crowd sits on the edge of the seat, eyes glued on the ring as they await to see what these men will do.
TBCB Matt Oliveira
(Sorry if I went overboard on commentary, lol)
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Post by Matt Oliveira on Nov 1, 2007 20:58:39 GMT -5
(EXCELLENT entrance)
The bell chimes thrice, Strife in a slightly crouched position, his mind far from the line of sane and insane, but the sheer instinct keeps him still, eyes locked onto Matt, waiting for the Genius to make the first move. Oliveira stares straight back, miserable, and no longer the same Matt as a week prior...nor his opponent. For, much rather than a simple bag under his eye or unkempt facial hair, the one part of Matt that made him, well, Matt, was his mind. Who knows what things, thoughts, memories were dragged up from the bottom of his soul. Who made him like what he is, or what, or why...but one thing is certain. That is, between the 36 hours of solitude, it returned. Oliveira continues a stare at Vlad, both men absolutely still, until Matt shuffles his arms and begins tucking them into his jacket, yet to remove. Vlad raises his brow a mere milimeter, amused by the sight as Matt begins to take off the undone jacket. He pulls it back over his head, slips out his arms, and tosses it out of the ring. With his turn to the camera, it is revealed that on his bare chest, along with scarring and skin is the words "Nothing To Lose" painted in red and black. Matt turns back, baring his bare chest at Vlad in a crucifix, arms wide open. The King bolts, eyes glaring and ablaze, lurching towards the dubbed Arthur of the Sword in the Stone. Strife immediately connects, tackling Matt to the canvas in an unorthodox spear. Oliveira is whipped to the ground, Vlad leading in with extremely aggresive right hands, forcing Matt to cover up slightly. However, Strife continues raining fists, unrelentless, unforgiving, the nearest camera picking up the grunting and hissing of his breath. The fans cheer, both finally seeing two of the most hated men in the company exchange blows, and just the fact Strife has snapped once more. Vlad returns, back and forth, rights and lefts, symbolizing more of a mugging than a wrestling match, placing them to the sides of Matt's skull. Oliveira's arms are held up, MMA style blocking, trying to protect his head, overwhelmed by the attack. For the first time, his opponent gets the first laugh. Vlad lay sideways, Matt's sternum under his ribs and arm, picking apart the genius with right hooks and left jabs. Matt launches up his knee, catching Vlad in the back of the head. Strife's head whips forward and back again, a horrifying grin appearing on his face as he sequels to another round of adrenaline and emotionally-filled fists. Oliveira knees him again, this time glancing Vlad for a minor moment. Matt then exits from his guard, and replies with a right of his own, a left, another right. Back and forth, Vlad absorbs the hit, his skull thickened, his nerves desensitized, and both men begin, shot for shot. BAM! Matt. BAM! Vlad. Knuckles grace the cheek and brow bones of the men, the sound of the punches actually audible to the first row. Matt lurches from his prone position and catches his hands around Strife's neck, pushing the man off of him and able to sit up. Oliveira lugs all his weight, and slams Vlad to the canvas on his back, resembling a fight between siblings, brothers. Matt, now in control, grips his fingers and palms around Strife's throat. The tips dig in, pressing into the muscles at the side, his palm compressing the larnyx and Adam's apple into the throat. Oliveira snaps, his index finger feeling the pulse of the King's heart. Strife's hands wrap their way around Matt's wrists so in a serpentine fashion, pressuring his opponent's hands to pull apart, the blood beginning to rise to his skin, turning his face a light red to purple. With a stiff shot to the inside elbow, Matt's arms give way and his weight is catapulted overhead of Strife's lying state. Oliveira lands on his back in a tumble, both men rolling over onto their stomachs and back to their knees. Vlad whips a harsh right, cracking right over Matt's left eye, the war paint smearing from his brow. He answers with a forearm to Strife's cheek, a clapping sound spurring from the connection.
JP: "Screw the moves! Screw the flips! These guys are flat out fighting and there is NO way better than this!"
Ray: "I'd say something about working STIFF, JP, but Jesus those punches are hard!"
Vlad roars, lunging at Matt and slamming him up against the steel caging, the clinking oh so familar as one month ago when the two men were a team. A trickle from the shot to the brow streams blood over Matt's eye, already cut as hate-filled blows make their mark. His head is smacked against the fence, pulled back, and slammed again, Strife shaking and ruthlessly beating Matt. CLINK! The Genius's head his bounced off the chain. CLINK! Another. CLINK! His brain bump against his skull, rather unfortunate as the state it is in. Cliiinnnkkkkk...
Matt's eyes flicker to the back of his head and his legs give way. The Genius's body falls lifeless to the mat, Vlad's hands still around his neck, slightly taken aback that it was that easy to render such a feared man unconcious. Strife is eased back by the referee, trying to keep him from potential murder. Vlad presses on, trying to drag Matt's body along by the arm, the official shoving him away from doing so. He backs Vlad across the ring, recieving a snarl for his efforts, and returns back to administer the count.
1...
...3...
...5...
...7...
Vlad creaks forward and bends down, grasping the face-down Matt by the back of the head. Slowly he pulls the man up to a shallow crouch when Matt's eyes finally flick open, realising finally as to where and when he is. His legs lock up, calves tightening, and digs his shoulder into Strife's midsection. Matt lugs all his power into Vlad, and the two move back. Strife's legs hover just off the canvas as Matt's back steals his own weight in a low Fireman's carry. Oliveira lurches, and the back and legs of Strife collide with the wire-wrapped ropes, the force pressing his lower back and upper legs between the middle and top ropes, the top ripping to a level between his shoulder blades and the middle pinning him behind the knee. Matt retreats from his rival, Vlad caught in the ropes, and drives a haymaker to Vlad's cheek. The "trapping" of Strife leaves him unable to swing or guard, provoking Matt to launch and connet with another right hand. The sound clear as day now as the bruised and inflamed digits of fingers crack over skull. CRACK! Another. CRACK! A forth. Oliveira heaves in a breath, apparently forgetting to do so, and turns to his side. Adjacent to them is the weapons gallows. Matt raises a hand, so many choices, and plants it on a Stop sign. With a quick tug, the clip snaps out of the makeshift hole made by a quick drilling previously in the sheet metal and becomes a handheld tool. Matt grips it with both hands, turning back to a struggling Vlad and raises it over his head. With a swing, he powers it across the hairline of the King with a popping sound, the crowd adding in a quick "ooh" as another "heart-to-heart" hit was made. Matt raises it again and lands another hit with the sign in the same spot, looking to not even faze the monarch of massacres. Frustrated, Matt turns the sign sideways and bears the edge, regripping it once more. He jabs the corner across the middle of Vlad's forehead, pressing in the angle to the flesh. With a quick flick of the sign, and a minor yelp from Strife, the sign punctures the skin and hits the vain, and a small stream of crimson leaps from his head and down his face. Matt raises and lays into a third sign shot on Vlad, later tossing the scrap to the side. He begins to dig his knuckles into the mere inch gash, looking for an expansion, if you will. Grinding in the bits of bone and cartilege that make up his hand into the wound. Strife releases a grunt, his arms holding him back from a decapitation also preventing from ripping Matt's face off that very second.
Oliveira retreats once more, eyes darting around to see his possible options for a God-knows-what strategy he's made up. He wanders halfway across the ring as Strife, unknowingly, begins to pry himself from between the ropes. Matt looks back, seeing the movement, and darts back to his opponent, lowering his head and torso. Overjudging and overreacting, Matt hurls himself into the gut of Vlad once more with excessive force, causing both men to spill out from between the ropes and out of the ring, Vlad slatting onto the back of his head and Matt spiked to the floor in a freak DDT.
JP: "Oh my god! Matt may have just killed the both of them!"
Ray: "Desperate times call for a wristwatch, JP."
Oliveira wraps his arms around his own head in pain, heels kicking against the ground. The back and top of his skull driven into the floor, neck almost broken in half. Strife lay dazed, the ropes having slight lacerations to his back lengthwise and to the back of his lower legs for the most part.
(OOC: Sorry man, not in one of those "moods" tonight, go ahead and let the slaughtering begin.)
TBCB Vlad
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Post by Vladimir T. Strife on Nov 3, 2007 3:16:05 GMT -5
The referee begins his count, seeing both men lying unconscious at ringside.
1...2...3...4...5...
The men are beginning to stir.
6...7
Vladimir pushes his way up to his feet, Matthew close behind. Vlad makes his way to a nearby trashcan, reaching down into the bottom of it and grinning evilly as he takes hold of one of his specialty items. He grabs the lip of the aluminum can, pulling it up and holding it over his arm still as he turns around and eyeballs his opponent like a tiger on the prowl. Vladimir rushes forward, swinging the can at Matthew's head. The genius quickly blocks the shot, lifting his hands and grabbing the bottom of the container. Vlad smiles, this seeming to play into his plan perfectly, a whirring sound screaming inside the can, amplified in echo. Matt's eyes burst open in surprise, the sound being one he would never forget from his experience in the SCW match. The noise intensifies as Vladimir lays on the trigger, the drill bit chewing through the flimsy aluminum and punching out inches from Oliveira's cheek. A struggle for power begins as Vladimir tries turning the can, drawing the end of the power drill ever closer to the flesh of Matt, who is pushing the can towards Vladimir, trying to distance himself from the danger and the noise of the drill. It was like a whirlwind of nails dragging across a chalkboard, the sound boring into the skull of Matt as viciously as Vladimir aimed for the bit to. Oliveira pushes the can downward quickly as Vladimir pulls the bit back through, realizing that he would punch it back through the can and possibly his eye. Vladimir's face left open, Matt leaps forward and brings his forearm crashing across the bridge of the King's nose, knocking him over the steel steps and ending the shrill of the power tool as it drops to the ground with the aluminum can.
JP: Very smart move there on the part of the challenger. Another moment and Vladimir might have made Matthew's wrestling career shorter than a Britney Spears marraige!
Ray: Even worse, he might have made his career shorter than Hawkeye!
JP: Harsh. Matt is messing around in that trashcan now and he has the drill! This could spell disaster!!
Matt looks the drill over and over again, pressing the trigger and wincing at it's very squeel. He lifts the ring apron up and chucks the drill far under the ring, hating the very weapon with a passion. He instead opts to pick up the trashcan, walking around the steel steps as Vladimir is getting to his feet. As Vladimir turns around, Matt rears back the trash can and drives it into the forehead of Vladimir, the blast of the weapon hitting flesh ringing out as Vladimir is knocked to the mats, the side of the can caving in like an empty pop can. Matt throws it off to the side, grabbing the apron and stomping into the chest of his opponent as he lays on the floor. Vlad flees from the assault, rolling underneath the ring as Matt kicks after him, trying to land a few more shots. Matt pulls the apron up and looks under the ring, going after his prey. Almost instantly, however, he reels back, hands cupped tightly over his right eye.
JP: Matt's holding his eye! You don't think Vlad's got that drill again, do you?!
Ray: Oooooh, I hope so, Jimmy! It's no secret that I'm SOMEWHAT of a Vlad supporter-
JP: SOMEWHAT!? You have his name etched into your coffee cup, a plushie of him that I don't even think we make, and a locket with his picture in it that you never go anywhere without!!
Ray: Okay, I have a tiny little crush on him, so what?
Vladimir slides out from underneath the ring, kendo stick in hand to the relief of a terrified crowd. He quickly gets to his feet, raising the shinai above his head and slapping it across the upper back of the Silver Devil champion. The bamboo wood cracks and fractures with a snap, splinters falling as Matt drops to his knees, his back arched and his head raised from a sharp burst of pain. Vladimir raises the stick onto his shoulder, seeming to warm up before swinging like the bases were loaded in the bottom of the ninth, connecting with full force against the base of Oliveira's skull. The force is too much for the tough bamboo and it breaks through, the top of it hitting the barricade between the action and the fans. As his opponent lay on the padded mats, Strife rears back with what is left of the stick and launches it into the crowd, hands shooting into the air eagerly for the souvenier. The referee raises a finger into the air as he proclaims the beginning of the count, Vladimir ignoring it as he takes a handful of hair and pulls the most certainly 'certifiable' genius to his feet. He drags Matt towards the fans and raises his head up, only to slam it down across the top of the barricade, nearby fans cheering to see the excitement so closely. Vladimir reaches over the top of Matt and pushes a scrawny man into his buddy next to him, clearing his chair so that he can grab it. He pulls it over the barricade and lifts it high, smashing the steel against the edge of the barricade as the GHW original darts out of the way. The impact reverberates, the force shaking through the chair and into the hands of the proclaimed King, who drops the seat, flicking his wrists and trying to shake off the pain. Hearing the shifting of something behind him, Vlad spins around, preparing for the worst but not for the steel steps that slam against his mouth. The force knocks him back, his thighs colliding with the top of the barricade and him falling over them into the front row, the fans catching him to keep from being landed on. They move him to the ground as security urges them to back away from the stars quickly.
JP: What impact! Matthew just nearly caved Vlad's face in with those steel steps like a battering ram!
Ray: My poor Vlad! He could have messed up his face!!
JP: Oh, I'd damn near count on it!
Vladimir barely stirs as Matthew raises the steps over his head, nearing in on his target. He slams the steps down over the barricade and onto the knee of Vlad with a boom, slamming it against the concrete agonizingly. Vlad screams out in pain, the attack agitating a minor injury he suffered facing Alex Stall in the Home Depot Deathmatch. He clutches the knee, a key element of his attacks, regretting having opted to not wear a kneepad tonight in order to help his offense. Matt reaches over the barricade and grabs Vlad's leg, pulling it up and setting the back of his knee against the top of the barricade. He wraps his arm around the ankle and kneels down, stretching Vlad's leg. Vlad growls in pain, fists clenched tightly as he fights the agony coursing his body. He punches the padded barricade, trying to distract himself but to no avail. Matt pulls the leg up and then whips it back down, slamming the back of it against the barricade again, targeting it out. It was a strategy the men had discussed previously, a theory that the key to beating a man was not by attacking his weak point, but by taking on his strongest point. Matt works the knee, stretching it more and slamming it down across the top again before relenting. The top of a kendo stick snapped across his head captures his attention, the Hardcore Genius bending down and snatching it up. He grabs his opponent by the hair and raises him up against the barrier, stabbing the jagged ends and splinters of bamboo into Vlad's forehead and twisting it left and right, digging at the split in his scalp from the stop sign. Matt slaps him with the small portion of what's left from the kendo stick, not particular a powerful blow, but feeling like hell across that wound. Vlad drops sideways and begins to crawl, trying to escape the beating that Oliveira is dishing out. Matt watches him and hops the barricade, slamming his boots down on the back of Vlad's knee and sandwiching it with the concrete. He grabs Vlad's leg and flips him over, taking an empty chair and folding it up. Matt slams it down for Vlad's head, connecting with forearms that instinctively shoot up to block the shot. Vlad winces behind them, the still conscious due to the move, but in pain. He manuevers his legs before the next shot and scissors the calf of Matt's leg, rolling and bringing him down with a drop toe hold. Oliveira's face slams against the seat of an open chair audibly denting the steel with a bang.
JP: Quick thinking there on the part of the champion, escaping the brutal assault of Matthew Oliveira. That technical background of his fighting could be the deciding factor in this battle. However, by targeting that knee, Matt may have taken away half of Vlad's arsenal!
Ray: I hate to agree with you, but you're dead on with this one, JP. Vladimir uses that knee for the Painkiller, the Heart Starter, body shots, and not to mention that both the Skesis Driver and the Blackout require a standing position from him.
Vlad gets to his knees, planting his hands into the seat of a steel chair and pushing down to help him get to his feet. He bends down and again grabs a handful of hair, pulling Matt to his feet and throwing him into the barricade, the Canadian slamming into it and flipping over back onto the padded ringside mats. Vlad carefully climbs over, hopping a bit as he stands, his leg not wanting to cooperate. Matt gets back up to his feet, Vlad advancing on him as he does and throwing a vengeful right against his chin, making him lose the strength in his legs as he falls against the side of the ring. He quickly grabs the ropes to hold himself up and darts out with a kick to the injured knee of Vlad, making him turn around and grab the barricade for support. Matt walks over and grabs the ladder, turning it onto it's side intentfully. He gets behind Vladimir and reaches down, grabbing the ankle of his hurt leg and pulling it back, bending his knee. He uses his other hand to grab Vlad's arm and wrap it around his head, as it preparing for a back body suplex. He lifts Vladimir up and turns, dropping him back down, pushing Vlad out and watching as his knee slams down onto the ladder with a clash, knocking it over and the King dropping helplessly on top of it, once more clutching his knee in agony.The Genius pulls Vladimir to his feet and rolls him under the bottom rope and back into the ring. As he climbs back in himself, Vlad reaches up and grabs the ropes, one set being wrapped in barbed wire, and pulls himself up to a standing position, grimacing through the process. He ducks under a clothesline from Matt, throwing himself back as Matt spins around and shifting control of the match with an elbow across the jaw. He pulls his arm forward and quickly follows with another sharp elbow, then another and another, quickly following up in succession with 4 elbows until Matt goes limp and drops to his bottom. Matt's head leans back, resting against the bottom turnbuckle as he stares blankly to the rafters.
JP: Incredible speed and power there from Vladimir Strife, showing how calculating and deadly he can be in that ring. He's got Matt in position, but with the way he's been favoring that knee, I have to wonder if he'll even attempt it, Ray.
Ray: What the hell are you- ohhhhh! DO IT, VLAD!
Almost as if hearing the request, Vladimir begins to limp across the ring, heading towards the corner that opposes Matthew. It takes longer than usual, but Vlad hobbles into the opposing corner and turns around, looking across the ring at his friend and foe. He tries to burst out in a sprint, moving in a quick hobble instead, pain shooting through his knee with each step. He closes in on his fellow tag team champion and forces a jump, pouncing onto his chest with both boots slamming on his ribcage and grabs the top ropes, barbs stabbing into his left palm as he clasps down. He kicks off, pushing his legs into the air and reaching a near horizontal position, not posessing the power in his kickoff that he usually has at his disposal. He quickly tucks his knees up and talks to himself outloud, exclaiming "This is going to hurt!" to himself and releasing the top ropes as gravity takes it's force, pulling him down. He lands with the caps of both knees driven by his weight and momentum into the pectorals of the prone psychopath. Vlad rolls backwards off of Matt, the Genius quickly wrapping his arms over his chest, coughing and gasping as he rolls over face down on the canvas. Vladimir lays on the canvas as well, clutching his knee and swearing over and over again, doing an unintended routine of George Carlin's '7 dirty words you can't say on television', quickly listing off 6 of the 7.
Ray: HE DID IT! THE HEART STARTER!!!
JP: Yes, he did, but which one took the brunt of the attack? He hurt Matt pretty badly, but it seems he's exasterbated that injured knee as well!
TBCB Matt
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Post by Matt Oliveira on Nov 4, 2007 23:25:55 GMT -5
Matt lay parallel the ropes in a tri-position. His knees bent balancing him, hunched over so his head supports his upper body. His arms are crossed over his torso in pain, a quiver or pulsing sent through his chest as the Heart Starter nearly lives up to it’s name, or stopper for that matter. With his back rounded and exposed from the lack of t-shirt, a near camera shows two things engraved into his back. First, along his shoulders is a fine, clean laceration. One end has a trickle of crimson escaping it, not a wound of depth, but the certain length and angle of it enough to make an athlete –or trainer- worrisome. Secondly, in his mid-back, right along his spine is a check mark-shaped scar, raised above the flesh, discoloured to a more white/moth tone in comparison. Certainly from the drill incident last month, but a wound of that calibre and sheer history is a factor of amazement or horror in itself. Oliveira coughs, gags, the air and near life stolen from the hit, soon placing an open hand on the mat to raise him up. Meanwhile, Vlad is sitting up, attention drawn to his unprotected knee as he holds it. Carlin would be proud of him, turning the 7 Nasty Words into a more round number of 70, increasing “Mr. Conductor’s” list ten-fold. Strife, curious and cautious of what awaits his legs fate, rolls up his pant leg to check on his knee. A scared “oh!” rises from the near ringside fans, as it is revealed to the world that his patella (knee cap) has been dislocated and now sits one-eighth it’s way inward. The King himself looks rather taken back, finding out how much damage he himself inflicted, let alone the whack-job that he shares the ring with. He places each of his hands on both sides of his kneecap, and with a wince and flick of wrist, Strife snaps his kneecap back into a normal place. A near-disgusted “aww” erupts from the crowd, bloodthirsty…but not THAT bloodthirsty. JP: “…and THAT’s a new epitome of Hardcore, right there.”Ray: “Yeah, Vlad’s hardcore. Hard pectorals…hard biceps…quads…oooh, glutes…even a hard-“JP: “ROCK Café!”Vlad carefully pulls himself to his feet in a ginger state while a lesser chant of “CHI-RO-PRACT-OR!” spurs from the Knoxville crowd. Strife grasps the top rope and flexes, pulling his body vertical again, keeping his semi-injured leg bent and less weight-bearing. With a glance over to his opponent, he lurches forward with a stiff boot to the back of the ribs, knocking Matt back to the canvas for the time being, a grunt escaping the Genius as he tries to keep both his lungs and heart in-check. Strife flicks his head back, hair flying to uncover his face as his turns his head to the side. A great tunnel-vision driven grin is etched on him, gazing at the weapon gallows across the ring. He walks back across the squared circle, his limp looking more animalistic and devilish to his persona, and reaches up. His right hand slithers around the legs of a steel chair and jerks it from it’s heaven-bound home and could now be considered a deadly weapon simply due to the fact of the man behind it. Strife turns back around, stalking Matt as the Genius raises back up to his hands and knees. Casual, more of a strut, the King stands adjacent to his opponent and grabs the chair with both hands and hovers it just over the mid-back of Oliveira, trying to find his exact target. Then, he raises it up, just over his head and allowing the far end to stretch a bit further until…CRACK! Vlad hammers the chair over the back of Matt, the Genius squirming and turning over, his arms flexed backwards to attempt a pain alleviation, and a scream coming from his mouth. Strife steps back with weapon and watches as Oliveira crawls to the middle of the canvas arm over arm, eyes hungry and pupils dialated, calculating the best –or most convenient- way to wear the Hardcore Genius down. Slowly once more, Matt raises onto his hands and knees, trying to stand up. CRACK! Strife whips Oliveira with the chair again, a slight dent from his spine in the seat of the fold-up furniture. Matt’s arms again retract, flexing out his shoulder blades from instinct and sits up on his knees. With a wide-eyed “god dammit!” look to him, Strife seizes the chance and follows through immediately with a third chair shot in more of a chopping motion, swinging down, connecting, and reflecting off of Matt’s skull, a decent popping sound erupting from bone versus steel. Oliveira keels to the side slightly, catching himself with a straight arm to the mat and groggily pushes himself back to a full vertical positioning, head lowered and hair covering his face. Vlad lowers the chair, keeping it in one hand to see if Matt’s interpretation of a Weeble will go anywhere, and if he’d just fall down. Then, Matt lurches back his head to reveal a bloodied face, the most recent shot opening a 3-4 inch gash from the corner of his forehead to just adjacent to the middle. Crimson flow down that side of his face, forming small streams or rivers, appearing nearly like a net or side of a canyon…or something about Geography and run-off and the way liquids flow, anyways… Through the blood, however, is a pair of eyes filled with hate, rage, and a bit of concussion as Matt raises both his arms and poses in a Crucifix, slightly flicking one of his hands as if to ask Vlad to “bring it on”. Strife snickers a bit to himself, finding no sense in their twisted way of respect as he raises the steel chair once more to deliver a final shot to the self-martyring Matt. Strife extends as much as possible, until Oliveira quickly turns the table and delivers a quick punch as a blatant low-blow, forcing him to drop the chair and crumple slightly, dropping to his knees. The weapon of choice lands with a clang behind the King, and before him is Matt, both men kneeling and cut open. Oliveira holds himself up with both fists planted to the ground while his opponent’s legs are more bowed outwards allowing a lower center of gravity for the time being. Matt darts forward, colliding with Vlad’s cranium in a headbutt, a subtle “thud” illuminating the air of a buzzing and anticipating crowd. Strife leans back from the hit, a bit of Matt’s blood smeared over his own forehead now until he returns the favour with his own. The Hardcore patriots put their heads together, in a literal sense, once more, each man fazed by both giving and receiving head shots. Oliveira serves up a sequel and launches another “Zidaner” into Vlad, knocking the KOTDM champ to his side. Vlad props himself up with an elbow, watching blood drip from his wound to the mat below him, his eyes mesmerized by the sight. Matt crawls punch-drunk under the wire-wrapped ropes and flops to the outside, on a treasure hunt of his own. JP: “Ya know, it may be the wrong time for this, but I hope neither of these guys have blood-transmitted diseases. I mean, this is GHW, not an outpatient clinic.”Ray: “I dunno about Vlad, JP, there WAS that awesome time in Singapore.”Strife rolls onto his stomach, holding his head and shoulders off the mat by his elbows. Given the rules the referee applies a loosely-enforced 10-count, knowing full well he’d be gunned down in the parking lot if he gave Matt the win because of an elbow. Vlad, number by number, props himself up into an eventual kneel, nodding at the ref for the count to cease by “5”. Outside the ring, Oliveira lays hung-over an open trash can as if he had a bad night out on the town –or good, depends who you are- his mind trapped as he glare into the aluminium abyss. With one hand, he extends him arm into the cylinder and springs up to his feet and instantly thrusting the lowered hand into the air, revealing a sledgehammer. For a moment Matt simply stands there in a loose Crux position with the hammer, wheeling around to see Strife down with his back turned. He lugs himself into the ring, knuckling back to his feet as Vlad creaks his own way back up. Matt remains behind Vlad, roughly six feet away with hammer ready. One hand at the neck of the hammer, the other at the very end of the handle, keeping the metal itself fully exposed. The King plants his feet flat on the mat, straightening up his back until Matt drives the hammer across the back of the champion’s head, sending him flat and face-first to the canvas. Oliveira hold loosely onto the end of the hammer as it hangs from a taped and blood-covered hand, watching over Vlad as the referee begins the count. 1…
2…Matt grasps the hammer by the neck once more, waiting for Strife to get up. 3…4…A bit of movement from the King, Matt flinching at the sight and remaining watchful, closely and cautious. 5…6…With a count of six, Matt steps forward with another flick of his head, a bit of bloody hair swinging away from his sight. He kneels down over the back of Vlad, lowering and placing the handle at his throat in a Camel clutch. Matt pulls back, thus raising Vlad’s head to show two glazed eyes. Oliveira looks into them, instantly unlocking the hold and moving away. The contact, however, broke the 10 count, and Matt closes in on the injured knee. He grasps the leg by the ankle under his arm, and slips the sledgehammer between his quads and Vlad’s inner knee. Then, raises his own knees so that they press into the hammer and push into the joint of the leg, focusing on tension rather than compression. He pulls back on the ankle, meaning more force on the inner knee, urging Strife to yelp in pain, semi-conscious. Oliveira grunts with torque, applying the Half-Hammer Boston Crab onto the champion, trying to apply a bit of “tough love”, knowing full well submissions are barred from the match. Vlad screams and reaches outward once more, unable to touch the nearest ropes or even the referee’s pant leg. Yet, something glimmers from the corner of his eye. His head turns and he extends his arm toward it, trying for an outside-the-box way to end the submission. (OOC: Ooh, cliffhanger.  ) TBCB Vlad |
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Post by Vladimir T. Strife on Nov 6, 2007 3:46:09 GMT -5
Vladimir's fingers creep slowly towards the steel chair, his teeth mashed together as he tries to ignore the destruction of his knee. The shots to the head had numbed part of the pain and just about every feeling within the body of the King. Adrenaline shoots through his body in a sudden fit of rage, thoughts poisoning his mind, deteriorating his sanity. Vladimir's eyes cross, blurring the outside world and glassing over. He grips the leg of the chair tightly, leaving an impression of a screw on the inside of his palm. He slides the chair into grasp of his other hand, grabbing the other leg and pulling it overhead. He slams it against the back of the Genius, rattling him. Matt holds on still though, punishing Vlad and not near finished doing so. Vladimir swings back again, catching Matt across the back of the head and getting him to break the hold. His breath comes out in ragged heaves as he presses his palms to the canvas and begins to push himself up, finding himself in a 3 point stance as Matthew turns around to face him.
Matt raises the hammer and looks at Vladimir menacingly, daring him to make a move. Vladimir pushes to the left and rolls away and out of the ring as Matt shoots forward with the hammer, planting the steel head across the mat. He growls lightly in frustration at missing the target and his eyes dart over to Vlad, who kneels against the outside apron. Matt follows to the outside, rearing the hammer back as he prepares to make it an early night. He kicks Vladimir's knee as he begins to move, leaving the King as a cowering peasant while he lines up the shot. After making sure it's lined up just right, Matthew swings the hammer back, letting out a grunt as he prepares to turn tonight's main event into a sadistic Gallagher show. Vladimir turns, slamming his lower back against what is left of the steel steps and shoots his right hand up in front of himself. Matt steps forward to finish the contest, then drops the sledgehammer abruptly, letting it fall to the mats as he back away from Vladimir. The bottom of his palms are pressed to his eyes, holding onto his forehead as his eyes throb with a burning sensation.
JP: What the hell just happened!? Matt was about to freaking kill Vladimir and it looked like he dropped the hammer and started crying!
Ray: You really need to start looking closer, JP - Vladimir has a can of pepper spray in his hand, he just sprayed Matthew in the eyes!
Matt tries to rub out the pepper spray, it burning much worse than he had expected when he'd seen his tag team partner due it to others. Vladimir drops the can and fills his hand instead with the bottom rope of the ring, pulling himself to his feet. He leans his back against the ring, tilting his head back and turning it slowly from side to side, taking in the view of tonights sold out arena. His lips and mouth twist into a demonic grin, a chuckle escaping them, followed by a more powerful one. His expression shoots to one of dire severity however as his turns his head quickly, glaring at his opponent. Vlad limps towards Matthew, who is still rubbing at his eyes from the cheap tactic on the part of the defending champion. Vlad grabs Matt by the hair as he stumbles around ringside, whipping him around and slamming him face first into the steel cage. He spins Matt around once more, throwing him onto the announcer's table. Vlad climbs onto it and grabs a clump of hair, pulling Matt to his feet.
JP: Oh shit! Back up Ray, back up!!
Ray: Mess him up Vlad!! Show him who's King!
As JP and Ray hurry back away from the table, Vladimir tilts his head side to side, a few pops coming from his neck. He hooks Matt's right arm up and the audience goes wild, knowing good and well what Vladimir is about to attempt. He hooks the left arm as well, Matt struggling, but not seeming to have enough in him to escape the move. Vladimir yanks him up, pulling his feet from the table and dangling Matt upside down. As Matthew's legs swing up, he claps them on the sides of Vlad's head, a shock to the sense that temporarily stops Vlad's hold and thoughts. Matt comes swinging back down to his feet, using the momentum to push his upper body up, elevating Vladimir overhead. The King of the Deathmatch crashes to the concrete next to the table, his lower back taking the brunt of the fall. Vladimir tries to arch his back but can't muster the energy, looking hazily at the crowd all around him and realizing for the first time that he might not be able to go the distance tonight.
JP: Holy Jesus on a stick! Vladimir just crashed right here beside us on the unforgiving concrete floor!!
Ray: NO! MY POOR BABY!
Matthew raises up, shooting a glare to Ray at the comment. He shakes his head, knowing he has bigger fish to fry. He hops down off of the table and grabs Vladimir by the ankles. He hooks his arms tightly around, pulling Vlad's legs up as though about turn him over into an elevated Boston crab. He walks around Vlad in a circle, turning him around with him until his back is facing the steel cage. Matt leans forward, then flings himself backwards, dropping to his back as he slingshots Vladimir up from the ground, throwing him into the chain link fencing. Vladimir's face plants into the cage and he crumbles to the floor, the strength gone from his body. The referee begins his count, reaching 3 before Matt interrupts it with a stomp to the chest of his opponent. He grabs a chair from the timekeeper's booth, folding it up as he kicks Vlad, waiting for him to stir and raise to his feet. Vladimir slowly does, needing the steel steps at the corner of the ring to help him to do so. He stumbles backwards, Matt backing up to avoid bumping together as he stalks him. Vladimir grabs ahold of the steel cage, using it to help guide him as he turns around, the blood from his forehead running through his eyes now and causing him to blink over and over. As he turns, Matt pulls the steel chair over his head, hell in his eyes as he sneers at Vladimir. He bends his body backwards, preparing to throw ever bit of himself into the shot. The Genius proves his mastery of the chair as he throws himself forward, snapping his arms down with a yank of the chair legs, whipping the steel seat into the head of the King of Hardcore, blasting him across the crown of his head. The piece of steel attached to the top of the chair, set in place to support the back of a seated person, is torn from the frame in the vicious impact. It pops off and flies into the protruded hands of a fan in the front row, who screams in excitement at the souvenier.
The King - an undefeated, unstoppable force, rumored by some to be inhuman in his skill and ability to fight through anything - falls lifelessly as though he'd been shot, that being the same impression the sound of the twisted steel on flesh and bone had given off. The links of cage slip from his hand, his grip now powerless. He falls straight to his back, his head and upper torso bouncing lightly on impact. Matt throws the chair to the ground, having brought the kryptonite to GHW's Superman. The referee lifts his hands into the air, beginning the count as he mutters that "there's no fucking way he's getting up from that".
1
Fans sit on the edge of their seats, staring down at ringside, where Vladimir's consciousness has been more thoroughly devastated than daddy's little girl's virginity on prom night.
2.
Still no sign of life from the champion as Matthew stares over the destroyed steel chair, the seat dented in as though it were a mere cooking sheet and smeared with blood like a tool from a horror movie.
3.
Vlad's eyes, glazed over like tiny windows in midwinter, slowly open, the left lid raising significantly higher than the right, both eyes watered over from the impact. He begins to ask himself where he is, how he got there, and what the hell happened to his head.
4.
Matthew looks over to Vlad, seeing his eyes open slightly, but not worrying in the least, knowing that it won't matter a bit if he can't make it to his feet in the next 6 seconds. His eyes wander to the split in Vladimir's head, extended from the brutal chair shot. Within a sea of red, Matt notices a tiny fragment of white, the split deep enough to reveal the skull of the champion upon closer inspection.
5.
Vladimir begins to stir, snapping Matthew from his wandering thoughts after gazing upon the bone visible in his foe's wound.
6.
Vladimir rolls over slowly to find himself positioned on his hands and knees, the mighty fallen and pouring blood from his forehead as he inch by inch begins to crawl towards the steel steps.
7.
The King uses the steps to climb up them on his palms, attempting to elevate his upper body enough to plant his feet upon the ground. Matt and the audience watch on, split on their thoughts as to whether or not he can make it.
8.
The top section of the steel steps shifts suddenly, pushing out from the ringpost and stopping Vladimir's progress. Fans gasp as Matthew sighs, a mere 2 seconds away from making history.
9.
Vladimir leans his head against the apron of the ring, looking doomed to defeat. He swings his arms quickly up, barely realizing what is going on as he grabs fists full of chain link and pulls on them. He straightens his body as he pulls himself up, placing both feet on the mats before the referee can complete the cound of 10.'
JP: VLADIMIR'S BACK UP! HOW THE HELL DID HE GET UP FROM THAT CHAIRSHOT!!?
Ray: YAY! GO VLAD!
JP: Give it up, Vlad! It's not worth it!! Another one of those and he'll be a damned vegetable!!!
Oliveira fumes as he steps in to end it once and for all. Vlad throws a quick kick to Matt's thigh, stopping him only for a second, but just long enough for him to follow with a punch to the jaw. Another comes soaring in behind it, then another and another. The hard rights rock Matt's head and make him stumble as Vladimir tries to recover. Vladimir lowers his body as Matt shakes off the shots and gets his head straightened out. He rushes in and ducks, slamming his shoulder into the gut of the Hardcore Genius and hooking his arms around Matt's thighs. He pulls him off of the ground as he rushes in and then slams him down onto the top of the announce table. The table, built for show and now strength, breaks beneath the impact of the spontaneous spear. Vladimir rolls off of Matthew and lays next to him, both men summoning the strength to get up in the same way they've taunted themselves throughout the match with a promise of "1 more time", not admitting they'll never let themselves give up no matter how many 1 more time's they have to endure.
TBCB Matt
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Post by Matt Oliveira on Nov 10, 2007 23:01:04 GMT -5
Matt opens his eyes as his partner-turned-rival sprawl out at his side among the wreckage of wood, framing, and plastic, not to mention the hap-hazard montior in the pile of furniture and human body. He stare up at the abysmal rafters of the Knoxville arena, shallow breath, mangled mind. Who would've known that he, the fans, and countless others had waited so long for this night. That this was supposed to make everything better. That this was GvH and all his hard work had finally paid off, but, it only felt like just the beginning of another chapter.
...4... cries the referee, standing near the apron on the outside, keeping his distance from the competitors. On the very bottom of his shirt, mixed in with the vertical-toned striping lay a semi-maroon stain of blood from at LEAST one of the men, not to mention the countless others that sold an eighth of their pints to a fraction of their minds fixated with competition and destruction. Oliveira's chest rises and lowers, and with a creak he raises up his left shoulder and twists his body onto it's side. Behind him lay Strife, facing a grueling trek uphill as he faces the same demon as his opponent. Face down, he plants both of his hands at a widths away from his shoulders, arms bent. He pushes himself up, triceps trembling, he exhale coming out as a hiss between his first few teeth as they clench together. ...6...7...Matt now begins crawling his way towards the stack of tables that lay in the corner of the guardrails, sensing a calling from the siren-like slabs of oak goodness. Hand after the other, he quadrupeds his way closer to the stack, watching as crimson lightly dabbles its way onto the floor like ink from a broken fountain pen. 8...9 Strife eases his way up to his knees, a gasp of pain as his weight is shifted onto his leg which he quickly corrects, turning over onto his hip and leans into the side of the ring, nails digging into the canvas. Oliveira pulls himself up by the railing corner, now hovering over the stack and both men make it to their feet.
JP: "And what do you know, both of these bastards make it back to a stand and tempt to shorten their careers even more. Much of an access of this, Ray, and I'm going to expect earl retirements tomorrow. We've both heard the tactical advances these guys can make-up, heck, one's a "Genius", but I sure as hell doubt their brains are working properly now. Let alone BEFORE this match started."
Strife hobbles away from the ring and across the area to the railing where a fan holds up another chair as a token. One-and-a-half-legged, the King walks over to the teenage boy with a drunken grin on one side of his face, knocked a little silly and thankful for the donation to the Oliveira Brain Damage Awareness Fund. He grabs the chair from the fan and turns sideways to find Matt in a charge. Vlad brings up the chair for a block but the Genius catches him by the abdomen and hurls him backwards, the chair's swing catching the lower back of Matt. The two careen into the Timekeeper's table and the TK himself with a crash, a quick buckling of the poker-style table resulting in very little cushioning, if you will, of the two ward patients. The timekeeper falls back-over-end in his chair, propelled back by the five-hundred-something pounds of dead weight. The back of Vlad's head, as well as the top and hairline of Matt's thud against the railing behind it. Both men lay in a close-knit pile as a result of Matt's "reply" from being driven through the announcer's desk, his head still under Vlad's arm. Strife heaves Matt off to his side in an awkward bought of frustration, Oliveira also trying to still shake off the cobwebs from the previous series of events. He shrugs forward his shoulders and back, the ring bell having cracked against his spine from the hit, only cushioning was the odd piece of paper, a tablecloth, and until the breaking point of the lesser table. He swipes his fingers over his forehead, to reveal them covered in his own blood. His head creaks over to Oliveira, watching as Matt grasp the top of the guardrail and pull himself up by it. Either from curiosity, amusement, or a voice telling him to do so, Vlad licks the blood off of a few of his fingers. His face wrinkles slightly, eyes showing some sort of inner revelation as he sits there. Matt crawls along the railing, eventually reaching the glass pane bridging and reaching his feet when he turns around, coming to an immediate stand-off with Vlad. The King’s face as one of Matt’s early signatures of an emotionless figure and dead eyes, they lock with Oliveira’s until Strife bolts to the best of his ability. Knowing the atmosphere, Matt bends at the waist in an attempt to back body drop the champion, yet Vlad turns the table by slowing up and greeting him with a stiff kick up across the chest. Matt straightens up as Vlad grabs a hold of his right arm, heaving his weight backwards in a strong Irish Whip. Oliveira is sent careening into the railing by the shambles of the timekeeper’s table, back bent over it in a dry and aching scream. Strife raises both arms out before him and flicks in his fingers, ‘bring it on’. The Genius pries back over the railing and charges back at his opponent, aiming for the neck. However, Strife remains one step ahead as he kips sideways slightly and hooks his arm under the oncoming underarm of Matt’s. Popping out his hip, it clips Oliveira’s pelvis and sends him up and over, driving him through one of the four glass panes.
JP: “Hip toss into the glass! Strife calls first blood on the panes! What a sound!”
Ray: “WOW, JP, you like the sounds Matt makes too?”
JP: “…I…hate...you…”
Oliveira lay back-first on the shattered glass, back arched in pain from the addition to his spinal abusive collection. Strife bends down and grabs Matt by the hair, his opponent complying with his demands and trying to stand back up. Matt reaches his feet and is welcomed by a whip to the ring post, bouncing off his skull and leaning groggy on the apron. Strife reels back and launches a left hook across Matt’s cheek, the Genius’s head bouncing like a bobble head doll’s until Vlad pushes him into the ring with an uncaring shove. Oliveira begins crawling to the middle of the ring, to a chair, as the King heads back around the outside of the ring. Stepping over debris of desks and monitors, he reaches the table stack and lifts up the first, soon lugging it over to the ring and sliding it onto the blood-dribbled canvas. His eyes dart across the ring and over it’s vicinity, and up to the heavenly gallows in which a few articles left are hanging. With one more glance at the suspended weapons, Strife walks along the far side of the ring and to the left, near the entrance ramp. With a slight swing of hand, he picks up one of the empty garbage cans by the handle and tosses it over the ropes and into the ring. It bounces just adjacent to a tiresome Oliveira, on hands and knees, still regrouping from the glass. Vlad steps forward to enter the squared circle, but just as soon as he touches the rope he backs away, mind running rapid with ideas. He once again retreats to the far camera side of the ring and leans down, picking up the ladder that was used on his legs and back previously. He stands it on end, folding it, and slipping it into the ring to join it’s aluminium counterparts. However, Strife seizing the opportunity, shifts the ladder so it shunts the end across the hairline of Matt with a minor “cling!”, more insult than abuse. Like a duck in a shooting gallery, Strife AGAIN returns to the left ringside area, this time stopping in his tracks at one of the two remaining weapon cans. With another swipe of his hand, the lid is flicked off the opening, revealing quite the surprise. The camera, wisely, still remains a safe distance away as Strife lowers a hand into the can, a grin across a bloodied face as it grabs a hold of something and raises it. The fans begin cheering as Vlad reveals none other than a thumbtack chair.
JP: “Oh dear Christ. We’ve had at LEAST ten chair shots in this match alone! Now you’re telling me that we’re gonna make it more?”
Ray: “No, we’re not, JP. You’re seeing. NOW I’m telling you we’re gonna make it more. Don’t you know the difference between seeing and hearing?”
JP: “If this damn thing goes on any longer, these guys won’t know the damn difference between 1 and 2! Let alone to keep track of how many chair shots they’ve taken!”
Ray: “So THAT’s why I’ll do it for them!”*Ray sarts to the closest side of the ring and removes a small scoreboard, flipping one side to “05” and the other to “04”, JP simply shaking his head.
Strife holds the chair by one hand as he turns back to the ring, until, double-take. Vlad looks at the chair, and back into the can. An awestruck look appears on his face as he stares into the abyss of the cylinder, reaching back in. The fans assuming Vlad is seeing an mirage of sorts, until his dream becomes a reality. Strife, in the same can, removes a SECOND thumbtack chair. He holds them by the legs in each hand, kicking the can to the side and climbing up onto the apron with his good knee. Matt looks up as he finally reaches a vertical position, a minor case of shock overcoming him as he realizes the weapons strewn around him, his opponent steeping through the ropes with two carbon copies of his own creation. Strife stands across from Oliveira, chairs in hands, looking under his brow at him. He raises out his left arm and drops the chair of that hand at Matt’s feet, keeping one of his own. The Genius is taken aback, giving into his instinct and cautiously ducking down and picking up the chair. He looks back up as Vlad strikes down the instantly-raised chair across his head, the sound of thunder echoing through the arena, Oliveira stunned, leaning on his heels. Matt stumbles backwards as he re-grips his chair, Strife standing still, chair lowered from the strike. He raises his free hand towards Matt, turning his palm towards himself and giving the Genius a sarcastic middle finger, actions speaking louder than words in more than one way. Oliveira looks through the drop of blood leaving his brow with a snarl, grabbing his chair and lifting it. CRACK!
Ray: “That’s number twelve!”
Strife drops to one knee from the hit, the injury plaguing him once more while a “cat’s claw” laceration now marks it’s territory on the minefield of Strife’s skull. “Come on, you bastard! Round two!” screams Matt, words soaking into his opponent who’s hair covers his head, showing little to no emotion that we know of. Strife creaks back up, his balance slightly off from his leg, Oliveira dangling the chair by one hand as he coaxes a gesture to his opponent. Strife grabs a hold of his chair, taking one step back, reeling it, one step forward and CRACK! A collection of tacks are embedded into Matt’s cranium as he stumbles back into the caging, the steel catching his weight, the only thing keeping him upright is a locked knee.
Ray: “Lucky thirteen!”
Matt’s head lean against the cage, a one-eyed leering at the King is all left in his ability. He grasps his chair still, is opposite hand clenched to the cage. With all might he pushes off of it, showing that, miraculously, he can still stay standing. Vlad stares straight back at him, daring him, taunting him with a single connection of the eye. Come on, you bastard, make my day. The words echo in the imagination of Matt’s mind, the lesser amounts of adrenaline for the time being springing into his bloodstream as he grabs both hands for the third time onto the chair. Hauntingly the seat rises up once more, brushing against the cage as Oliveira runs –ahem- staggers forwards to the best of his ability, trying for the most force outside of the initial shot to compensate. One, two, three steps, swing…
No! Strife drops to his knees and dodges the overhead shot, releasing a low blow for good measure. The legs, and Matt’s hands strike the top rope the was behind Vlad, forcing him to drop the chair as it bounces to the outside, Oliveira dropping to his knees himself in pain.
JP: “An eye for an eye, a low blow for a low blow, and a chair shot for a DAMN chair shot!”
The King pulls Matt up by a shoulder dug into his abdomen, standing the Genius up, chair in possession. Oliveira creaks on his very feet, overcome by pain, overwhelmed by the battle of consciousness. Strife stands back up with a grunt, knee again. The champion raises his chair for one last time, bringing it over the hairline and top of Matt’s head for a final blow. The Genius’s legs giving way, his weight toppling over to one side and his body laying lengthwise against the ladder with an unforgiving crunch. Matt lay motionless, body and ladder creaking as Strife drops the chair with a clang to the mat, blood caressing the remaining tacks. Vlad leans into the ropes next to the ladder, extinguished, blood pouring down his face from wounds new and old, the top rope holding up his chin. The referee in the corner gives Strife a quick look and begins the ten-count on Matt, figuring now would be the time more than ever to prevent these two men from becoming Hardcore Finger Painters.
Ray: "FOURTEEN! FOURTEEN chair shots...ah, ah, ah."
…1!...2!...3!...
Strife coughs, staring out into space, the only movement of Matt being the dropping of an arm off of his chest, more than likely from the rising and falling causes by breathing.
…4!...5!...6!...
To be FINISHED by Vlad (gone Sunday)
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Post by Vladimir T. Strife on Nov 16, 2007 15:05:01 GMT -5
Vladimir pushes the referee away, bending down and scooping a handful of hair on the head of the Hardcore Genius, not wanting to end it this way. This was too light... too nice. He clasps the forearm of Matthew and Irish whips him into the steel cage, Oliveira's back rattling the cage as he slams into it. He drops to his knees, back arched at the imprint of steel links in his flesh. Vlad reaches down once more, grabbing the chin of his opponent and raising him to his feet. He begins to yell into the face of his opponent, berating him.
"You screwed up, Matty boy. You should have never answered that challenge... never should have challenged the King of Extreme. You walk around here high and mighty like you invented hardcore... but you don't realize what you're up against. Inventing hardcore... heh... I PERFECTED IT!!"
Vladimir throws a stiff right into the cheek of Matthew, an exclamation on the statement. Matthew loses a bit of strength in his legs, wobbling and nearly falling. Vlad follows with a second shot, rocking Matthew backwards and against the cage. Suddenly, to the surprise of Vladimir, his call is answered, Matthew firing back with a right fist to the mouth that plants Vlad to the canvas. The King quickly scurries to his feet, his legs wobbling and uneducated like those of a newborn colt. Matthew follows in with another shot, dropping him where he stands again. Vlad rolls out of the ring, holding his mouth and stammering as he wonders where the hell Matt pulled that kind of a punch from. As he turns around, Matthew comes through the middle of the ropes, slamming his shoulder into the chest of the champion and blasting him back against the barricade.
JP: Holy crap! I thought Matthew was done for! He's fighting back! He's fighting back! He's got the King on the run!
Ray: Nooo! Get him Vlad! Show him what you're made of! I wish he'd show me what he's made of..
JP: Come on! This is a family show, don't say that kind of stuff!
Ray looks at JP with a cocked eyebrow, then to Matthew and Vladimir, laying bloody against the barricade, looking nearly lifeless.
Ray: Family show... really now?
JP: Well... well.. Agh, shouldn't you be off decorating a room or something!?
Matthew raises to his feet, pulling Vladimir up by his long brunette locks and dragging him over to the apron, slamming Vlad's face down against the canvas. Matthew makes his way over to the cans, looking into one of Vladimir's cans and seeing what waits in store. What he sees inside makes his eyes light up like a young child in a candy store. Matthew reaches into the can and pulls out the bizarre weapon, large wooden knucks with 3 long curved blades protruding at the knuckles, reminiscent of X-men hero Wolverine. He slips his finger in and gets a firm grip, grinning at the possibilities. He turns to see Vladimir, who is making bail for the hills, running like a dog with his tail between his legs at the site of his own devious idea turned awry. Matthew darts after him, quickly catching the hobbling Vladimir Strife by the hair and stopping his progress.
JP: OH MY GOD! DON'T DO IT MATT!!! THAT'LL KILL HIM!!!
Matthew doesn't hear him, despite being only 10 feet at most away from the announcers table, too caught up in the moment to listen to reason. He spins Vladimir down and slaps the claws down across the forehead of his foe, the blades splitting 3 clean lines into Vlad's flesh and colliding with bone. Vlad shoves Matt and reels away, his face nearly instantly covered in the mesmerizing crimson of flesh blood, pouring over darker spots of blood that has dried throughout the course of this match. Matthew slams the blades against the thigh of Vladimir, ripping through his pants and digging open a 2 inch deep gash above his knee that is unseen thanks to his pants. Vladimir drops down, clasping the wound with his hand and pulling it up, covered in blood. Vladimir sees none of it though, sliding his hands across his face, trying to rid himself of the stinging sensation from the blood in his eyes. He use the cage to pull himself up and presses his back against it. He kicks about, not hitting a thing as he fires shot after shot in the dark. He hears a grunt and understands what it means as he shoots to the side and the tips of the claws pass him, stabbing through the steel links and becoming caught in the cage wall.
JP: That was just TOO close! He nearly stabbed those claws right through the stomach of Vladimir!!
Ray: Vlad! Here!
Ray gets up from his desk and quickly hands Vladimir a towel. JP tries to yell at him to stop, but the warning is too late. Matthew looks at Ray in disgust and grabs him, slamming his head against the cage. Ray's body goes limp, not being a Fighty fighty person or accustomed to being beat on by an opponent. Matthew puts one hand on the lower back of the scrawny man and one on his chest, picking him up like a child and throwing him at the announcers table. Ray slams onto the top of it and the table crumbles below the impact, leaving him laying in it's debris. Matthew remarks on it with a grin and returns his focus to Vladimir. Vlad throws a bloodied towel aside, having wiped the blood from his face finally, momentarily at least. Vlad throws a kick into the gut of Matthew and then grabs him by the head, slamming his face against the cage. He holds it against the caging and begins to pull him side to side, grating Matt's flesh against the steel.
Vladimir pushes Matthew away a bit and slips his finger between the steel links, climbing the cage. As Matthew goes after him, Vlad throws a kick downward into his teeth, shaking Matthew off of his leg. He continues to climb, Matthew following suit now to reach him. As Matthew reaches the top of the cage, Vladimir is waiting for him, reaching over with a punch to the jaw of Matt. Matthew returns with one of his own, finding it hard to keep a grip on the cage with just one hand. He grabs Vladimir by the hair and slams his forehead into the bar across the top of the cage. The King drifts backwards, holding tightly onto the cage and trying not to fall off. Matthew climbs over the top, getting himself onto the other side of the cage to face Vladimir. He throws a punch into Vlad's mouth, sending him bouncing back again, but the King holds fast to the cage. Vlad rocks forward, letting go with one arm and slamming an elbow against the chin of Matthew Oliveira. Matthew rocks backwards, looking as though he'll drop to the canvas. Fans across the arena stand on the tips of their toes, itching to see who will take a tumble to the ground.
JP: Ray, Ray, are you okay!? Jesus this is getting crazy! And now they are fighting up there on top of that cage! Either one of them could go plummeting off of their at any moment and trust me, that could be the very end of their career!
Vladimir hooks his arm around the head of Matthew and grabs Matt's arm, bringing it over the top of his own head for better control. He reaches over the side of the cage and grips the top of Matt's pants, pulling up and going for a suplex. Matthew throws a punch into Vlad's ribs though and Vlad loses power, Matthew grabbing back onto the cage. He grabs Vlad's head and slams it once more against the top of the cage. Vlad nearly blacks out, falling backwards, only to be pulled forward against the cage by Matthew. Matthew takes a step up on the cage and bends Vladimir down. He hooks the right arm of the King with his own, eyes shooting wide open across the arena. He hooks the left arm and pulls Vladimir up and off of the cage, pressing his face now against the cage on his own side as Vladimir stares out at an upside down crowd. His instinct is to panic, but instead, Vladimir draws his legs in close and places his knees under the chin of Matthew Oliveira, his lower legs up and out to the sides at an angle. He pushes up on Matthew's chin, Matt nearly instantly annoyed at the attempt to push him off. Matt pushes off of the cage, extending his legs against it to get a good distance away. He wraps his thighs against the sides of Vladimir's head as they begin their descent and the etchings of history itself.
JP: OH MY GOD!!!!
In the moment of impact, the top of Vladimir's head is slammed like a ton of bricks against the canvas, jarring his neck harshly. The impact shoots up through Vladimir's body like a wave, feeling like a spinal tap from hell. Matthew's bottom slams against the mat at the same time, his body driving the C-Driver into the mat and miraculously not through. His chin slams viciously against the knees of Vladimir Strife, snapping his head back at the force and causing him to break his hold on the arms of the fallen King. Vladimir's body shoots up from the impact, having driven his knees harder into the jaw of Matthew and also making him look almost like a spring as he falls sideway, body nearly straightened from the impact like a dart. He lays on the mat, breathing softly against it as Matthew drops backwards limply, knocked silly out of his mind from the impact with Vlad's knees.
JP: THE C-DRIVER!!!! OH MY GOD!!! THAT WAS BRUTAL BEYOND COMPREHENSION!!! HE'S KILLED VLADIMIR STRIFE!!! GET A DAMN MEDIC OUT HERE!!! HE'S KILLED HIM!!!
The referee stands slack jawed in shock, taking a moment to snap out of it and begin the count.
1!
The audience stares in disbelief at a moment in time that has rocked the ring and possibly the wrestling world.
2!
The referee swears silently to himself, nearly not believing what is happening.
3!
4!
The chants of "HOLY SHIT!" are audible clearly throughout the entire arena, GHW stars in the back joining from their lockerrooms as they watch from their televisions.
5!
Still no movement from either man, the referee and nearly every fan not understanding why Matthew hasn't gotten up.
6!
Matthew Oliveira has begun to stir, shaking his head and clutching his chin and jaw from his mouth blasting down against the stiff knees of the Undefeated wonder of GHW.
7!
Medics come from the back, making their way to the ring with 2 stretchers, neckbraces, and many other goodies for the participants of this match, understanding that as soon as the bell rings, both men will be requiring medical attention.
8!
Vladimir lays face down against the mat, his world blackened. The only sign of life is feint breathing against the canvas, unknown to the worried fans across the arena, some of the more devout fans choking back tears and their concerns. Matthew rolls over to his stomach, placing his knees and hands against the canvas.
9!
Matthew Oliveira pushes himself up, but the strength in his arms is gone, his vision blurred and shaking still. He arm slips from beneath him and he crashes back to the mat on his face, not having the strength to continue.
10!
The bell rings as the medics rush into the ring, turning the stars onto their back as some of the fans weep with their worst fears in mind. They put a neckbrace on Vladimir and pick him up, sliding the stretcher beneath him carefully. They put a neckbrace on Matthew as well, who fights it off and claims that he doesn't need one. As he tries to push them away, his strength isn't enough and they get him onto the stretcher, strapping both men in.
"Ladies and Gentlemen... the referee has declared this match a DRAW as a result of neither man being able to reach their feet by the count of ten!"
A few fans boo the decision, but many stay silent, hoping that neither man is injured severely. As the medics get them out of the ring and begin to carry them to the back, the fans give them a standing ovation, applauding loudly the 2 men who gave everything they could in the ring tonight for the sake of competition and the entertainment of GHW fans.
"As a result of the referee's decision, Vladimir T. Strife is STILL the King Of The Deathmatch champion!"
A third stretcher is brought out, medics responding as well to Ray, who has sat up at least, but is still banged up from the attack Matt dished to him.
A replay shows of the brutal C-Driver that brought the end of the match, showing the fans once more and then again. Gods versus Heretics comes to a close as a compilation of tonight's biggest moments plays to the tune of "The Memory Remains" by Metallica.
~End Of Match~
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