Post by Rick Majors on May 23, 2019 22:57:35 GMT -5
The show opens with a live shot of a lamp on top of a small wooden table. A photo of Grimm rests inside of a frame with broken glass. A red line has been scribbled diagonally on the right side of his face. Next to this table is a rocking chair that is rocking without anyone sitting on it. A single four-pane window is glimpsed in the background with moonlight pushing its way through the top of what appears to be an orange tree (or is it trees?). Sitting in the corner is Seromine, who at the moment looks forlorn as he hangs his head low.
"Mother's Day just recently passed. Gone for another year." He sighs. "But for me, it's always celebrated. Even when she's not here to see it."
Seromine gently combs his fingers through the parts in his hair. His mood perks up over the thought of honoring the person who gave him life every day of the year. He slides over to the still rocking chair.
"You know something, Stormm? You almost had me fooled. You almost had me convinced that I could unleash The Anarchist again. Enter Rick Majors and his reminder that there are outstanding sins needing to be paid for."
Seromine begins tugging on his braided hair. "Don't let them do this to you" he whispers just as a flash of lightning passes outside.
"I thought Grimm was my penance, but one never expects to be smacked in the fucking face with a shovel, do they? Sorry XIII. You're going to have to come out of the shadows and try a lot harder than beating me in a tournament I wanted nothing to do with."
His ire only grows behind tightly closed eyes. One gets the sense his voice of reason is talking him down to a more manageable mood. Seromine runs his fingertips across the rocking chair before getting up to approach the moonlit window. He gazes at the orange tree (or is it trees?), childishly waving at it.
"I'm here, Richard. Just like I said I would be. Now I'm going to return the favor. Just like I said I would do." His next word is through a whisper. "Sinner."
The sound of footsteps quietly approaching captures Seromine's attention. Just as he begins turning his head around, a shadow is cast over his body. A wind up carousel starts playing its melody. He turns and smiles big with his arms held out for a hug.
"Hi Mommy!"
After the opening credits, we head backstage, to find Kyle Shane, and the camera is following after him as he's going down the steps leading into the parking concourse and where the production trucks are parked with all the sound, lighting, pyro and stage equipment. Kyle is wearing skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors, an expensive and tight leather motorcycle style jacket over a Coheed and Cambria shirt. Kyle gives little looks back to the cameras to make sure they're following along. They cut between two mack trucks with the PCW logo on the side used for transport, like a tunnel and then stopping at the end of the gap. And as they get down into the production area, they happen upon a scene we wouldn't have expected. There are equipment cases set up, and a big white board on wheels has been set up next to a gaggle of four people. They are all pooling money on an equipment case. Kyle bursts from between the two trucks into the open, and the camera comes along behind.
Kyle Shane: What up fools?!
Production assistant #1: Oh god!
He gave them a huge spook, and the one production assistant handling the money, seemingly the ringleader of the little pool startles, letting loose dollar bills waft out of his grasp. He's a spindly little man, with an oversized nose and glasses. Kyle advances on the group.
Kyle Shane: You dirty little ingrates, you were going to do this without me? You were going to do the infamous Icemann Tournament Betting Pool without Kyle Shane??
The PA's and the other stagehands all exchange looks, their eyes and faces showing a wealth of emotions, but they all look to the kid holding the money and their expressions reading that he should be the one to tell him. Someone even sucks their teeth and looks away with an "Awkward..." grimace.
Production assistant #1: Well I - we just... we didn't think you had any interest in running it this year, and -
Kyle sneers, but he squints and looks upward in consideration for a moment, then he shrugs it off with a vague little headshake, because nah, he wasn't... (He thought they kinda nailed the story last year and didn't need to revisit it, until something came to his attention.) But then he looks back down at the group of people gathered around the whiteboard brackets, peeved.
Kyle Shane: It's still rude that you didn't let me know. You don't think I like making money on the side of -
Production assistant #2: Oh for God's sake you- You make money from a God damn main event, World champion A-list contract, you aren't needing to go on food stamps.
Stagehand #2: Yeah, and last year you were manipulating the odds so that your favs could win and that cost us all a LOT! I spent my kids braces money on Tyler Scott going all the way - BRACES MONEY! But you, mister big shot, you got braces money comin' out of your ears, don't you!
Kyle Shane: And... you don't feel like maybe you're to blame for making fucking terrible life choices? Like betting on Tyler Scott?
The insulted party snarls at that. They're ganging up on him now, pointing fingers and yelling like a mob. Kyle glances back into the camera, nervous, but holds his hands up to calm them down.
Backstage gofer #1: This is why we didn't want you around this time, this is exactly why!
Stagehand #1: You and your... your tight pants!
Kyle Shane: Guys... come on. That's all in the past... I'm Remastered now. I'm an entirely new Kyle Shane, starting over from the -
They boo him down so ferociously that he flinches back, but keeps holding his hands out, trying to soothe and peacekeep them.
Kyle Shane: Listen... what if I used that main event run A-list contract money and I paid all of you back? What if I made good this time around?
They all exchange skeptical, but to varying degrees interested looks at each other, and their apparent spokesperson of the unrest has a look of dissatisfaction cross his face, rubbing his chin.
Production assistant #2: And how do you propose to do that?
Kyle goes over to the whiteboard, and he points at the rest of the brackets. It's down to the semis on one side, Kyle versus Stormm.
Kyle Shane: Living A Legacy is the next show. So, the Icemann Tournament semifinals and finals are going to be in one night. So, optimally, I'm going to have to face and defeat two opponents in the same night and win. If I get that, then I will personally pay out, big enough to compensate. You'll be betting on longshot odds, but more importantly, you'll be betting on me to win it all.
One of the stagehands looks at her partner, confused, but then back to Kyle.
Stagehand #2: Can you do that?
A look of supreme, purest Kyle Shane-esque confidence crosses Kyle's face. He grins, cocks a thumb at himself.
Kyle Shane: Baby, you're looking at the man who invented that. No, well, but... two years ago, I did that very thing, when I defended the Underground title AND won a triple threat match to win the TIIT finals all in one night.
Production assistant #1: Yeah but that makes it imPOSSIBLE, now, you're basically counting on lightning striking twice in - pfft- the exact same manner.
He giggles, goofily, nerdily, and elbows the nearest worker in the ribs, trying to get them into laughing with him. Kyle's confidence is at ease, but he smiles broadly, pointing his finger out in an understood "Bingo" gesture.
Kyle Shane: This basically is my turn at the TIIT, Remastered. I'm planning on doing the same thing all over again, better and more jawdroppingly climactic than I did before. Better, faster, stronger. I did it once, and I'm better this time around, knowing what I'm getting into and knowing full well what I am capable of at my upper limit. I can do this. And - only IF I do this, you guys are going to be so rich off all that money I swindled you out of last year...
A few of them look at each other, but some look away, uneasily, having a hard time if they can trust Kyle or not. For his own part he's trying not to grin like the devil, or look at the stacks of cash they're laying out.
Backstage gofer #1: Yeah but... to prepare for that match... only one of those opponents is someone you know right now, you could be facing Holden Ross, Rick Majors, Dominator, Hunter... you are... You are going to have to do promos for all of them. You're basically going to have to do promos not just against Stormm, but against the other two men in the second semifinal all the way to the final.
Kyle huffs out a breath, nodding his head to indicate yeah, that's obvious. He knows he'll have to prepare a lot for his opponents, whoever they may be. The poor little mousy backstage worker sighs, and echoes a sentiment we've heard before.
Backstage gofer#1: It’s just…there’s so much talking these days, you know? In that ring. Backstage. In the parking garage. In hotel rooms. So much talking.
Kyle's mouth twists, a bit annoyed.
Kyle Shane: Yes. I'm going to tell you right now. I'm going to be talking A LOT going into the 2019 Icemann Invitational. A lot. About my opponents. About winning the match. About the finals. That's how Kyle Shane operates. I'm sorry. I will personally apologize and buy anybody who objects to that a very nice dinner. Do you like Tex Mex? Chipotle?
Stagehand #1: I can't eat burritos, they upset my stomach. They rumbly in my tumbly. They irritate my IBS. Theres so much farting going on. In the bathroom. In elevators. In church.
He closes his eyes and sighs.
Stagehand #1: So. Much. Farting.
A bit put off by the tangent, the ringleader of the pool squints and cocks his eyes sideways at the guy who just spoke up, then shakes it off and looks back at Kyle.
Production assistant #1: You're betting a lot on what isn't at all a sure thing. Some of us can REALLY use that money you're promising to put up, and it's only on the condition that you win through all of the rounds. What if you can't get past the second round? What if you can't even beat Stormm?
Shane looks at this man like he just slapped Kyle's sainted momma. Kyle turns his head to all the others, in fact, so they can also see Kyle's outraged look. Kyle gets serious.
Kyle Shane: Can't beat Justin Fuck-knuckle Michaels? I think you might actually have me confused with someone who sweats overrated hacks who havent had original ideas since 2006 or whenever Lantlas was here. I do not give a damn about Justin Michaels and in fact, beating Stormmy and bouncing his bitch ass out of the tournament is the number one thing I've been looking forward to of this whole thing, because it affords me one final and devastating way to shut Michael's mouth. Stormm has had the world's worst luck trying to beat me. In fact, the records pretty one-sidedly show - he CAN'T beat me. Not without Johnny Matthews interfering, not without hitting me from behind like the bitch he is, not without jumping me, and not without using his outdated, ripoff ideas like spray painting a title belt or sending Stormm clones out to the ring as a distraction.
The camera catches Kyle's profile as he smirks.
Kyle Shane: And yet Justin Michaels is so quick to come out here and talk about what he DESERVES, why he's DESERVED to be in the main event because he held the North American Title a combined 900 days and why he DESERVES to be the World champion because he's been here so long. Justin Michaels thinks he is owed every bit of consideration based off how long he's been here, but I have been working so much harder and rising so much stronger than Justin Michaels has, and I have beaten him. When it counted. When it was time to step up and proclaim a reason why someone should be a World champion. That's when I beat Justin Michaels in the past...
He laughs.
Kyle Shane: And it's why the Remastered, Refocused, and stronger than ever God of Game is going to run through Justin Michaels. Speed run, in fact, because I know this empty bronze trophy and I could beat it with my eyes closed. So yes. Please. Bank on me getting past Justin Fuck-knuckle Michaels. Bank on me getting to the finals. Write out a check payable, by me, dated to the night of Living a Legacy, after I win my second tournament, overcome the odds, and do it all again, better than the first time.
Production assistant #2: It sounds good, Kyle... but little Susie still needs braces, the dentist said if we didn't fix her snaggle tooth it could start growing sideways and getting infected, and -
Kyle Shane: Oh my god, woman, I didn't want to hear your life story. Now. I'm going to go watch the other two TIIT matches tonight and scout who I'm facing in the finals. Peace out, homies.
As Kyle leaves, the camera lingers on the few, disparate members of the 2019 TIIT Betting Pool. We don't know their names, or their stories, or their hopes and dreams, but we do know, a lot of them are putting their faith in Kyle Shane to deliver at Living a Legacy. For Susie's braces, hell, for them all.
The camera switches to ringside.
Jerry Andrews: Welcome everyone to the last stop before Living a Legacy! I'm Jerry Andrews and welcome to PCW Trauma! With me as always is Ace Anderson, how's it going Ace!?
Ace Anderson: I'm pumped for the night of action we're about to see! Enough talking, let's get to the ring!
Can you feel it coming? Can you feel it coming?
'Switchblade Smiles' by Kasabian gradually rises in volume to announce the arrival of Tyler Scott. The lights dim and flicker as the crowd react with alternative waves of boos and cheers.
Move back this wrecking ball,
Rips through the blackest hole,
Violence is coming. It's coming. It's coming
However, as Tyler Scott appears through the curtain, the boos surpass the cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp and takes a moment to adjust the strapping around his wrists and direct a few abusive words to the front row crowd. A quick turn of the wrist and crack of the knuckles and Tyler continues his descent down the ramp.
He heads to the ring, climbs through the ropes and walks to the centre where he stands and stares intensely into the crowd. He mouths a few obscenities before beginning warming up for the upcoming contest.
Jerry Andrews: Will we FINALLY be able to have this take place?
Ace Anderson: Quiet, Jer. I've got a bet on who'll stop it this week.
A school bell rings....the crows claps along with the clapping of the song matching its beat. A motorcycle emerges from the back with Cory Steel on the back, the outlaw stops at the top of the ramp where he holds a fist up in the air. The massive man also lays down on the accelerator drowning out the music and the crowd!
Cory smiles and then launches himself down the ramp on his motorcycle. He takes a few laps around the ring before coming to a stop and rolls into the ring. The large man lumbers to his corner turning his rage into focus on his opponent.
The referee is hesitant to call for the bell. After enough time passes to quell his concern, he makes the request.
DING!
DING!
DING!
That's when the lights are cut and the sound of a ticking watch is heard. No, PCW isn't being highlighted by 60 minutes. It's also got nothing to do with anyone's entrance. But when the lights do power back on...Tyler and Cory are in the crosshairs of The Zenith...
DOMINATOR
The North American champion has arrived for target practice. Both men fall victim to an unleashed FORCE OF TIME, cutting them where they stand in violent fashion. Dominator approaches Tyler Scott first. He deadlifts him up onto his broad shoulders some seven feet in the air, only to reintroduce him to an impact landing with THE NAMESAKE. Cory is ripped up and put back down like his 300lbs made him a cruiserweight, as Dominator hits DAY BREAK.
Jerry Andrews: This has gotten out of hand now.
Ace Anderson: Maybe he's sending a message to everyone remaining in the Icemann Invitational Tournament.
Tyler and Cory are pulled at the same time into a double ANACHRONISM! They remain face down as Dominator gets back to his feet. The applause from Horacio Mortimer doesn't go unnoticed as he raises Dominator's arm in the air. Satisfied with the use of their time, they depart the ring while "Wave of Darkness" by Garik Wheeler filters into the minds of the faithful.
Jerry Andrews: Welp.... maybe next time. They're booked for the pay-per-view, right?
The feed cuts to the halls of the arena. David Hunter and Holden Ross are huddled together, whispering words that the camera can not pick up. In the background we can see the stairs and a curtain, leading to the area behind the stage.
Jerry Andrews: This is backstage, right outside the arena.
On David's left arm in a duffel bag, hunched over with some of the weight. Eventually, they shake hands. David slaps Holden on the back before they start to make their way towards the stairs.
Ace Anderson: Looks like the best tag team in PCW is about to hit the ring.
Jerry Andrews: Yeah and they're not coming alone.
Just as quickly as the feed was sent to the back, it returns to the arena. We get a good shot of the stage and all its glory.
Before too long, "Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" by GaMetal starts blaring on the PA speakers. The lights in the arena all go out, barring the spotlights on the stage. David Hunter comes out, adorned in his usual Hawaiian shirt, worn over another black shirt with a square on it with four different colors from the top: white, blue, pink, yellow going clockwise. He also has on his standard blue jeans because of course. Over his left shoulder still is the duffel bag containing unknown knows what.
He steps forward on the stage, arms spread, t-shirt exposed, which gets a fairly muddled reaction from the crowd. He looks around at his peasants, breathing deeply and ready for what's to come, but otherwise focused on the ring in front of him. He shows off a smirk, glancing around at the crowd before him.
As the drop begins, David pumps his fist forward, punching the air. He turns around, facing the curtain.
The sound of a needle being drug across a record interrupts the song. It is replaced by “Spiders,” midway through Billie Corgan's instrumental feat. Holden strolls out from the back and as he walks up alongside Hunter, the two bump fists. He is in a pair of baggy jeans and a black t-shirt with the “Leviathan Cross” in white in the center of his chest. His biker jacket now has a large patch of the “Sigil of Bael” stretched across his back.
David turns around and the two of them begin the trek to the ring. A few fans---mostly little kids enamored by his choice of t-shirt--attempt to get a high-five but they are promptly ignored, much to their disappointment. The back of Holden's shirt can now be seen and in white, block, lowercase lettering it reads; “Bastard by Birth. Ultraviolent by Choice.”
Jerry Andrews: Fairly easy to be the "best tag team" when they're the "only tag team."
Ace Andrews: Semantics, Jerry. It's all about semantics.
The duo hit ringside where David reaches up to grab the middle rope. He pulls himself up onto the apron, but quickly hops to the top rope. He points straight at the hard camera. During this, Holden crawls in under the bottom rope. David hops into the ring, setting the duffel bag down on the mat. He climbs onto the middle rope, staring straight at the hard camera. After making sure his balance is alright, he raises a clenched right fist into the air. Holden, ever simplistic yet quite intimidating, looms next to him, standing straight and staring strong.
David flips his hair back before jumping to the mat.
Jerry Andrews: Their first time teaming together on the last Trauma did not end the way either would have liked.
Ace Anderson: A rough start for the Best Tag Team in PCW, but that's far from something to shame them for.
Holden motions towards Sasha, who quickly gives him her microphone. Just as quickly as he obtains it does Holden toss it over to David. With a swift catch with one hand, David Hunter begins to speaking, just as the music fades away.
David Hunter: Hey howdy hey, deputies. Welcome to another addition of PCW Trauma, am I right?
This gets the standard cheap pop, courtesy of a little smoodging.
David Hunter: Yes siree Bob, and as per the norm, as you can see, the Best Tag Team in Pure Class Wrestling is here and...quite frankly...a little bit pissed.
The mood changes just as fast. What was once a smirking and happy David turns into a frowning and peeved one. Holden's arms, folded over his chest, come to stand at their side, fists clenching with a quite clear annoyance.
David Hunter: It's interesting, looking back to last Trauma...how the first time the two of us team together officially...it ends in a loss...to the two guys...we have beef with. And that's just par for the course at this point. All the confidence in the world, ready and waiting to kick anybody's ass we deem fit. Ready and waiting to go to town on two sons of bitches like this is the Old West. Ready and waiting to claim our first win, and what happens?
David turns towards Holden, who is doing what he can to refrain from blowing up.
David Hunter: Do we walk away with a win? Are we able to secure the pinfall? Hell, you've all seen the damn match, of course we didn't! Because it's quite clearly evident that unless you're a a goddamn wordsmith. Unless you're meaner and tougher and stronger or just don't give a shit about the rules, than you aren't going anywhere! To say that the two of us ended up losers after last Trauma is an understatement. And no...we're not happy about it.
David returns the smirk to his face.
David Hunter: But it's okay. Wanna know why it's okay? I'll tell you why it's okay. Cause between The Bastard...and this son of a bitch...we're just not gonna give a shit anymore. I know, that's a loaded statement and I have no doubt Sicko's already planning on some arrogant and cocky response to it once he gets his chance, but damn if it isn't the truth.
David takes a little bit of a break to allow the crowd to soak in his words.
David Hunter: You see I've come to a revelation. When Sicko ran around and destroyed the arena, he earned a King of the Underground Title rematch--after losing to me, by the way. Yes, I know, he beat almost everybody else in the division...before getting the match. He didn't get the damn rematch until he destroyed everything and everybody in sight. So good job there. No, when Sicko dismantled the roster, he was rewarded. When I did it...it cost me $300,000 dollars and a probation period by the Pure Class Board of Directors.
This gets a solid reaction, all positive from the crowd.
David Hunter: Yeah yeah, lap it alllll up there. David Hunter, big bad David Hunter, destroyer of locker rooms, retirer of Alexa Black, jizzer on desks of Loki, forced to pay $300,000 because he decided to have a bit of fun. It was at the point that money left my bank account that I realized...why should I give a shit about anything? I could give everything in this ring trying to win...but it could mean nothing in the end. I could dismantle the establishment...but the establishment still gets its final say. I could rebuild the tag team division...but it won't mean a damn thing...if there's nothing to fight for.
David cracks another smirk, earning a muddled response from the crowd. He hands the microphone over to Holden. He then leans down, unzipping the duffel bag. As Holden can't help but smile himself, David pulls out two brand new spanking golden tier championships.
The PCW logo is slapped on the top, with "World Tag Team Wrestling Championship" engraved around the center. In the center is a plate of the Earth, colored to see what's land and what's sea. The side plates of both titles have both the PCW logo and--depending on which "champion" it belongs to--the logos of one of the wrestlers in the ring.
David reaches his feet, handing off one of the championships to Holden, who slaps it over his right shoulder. David does the same, holding it close and flipping his hair back. After slapping the title a few times, Holden begins to speak.
Holden Ross: I've been here a year now. I have proved myself in the trenches and I am still considered nothing more than a scrub. I'm slightly higher on the Totem Pole than the likes of Razor Blade and Joey Handy! Even Tyler Scott, the joke he has become, is considered “better” than me.
He shakes his head and David pats him on the shoulder. The mic picks up David telling him “Nobody is better than us!” which stops Holden's head from swiveling right-to-left and gets it nodding up-and-down.
Holden Ross: Tonight, in this ring, I am facing Dominator in what is unarguably the biggest match in my career thus far. Betting odds would have me the underdog. An almost foregone conclusion that he will walk out still champion. The HE will advance in the tournament. And that I will once again walk away in defeat. Dom, don’t count me out and don't you dare look past me.
"Spiders" rips the the speakers and Holden drops the mic, drawing a thud and feedback from the sound system. The duo pose and mug for the camera as we go to commercial.
Shane Dodge is joined by Rick Majors in the backstage area, just behind the curtain.
Shane Dodge: "Rick Majors, tonight you enter the Icemann Invitational Tournament. Last year, competing as Gabriel, you made it all the way to the final before losing to Grimm. What are you going to do different this year to win the tournament?"
Rick Majors: "Well, first of all, I'm not Gabriel anymore, so I've got that going for me. Second, Grimm isn't in the tournament this year, so maybe I stand a chance. It's going to be tough though, don't get me wrong. David Hunter is a strong opponent and he's going to be really difficult to beat. But, don't worry Shane, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."
Shane Dodge: "Did you hear Seromine's warning earlier this evening? He's threatened to "return the favor." Do you think he'll try to interfere in your match? Does that concern you going into such a big contest?"
Rick Majors: "Of course it does. Not only is Jason Willard a dangerous man, but I need to be fully focused on my opponent tonight if I want to win. And I will be. Seromine's not in my head. I'm in his."
Shane is about to ask another question, but Rick Majors takes the microphone from him. He stares right into the camera as he continues to speak.
Rick Majors: "Seromine. Jason Willard. Whoever you have decided to be today. You can put on a tough face for the cameras, you can pretend to still be in control, but I know you. You managed to get inside my mind and change me during our time together, but I learned a lot about you as well. I know when you're rattled. And you're definitely rattled. It's all falling apart for you. Just as I hoped."
Majors has a look of anger on his face as he speaks.
Rick Majors: "You can threaten me all you want, but it's all meaningless. 'Returning the favor' won't save you. Nothing will. You can beat me down, you can string me up, you can rip me in two, and it won't matter. It won't bring you what you really want. And that's the power you once had. There is nothing you can do that will give you the rush you felt when you were leading that cult. You used me and Tyler and Holden for your professional gain, yes, but you also did it so you could feel proud of yourself. You wanted a last hurrah in this business. You wanted to show everyone that you still had it. You wanted to same things I did when I joined you."
Majors shifts his weight and walks closer to the camera.
Rick Majors: "The truth is, you're ageing. We all are. And you and I, Jason, you and I know we don't have much time left in this business. We both wanted to make one more big impression so badly. We both wanted to let everyone know how important we are one last time. We wanted to feel good about ourselves again. But the opportunity to do that has passed us both by. Our time is fading. The only path we can take now is annihilation. I'll see you at the end of the world."
With that, Majors walks off and the scene returns to ringside for the match.
The lights go out. The crowd cheers instinctively before eventually falling silent. Suddenly the sound of guitars pierce through the silence. "Wastelands" by Linkin Park begins to boom throughout the arena, the lights in the building flashing along with the drum beat of the song. Then, from the entrance way, steps Rick Majors.
Wearing a black denim military jacket, a grey t-shirt, and jeans, Rick Majors pauses for a moment and looks down briefly. He then looks up and starts to make his way to the ring.
"This is war with no weapons,
Marching with no stepping,
Murder with no killing,
Illing every direction."
Majors walks slowly, looking out around the arena as he continues his way down to the ring.
"And no, I'm not afraid of that
Print it in your paperback
Every rap is made in fact
To act as a delayed attack
Every phrase a razor blade
That's saved until they play it back
To slay and leave em laying on the pavement
Bang, fade to black"
The lights in the arena burst on fully as the song's chorus hits.
"In the wastelands of today,
When there's nothing left to lose,
And and there's nothing more to take,
But you force yourself to choose,
In the wastelands of today,
When tomorrow disappears
When the future slips away,
And your hope turns into fear,
In the wastelands of today."
Majors climbs the ring steps and pauses. He turns towards the crowd, standing on the ring apron for a moment before entering the ring. As he does, he turns to Lucy Willard, looking around and shouting for her son to show himself.
Jerry Andrews: I can't believe this match is still going to take place with Seromine's mother Lucy Willard at ringside, given the threats Seromine made.
Ace Anderson: That only affects one man in this match, that being Rick Majors. And from the looks Rick keeps cutting towards Lucy, it's plain that he knows her son isn't far behind.
"Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" by GaMetal starts blaring on the PA speakers. The lights in the arena all go out, barring the spotlights on the stage. David Hunter comes out, adorned in his usual Hawaiian shirt. He steps to the stage, arms spread, chest exposed. He looks around at the crowd, breathing deeply and ready for what's to come, but otherwise focused on the ring in front of him. He cracks his wrist, neck, and knuckles, glancing around at the crowd before him.
As the drop begins, David pumps his fist forward, punching the air. David begins to walk to the ring, the lights in the arena coming on completely. His eyes focus on the ring in front of him, and shows heavy remnants of a scowl. He avoids the audience members looking for a high-five or some hope of touching him.
As he approaches ringside, he starts to head towards the steps, before taking a u-turn and jumping onto the apron. He climbs the nearest turnbuckle and stands tall, one foot on the top rope, another on the middle. He points towards the hard camera, giving it a wink and something akin to a smirk before resetting and hopping into the ring. He takes off the Hawaiian shirt, tossing it towards the nearest body. He begins doing some quick warm-up stretches.
Ace Anderson: As you can see, David Hunter isn't put off by having one extra guest out at ringside tonight.
Jerry Andrews: David Hunter has proclaimed himself the most consistent main event talent - and the tag team champion - and he feels now is his time to break out.
Ace Anderson: Right now is a good time to put his money where his mouth is.
Rick Majors is still turned towards Lucy, and he grips the ropes in a frustrated manner, telling her to bring Seromine out so they can do this. David Hunter axehandles him over the back and begins laying into him with clubbing blows and right hands.
Jerry Andrews: And Hunter from behind!
Ace Anderson: Rick Majors needs to try and keep his mind off Seromine and get focused on this match.
Jerry Andrews: Majors knows in his heart that Seromine is lurking somewhere nearby.
Hunter clubs and boots Rick down to the mat. He lifts Rick up, gives him a knee to the midsection, then slams him down with a body slam. Hunter drops an elbow across his chest, then another, then another. He backs up to the ropes, coming in for another elbow drop, but Rick moves out of the way. Hunter hits the mat and gets to his feet, and Majors immediately flings a right at his face, then another, then another. Hunter cuts him off by violently kicking him in the midsection, and then taking him down with a Russian legsweep. The ref removes the TV title belt from the ring as Hunter gets down and starts choking Majors with his hand around his throat as he pushes down. The ref spots it and warns Hunter about the choke, and Hunter breaks it up.
Jerry Andrews: David Hunter isn't even letting Rick Majors get his wind in this match.
Hunter lifts Majors up, clubbing him over the back. He whips Majors into the corner, and goes charging in for a move but Majors catches him by flaring out his elbow. Hunter stumbles back, and then snarls. He turns back to Rick, but Rick elbows him again. Rick begins fighting his way out of the corner with right hands, backing Hunter up. He goes to whip Hunter to the ropes, but Hunter plants his feet and refuses to budge. Rick tries again, but again Hunter will not be moved. Finally, Hunter reverses, sending Rick to the ropes with force. Rick bounces off the ropes right into a drop toehold followed by an elbow to the back of the head. Hunter pulls Rick to his feet again. This time, Rick rakes Hunter’s eyes. Rick blasts Hunter with a vicious European uppercut, followed by two more. Majors lands a kick to the gut. Rick takes Hunter down with a kneelift to the face. Rick applies a grounded headlock. Hunter struggles in the hold, trying to push Rick off. Rick gets up, pulling Hunter to his feet. Rick takes Hunter down with a snap suplex. Lucy is glaring at Rick as Majors floats over for the pin.
The referee: One… Hunter powers out.
Rick stands up and he hits a series of stomps to Hunter’s midsection. Hunter rolls out of the ring to catch his breath, prompting the crowd to boo. Rick watches on as Hunter gets to his feet. Rick runs off the ropes, sliding in and taking Hunter down with a baseball slide. Hunter is knocked over. Rick climbs to the outside and begins peppering Hunter with right hands. He walks Hunter over and bounces his head off the apron. He rolls Hunter in the ring, but he is stopped by Lucy Willard, who is sneering at him but saying nothing. Still, the old woman glares at him, and Majors has a calculating look on his face as he turns his head back towards Hunter. He slides in the ring and he waits for Hunter to get to his feet. When he does, Rick tries a kick to the gut. Hunter catches it, but then he catches a kick to the back of the head via an enziguri by Majors. Rick gets up and he drops a leg across Hunter's throat. Majors spots the apparent weakness in his opponent and doesn't waste another moment, bulling Hunter into the corner before unloading on him with a series of vicious chops. Hunter finally shoves the Hunter away, but as he steps out of the corner, Majors greets him with a roundhouse kick to his tender right side, then spins around and doubles Hunter over with a kick to the gut. Majors hits the ropes and rebounds, connecting with a vicious knee strike to the side of David's head. Hunter tries to roll to safety, but Majors is too quick and lashes into him with another sharp kick to the side. David follows up by drilling Hunter with a European uppercut that sends the young gun staggering into the ropes Trying to press the advantage, Majors shoots his opponent off the ropes, but when Majors bends down for a back body drop Hunter leapfrogs him, hits the ropes on the other side, and rebounds by catching Majors with a flying forearm just as he turns around. Now Hunter gets to his feet.
Jerry Andrews: Some pure athleticism in the early goings of this match.
Ace Anderson: I'm really amazed that Major's old ass can keep up with Hunter.
Jerry Andrews: Interesting, isn't Majors of a similar age to be your peer.
Ace Anderson: Uhhh -
Now Hunter takes Majors to the mat with an arm drag. Majors scrambles up, but LS again catches Majors off-guard, hip tossing him to the mat. Majors pulls himself to a seated position, which presents a perfect target for Hunter, who hits the ropes and drills the Impact with a seated dropkick right to the chest. Hunter drags Majors up and whips him into the corner, then follows him with a charge and delivers a hard running back elbow. With Majors prone in the corner, Hunter takes the chance to unload with a few vicious chops of his own. This draws a "WOOOOOOO" from the crowd with every successive chop to the chest. Hunter takes a break from the chopping to pepper Majors with a series of clubbing forearms, but the referee says he’s seen enough and forces a break. Pulling him out of the corner, Hunter hooks Majors for a vertical suplex, but Majors comes back with a series of elbows to the right side. Majors attempts to switch position with a snap suplex of his own, but in mid-air Hunter shifts his weight and rolls through into a small package.
Ace Anderson: Majors is all off his game, Hunter might have it!
The referee: One...
Two... kickout.
Rick breaks free and gets to his feet. Majors tries another kick to the gut, but it’s caught again. This time, Hunter takes Rick down with a dragon whip. Hunter pulls Rick up and then he hits a swinging neckbreaker. Hunter applies a rear chinlock. Rick reaches out and he grabs a hold of the bottom rope. Hunter lets go right away, but he also drives his forearm into the back of Majors’s shoulders. Holding Rick in chinlock position, Hunter punishes him with a wicked looking crossface forearm shot, then another, then another. Hunter pulls Rick to his feet where he nails him in the back of the neck with a forearm smash. Hunter hooks Majors by his head, and then he plants him into the mat with a double arm DDT. Hunter gets up, but then he puts Rick right into a half crab with armlock submission. Rick screams in pain as Hunter pulls bag on the leg. Hunter cinches the hold in even more, making Rick scream out in pain. The ref asks Rick if he gives up, but he yells “NO!” at the top of his lungs. Hunter lets go of the move, but it’s apparent damage was done to his lower back. Rick rolls around on the mat. Majors, groaning, rolls under the bottom rope to the outside. Hunter gets annoyed and starts to go after him. The ref tries to stop Hunter from going outside, but Hunter pushes past him. Hunter rushes over to Rick, clubbing him in the back. Hunter spins Rick around and he goes for an Irish whip. Rick reverses it, sending Hunter knees first into the steel steps. Hunter is knocked over the steps and sprawls to the concrete. As Rick walks over to Hunter, he stops and looks at Lucy Willard, pointing and saying he needs to come out now. Lucy Willard stares at him with a stone face.
Jerry Andrews: And again Majors is berating Lucy.
Ace Anderson: She's just an old woman, leave her alone!
Jerry Andrews: Obviously Seromine IS around... his mom is out here to get inside Majors head.
Majors grits his teeth, and he nods his head at Lucy. He walks over to David Hunter and he points at her and then says "This is what's coming for your rotten son!", and he lays in a heavy right hand to the forehead of Hunter. He begins dropping vicious boots to Hunter’s legs as Hunter groans. Finally, Majors pulls Hunter up and he scoop slams him onto the concrete. Hunter arches his back and contorts in the aisle. The referee is begging the both of them to get back in the ring, but Majors is content to punish Hunter while staring at Lucy, making his point to her that this is what's coming for Seromine. Majors pulls Hunter back up, gripping him by the hair. Rick tries a hard right, but Hunter blocks it. Hunter lands a hard right of his own. Rick staggers backwards as Hunter holds himself up on the apron, shaking the cobwebs out. Both men take a moment to recover, then Majors rushes towards Hunter, but Hunter catches him, maneuvers his hands so that he's holding him in position for a front powerslam or fallaway slam, then he turns, runs forward and rams Rick midsection first into the steel ringpost with a lot of force. He releases Majors, and Majors immediately begins holding his sides and groaning in pain.
Jerry Andrews: Did you see that sickening impact, Rick Majors was folded up like a piece of paper!
Ace Anderson: Not quite the impact that The Impact has in mind, that's for sure.
Hunter lifts Majors up on his shoulder and snarls at the crowd, before dropping Majors face first across the steel guardrail. Hunter gives Majors a flurry of right hands, beating him down to a sitting position, then the ref tries to get Hunter to get back in the ring. Hunter ignores him, backs up and connects with a running kick right to the face of Majors, knocking him halfway over the guardrail. Hunter snarls at the fans at ringside. He lifts Majors up, and walks him over to roll him in the ring. Hunter lifts Rick up, walking him over to the corner. He slams Rick's head off the turnbuckle. Hunter slaps Rick in the chest several times with a series of chops. With his opponent hanging limply in the corner, Hunter backs up to the opposite edge of the ring, thundering across the ring and nailing Majors with a flying clothesline in the corner. Grabbing Majors out of the corner, the King spins his opponent around, hooks in a rear waistlock and sends Majors way overhead with a release German suplex, flipping Majors completely over and forcing him to land flat on his chest. Majors groans, selling the hard landing. Majors tries to push himself up on his elbows, but Hunter is all over him before he can, pulling him up and driving a knee into his ribs, then one more for good measure. After throwing in an elbow to the side of the head to disorient Majors even more, Hunter scoops him up with a fireman’s carry and drops him, planting both of his knees into Majors midsection with a gutbuster. Then he covers.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Hunter looks to the crowd, a sneer of disdain on his face, then he piefaces Rick Majors, shoving him down with disrespect. He gets up, smooshing Majors face with his boot a few times, and slaps him across the back of the head as he pulls him up. Hunter picks Rick up walks him over to the corner and unloads with a few right hands until Majors doesn't resist. Then, Hunter tries to sit Majors up on the top rope, hauling the slightly dazed superstar up. Hunter stars to climb up, but Majors stops him with a rake to the eyes. Rick shoves Hunter off of the ropes with a boot. Rick stands up on the second rope, and Hunter is staggered and turned half a step away, Majors flies and he crushes Hunter with a second rope bulldog. Rick crawls over and he drapes his arm across Hunter’s chest.
Jerry Andrews: Majors showing signs of life!
The referee: One…
Tw… Kickout
Rick gets to his feet as Hunter holds his knee in pain. Rick tries to pull him back to the center of the ring so he can reapply the hold. Hunter twists his body in such a way that he’s able to push Majors off with his other foot. Rick flies and he smacks the corner face first. Hunter gets up to his feet, favoring his injured knee. Majors turns around, only to be slammed to the mat with a spinebuster. Both men are down for a second as the ref checks on them. Hunter is the first man to move, pushing himself up. Rick also starts to stir, but Hunter is to his feet before Majors can get up. Rick stands up with his back to Hunter. Hunter wraps his arms around Majors's waist and he flings him with a high angle release German suplex. Hunter stands up and he gets charged up by his adrenaline rush. Hunter pulls Majors to his feet and he executes an Irish whip. Hunter destroys Rick on the rebound with a sidewalk slam. He rolls over for the cover.
The referee: One...
Two.. Kickout.
Hunter snarls down at Majors. He screams for him to get his ass up, and when he goes Hunter boots him in the gut, walks him towards the corner and sticks his head between his legs. He gives Majors a vicious jack-knife style powerbomb into the turnbuckles. Majors's head snaps back with sickening whiplash, and he falls to the mat. Hunter starts to turn him over for the pin, but he shakes his finger "no" with a cold expression on his face. Majors in on all fours in the corner, and Hunter comes in with a bicycle Kick to the kneeling opponent, sending all of his foot into his opponent's face. Rick limply tries to hold himself up in the corner, but then simply flops to the mat.
Jerry Andrews: Ode to Frank in the corner!
Hunter has a look of aggression on his face as he looks down at Majors. The ref tries to come between the two men so that he can check on Majors. Hunter and The ref argue for a second. Hunter finally pushes the ref away. He goes to lift Majors up, only to be cut off by a punch to the stomach, then Majors drops down, pulling Hunter's head across his knees with a double knee facebuster. Hunter stumbles back to the ropes, checking him mouth. Majors rests, trying to catch his breath.
Jerry Andrews: Desperation counter by Majors!
Majors and Hunter come together, going back and forth with right hands. Rick gets the better of Hunter. Majors whips Hunter to the ropes, but Hunter stops himself by holding on to the top rope. Majors spots Hunter, and comes running at him, but Hunter runs forward, hooks his arm across Majors's throat and in one quick motion, slams him down to the mat with powerful STO. Rick arches his back. Hunter takes a moment to lift him up, and drop him with a gutbuster. Rick yells in pain and holds his injured midsection. Hunter applies a rear bearhug, grinding his forearms into Majors's midsection. Majors screams and yells, trying to thrash his arms. Hunter simply sweeps him down to the mat with a belly to back takedown. He gives Rick several powerful mounted knee strikes to the midsection. Hunter decides to focus on the ribs a little bit more, grabbing Majors’s arm in a Fujiwara armbar before he can rise, and planting his right knee down across Major's right side to turn up the pressure. Majors groans in pain, and tries to pull himself over with his free arm. Several agonizing seconds tick by as Hunter continues to clamp down on the hold, applying pressure to both the arm and the ribs, but the Impact struggles towards the ropes, flailing his feet before his right leg finally hooks over the bottom cable. Hunter has a look of utter annoyance as lets go of the hold, tossing Majors to the mat. He argues with the ref for a second. The ref assures him Rick's hand stayed up. Hunter turns back and he pulls Majors to his feet. Hunter goes for an Irish whip, but Rick holds onto the ropes. Hunter charges, and Rick drops down with the top rope in hand. Hunter goes over the rope and he hits the floor hard. Rick slowly rolls out of the ring and he goes right at Hunter with hard boots to the gut. Rick clubs Hunter over the back, and then he devastates Hunter with a dragon suplex onto the concrete. Rick rests on the floor for a second. The crowd is starting to get behind him with "Majors" chants, and Majors sits up, clasping one arm against his side but the other arm is balled into a fist as he begins shaking and vibrating, feeding off their energy.
Jerry Andrews: Can Majors get back into this?!
As Majors starts picking Hunter up to his feet, he notices the ring apron flare out. It's almost as if someone is under there, a certain Willard. Majors sneaks a suspicious look over at Lucy Willard, but the old crone is just staring at him like she's casting an evil eye. Majors, curious, goes over to the ring apron and pulls it up, but he doesn't see anybody under the ring. Majors looks back at Lucy, then he points at her, saying he isn't playing these games with her. He goes over to her, yelling that she is going to tell him where Seromine is right now. The old woman stays silent.
Ace Anderson: Come on, Majors, get your head in the game!!
Jerry Andrews: Majors is letting Lucy Willard's evil glare get inside his head!
Rick struggles to move the big man, but he’s able to get him to the ring. Rick slides Hunter into the ring and he follows closely. Majors goes to pick David up, only to be cut short by a throat thrust uppercut. Hunter lifts Rick up, viciously clubbing him over the back. He spins Rick around, and then he sends Rick crashing to the mat with a t-bone suplex. Hunter pulls Rick up by the back of his trunks. Hunter whips Majors into the ropes, and then he nails Rick with a clothesline. Hunter drags Rick back up. He hoists Rick high up in the air, and then he drops Majors head first with a brainbuster. He goes for another pin attempt.
The referee: One...
Two...
Th- Kickout.
Hunter stands up and he doesn’t believe Rick kicked out. The ref assures him it was only a two count. Hunter takes a couple of deep breaths and he walks over to Rick. Hunter drags Rick back to his feet, and he hooks his head, going for a leaping single arm stunner, but Majors fights out of it, pushes Hunter off and spins him around. Majors boots Hunter in the gut, grips him in a front facelock and spins it into a Twist of Fate. The crowd is on their feet for the sudden counter.
Jerry Andrews: Hunter is looking to put Majors away with Thrill of the Hunt - NO! Majors counters! He wants Hunter to Believe In This!
Majors comes in for the leg hook.
The referee: One...
Two...
Thre- Kickout.
Rick is on his knees with an expression of disbelief. Hunter is staring straight up at the lights. Majors begs the referee to tell him that was three, but he assures Majors it was only two. The crowd is on their feet, giving Majors positive support. Despite how the faithful are reacting, Majors spots Lucy and her sour expression casting a pall on all of it. Rick motions that it's over, calling for the Major Impact. Rick reaches down picking Hunter up off the mat before locking in the double underhook. Suddenly Hunter explodes by driving Rick back into a neutral corner where he smashes Rick into the referee and the referee into the buckle. Hunter quickly spins Majors around where he looks to lift him up into the Kings Throne package DDT. Rick Majors counters by bring Hunter towards the buckles, he’s able to climb the inner buckles before pushing off the middle rope sending Hunter back to the mat while Majors flips over David stacking his shoulders to the mat... but there's no referee. Majors he flings his arms out, seeing there's no referee. He goes over to the ref, pulling at his shirt and trying to revive him. When he does, Hunter pulls himself up, and he gives Majors a low blow. Majors doubles over in agony, holding his groin. This, finally, brings a smile to Lucy's face.
Ace Anderson: I think I just saw something that reminded me the night is dark and full of terrors.
Jerry Andrews: Hunter taking advantage of the referee being down, and it cost Majors everything.
Ace Anderson: Rick Majors has been a half step behind this whole match, plus he let these mind games put him off his guard. Hunter took advantage of that.
Hunter waits in the corner, gripping the top ropes and stomping his foot, and Majors coughs, holding his groin and grimacing. Hunter waits until he's in the perfect doubled over position, then he comes in and drops Majors with a flying knee fameasser. Hunter goes over to check the referee, who is coming to, crawling on all fours. The camera cuts to the outside to show the ring apron again, which billows out as if someone is moving underneath it. In the ring, Hunter lifts Majors to his feet. He picks Majors up, hooks him in suplex position before bringing him in for a lifting package DDT. Then, he shakes the referee as he drops into a cover. The referee weakly crawls over.
Jerry Andrews: And now the Kings Throne connects, and it's over at this point.
Ace Anderson: Yeah, Majors sealed his own finish with that one.
The referee: One...
Two...
Three!!
Ding Ding Ding
"Hopes And Dreams/Save The World" by GaMetal begins playing on the PA as David Hunter sits up, holding his arms up and smiling. The referee, still winded, gets to his feet, helping Hunter up and holding up his arm. Majors is groaning on the mat.
Hunter paces around the ring, holding his arms up arrogantly. As he does, Majors is starting to pull himself up, holding his head. Hunter smiles at him, exiting the ring, as Majors looks on, disappointed.
Jerry Andrews: Majors put up a hell of a fight, but a combination of Hunter's own skill and Majors not being able to look past the looming presence of Seromine and Lucy cost him.
Ace Anderson: What matters is that Hunter is moving on to the next round.
As Majors is sitting up in the ring, a dejected look on his face, the ring apron flares out, and SEROMINE crawls from underneath the ring! Seromine gets out and crawls into the aisle, rising up to stare coldly at his archnemesis. Majors has an openmouthed look of shock and outrage, because Seromine had been there all along. Majors, though still hurting from the match, starts staggering to his feet. The crowd is buzzing, building anticipation.
Jerry Andrews: Seromine is here! Seromine was here all along!
Ace Anderson: These two are staring each other down, it's about to combust.
Seromine shakes his head and wags his finger "No", and he walks over to ringside, taking Lucy by the hand. He motions that he's only here for his mother. Rick Majors, fired up, stands in the ring, throwing his arms out and motioning for Seromine to come in the ring. Seromine smiles at Majors and waves "Bye bye" to Majors, and he exits through the crowd, holding Lucy by the hand and leading her away, leaving Majors behind.
We cut to the back where Tabitha is seen slipping out of Holden and David Hunter's locker room. Shane Dodge suddenly enters the shot and, giving Tabitha a confused glance, leads the camera into the locker room. “Redneck” by Lamb of God thunders from a stereo system set up near where Holden sits with his back to Shane and the camera. Sensing someone’s presence he looks over his left shoulder and smirks at Shane. He rises from his seat and turns the volume down using his smartphone.
Holden: What do you want, Shane?
Shane Dodge: Just trying to get a few words before your big match tonight…
Holden nods, staring off and nodding knowingly, and remains staring off into space for a moment before snapping his attention back to Shane.
Holden: Tonight is the single biggest night of my career. Not only am I fighting for the North American Championship, I am also fighting to move on in the Iceman Invitational Tournament, in what most consider a certain conclusion to this match. One that involves the reigning Champ leaving with his hand raised and my shoulders on the mat. I am a true Bastard and I just Love to play spoiler. The big Dummy isn’t gonna see me comin.
Shane looks skeptical but trudges on nonetheless.
Shane Dodge: Was that Tabitha, our Ring Fox, who just slipped out of here?
Holden shrugs.
Holden: I don’t know…
Shane rolls his eyes and gives the camera an irritated glare.
Shane Dodge: I just saw her trying to sneak out just as I was coming in here. Why was she in here, Holden?
Holden: What do you care, Madge?! Since when is the company into shopping tabloid gossip? Get the Hell out of here before I warm up for tonight by kicking your ass….
Shane makes the cutting motion across his throat and we go back to the ring.
"Spiders" by Billy Corgan begins playing over the PA. Synthesizers explode from the speakers and the arena is plunged into darkness. Red strobes begin pulsating in time with the music and after about thirty seconds or so, Holden strolls out from the back.
Holden makes his way down to the ring, ignoring the fans, apparently all business. He ascends the ring steps and takes a few steps along the apron before wiping his feet. He enters through the ropes and proceeds to his corner where he removes his mask and hangs it atop the ringpost.
Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross has been in a foul mood as of late, even more than usual. He has come with a singular goal in mind, to get to the finals of the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament and prove that he is the true monster here in Pure Class Wrestling, even over behemoths like Sicko and our North American champion.
Ace Anderson: It may be a tall order, but if anyone rivals the strength and power of our resident juggernauts, it's the self-described "Bastard".
The arena is enveloped in total darkness, save for a solitary spotlight shining at a vacant spot central to the stage. Stepping into view, Horacio Mortimer is welcomed by a chorus of thunderous boos. He wastes little time, extending his arm as if to beckon the audience to bear witness to a presentation crafted of his own accord.
Indeed, this very sentiment rings true in the most literal sense as a graphic appears on the Tron in scripted white letters; “A Presentation By The Chronological Order,” Horacio steps aside as the lights suddenly begin flashing fiery colours; orange, yellow, white and red, as the image change to the hands of a clock spiralling out of control, accompanied by an ominous guitar riff. After a few seconds, the name that strikes fear towards all who oppose him appears in front of another image of a clock in bold red letters…
DOMINATOR
The guitars suddenly increase their tempo and energy as the Tron shows the total devastation of various PCW stars at the hands of the titular monster. The Zenith arrives with purpose, standing directly next to Horacio Mortimer. Dominator looks out across the sea of fans in attendance, lifting his forearm in front of his face whilst flexing his gargantuan bicep to display the wristwatch that he wears always, without fail. As he raises his arm further into the air, to the point where the giant cannot reach any higher, a shower of fiery sparks falls from the top of the Tron, briefly masking the entrance video being played. He holds this position for no more than eight seconds before lowering it, taking deep breaths in preparation for the oncoming duel.
The thrashing of the guitars mirrors the intensity in every single one of The Zenith’s strides. Horacio follows his client at his own pace. Dominator makes no attempt to slap hands with the fans. He reaches the ring apron, grabbing the middle rope to haul him onto the side of the ring. He pushes down the top rope with his right hand, throwing one foot over the top before the other follows. He slowly makes his way to the center of the ring, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees to admire the capacity crowd before raising his arm in the air in the exact same manner as he had done atop the entrance ramp, lifting it with malicious purpose to display the watches covering his wrists.
He cricks his neck back and forth before swinging his arms in preparation for the impending fight. All the while, that devious smile is still on his face and he looks to make eye contact with his opponent without a single hint of intimidation. Horacio Mortimer patrols the perimeter of the ring. The music slowly fades, the lights returning to a more average level of illumination as Dominator waits with masked enthusiasm for the start of the match.
Jerry Andrews: As Dominator enters the ring, you really have to marvel at the size, the presence and the sheer mass of both men. Truly, Ross only gives up about 30 pounds of muscle, and he's still a colossus in size.
Ace Anderson: What you're trying to say is, the fans here at ringside are in for a good ol' fashioned Hoss Fight (TM).
The referee orders the bell rung. Both men hold their hands out in a test of strength, and they come together, both jockeying for position, but neither is able to get an advantage at first, and they stalemate. Finally, Ross starts pushing Dominator into a corner. The referee gets in between them in the corner and tells them to break it up. Dominator and Holden both hold their hands up to show the break, and then both men back up a few steps. Dominator runs at Holden, and he is taken down by an arm drag. Dominator gets to one knee, looking at Holden with a bit of approval. He gets to his feet as Holden comes closer. Dominator slaps Holden across the face. Holden nods his head in an understanding grimace, and then he swings at Dominator for a right hand. Dominator ducks and begins peppering Holden with right hands, backing him towards the ropes. Dominator goes for a right hand, and Holden ducks and begins laying into Dominator with right hands. He goes to whip Dominator into the ropes, but Dominator reverses, sending Holden to the ropes. On the return Dominator is taken down by a shoulder block from Ross. Dominator gets to his feet again and stomps his foot in frustration. They both look to the crowd as the fans begin building a buzz of anticipation.
Jerry Andrews: The crowd looks like they don't know who is going to come out ahead in this battle of power.
Both men go for another collar/elbow tieup, buth Dominator jerks Holden down into a side headlock. He cinches the hold in for a second, and then Holden backs him up to the ropes and pushes him off, looking for a clothesline as Dominator comes back towards him, but on the return Dominator ducks, runs to the opposite ropes and comes off, taking Holden down with a shoulder block. Ross gets up, with a nod of approval of his own.
Jerry Andrews: Looks like both men are looking for the upper hand in the early goings of the feeling out process.
Both men get eye to eye, talking trash to each other and getting in each other's face. The smaller Ross points to his chin, daring Dominator to hit him. Dominator rears back and gives Holden a big right hand. Holden stumbles away, holding his jaw and nodding his head. Dominator mocks Holden, telling him to hit him back, and Holden throws a right hand that makes Dominator stumble back.
Ace Anderson: It isn't often you see someone begging for their opponent to lay one on them, in fact I think I've found finally someone weirder than you, Andrews.
Dominator nods his head, and looks away for a second, then he turns quickly and swings for a clothesline, but Holden ducks and boots him in the gut, taking him down with a quick snap suplex. Holden picks Dominator up, but Dominator flails his arms and breaks loose, and he boots Holden in the gut and gives him a snap suplex of his own. He holds his arms up, arrogantly, taunting the crowd, who have zeroed in on the Avatar as the one they hate more in this match, washing over him with boos. Dominator goes to lift Holden, and he gives him a big right hand, then another, backing Holden into the corner. Dominator whips Holden into the opposite corner, and as Holden staggers out, holding his back, he is taken down by a back body drop. Dominator lifts Holden up and plants him with an atomic drop. Dominator runs off the ropes, as Holden turns around, doubled over, and Dominator takes him down with a clothesline. Holden stumbles to his feet. Dominator grips him and takes him down with a swinging neckbreaker. Dominator paces around, roaring with intensity and Holden gets to his knees, holding his neck in pain. Dominator charges in and boots him to the mat. Then he goes for a cover.
The referee: One... Ross kicks out strongly.
Dominator slams his fists on the mat in frustration. He gets to his feet, holding his hand up and motioning for a chokeslam, and as Ross starts getting to his feet Dominator begins calling for it. He grips Holden around the throat, and he begins to elevate him in the air, but in midair Ross flings an elbow at the side of Dominator's head, knocking him loose. Dominator goes for a clothesline, but Ross ducks. Dominator turns, right into a boot to the gut, making him drop to one knee, and then Holden Ross runs off the ropes, then he plows into Dominator with a Pounce. Dominator is actually thrown backwards, and he rolls onto his side. Dominator looks dazed. Ross scrambles into a cover of his own. The referee attemps a count.
The referee: One... Dominator kicks out with authority.
Jerry Andrews: A breathless sprint and exchange of heavy moves, these two super heavyweights have come out of the gate dropping bombs.
Ace Anderson: Let's not forget, Dominator's North American title is also on the line here. There's a lot at stake for both men, and neither one is going to give up easily.
The Bastard lifts Dominator up, but he takes a second as he holds the bigger man by the hair to jeer the audience at ringside with aggro taunts, and as he endeavors to lift the superheavyweight he is cut off by a headbutt. Dominator gets to his feet, red-faced and seething, and yanks Holden over to the ropes and begins choking him violently on the middle rope. The referee starts counting Dominator for disqualification, and he pretends to ignore the official. Finally Dominator releases, holding his hands up innocently as if nothing ever happened. Ross is trying to get some air into his lungs. Dominator lifts him up and plants him with a torture rack flapjack, then he covers.
The referee: One... kickout.
Taking his time, Dominator turns to his gasping opponent, laying in a stomp here and there, before pulling the Avatar of Hate up again and walking him by the back of the hair. Ross begins to slowly fight back. He lands punch after punch, making Dominator stumble off. He runs off the ropes, hitting the bigger man with a shoulder block that knocks Dominator back a bit. Holden Ross lifts Dominator up, gripping him by the ears. Dominator fights back by violently plunging his fingers into Holden Ross' eye holes like the Mountain on Game of Thrones, trying to pulp Ross' eyes. Ross screams and flings his arms, trying to shoo Dominator away from raking his eyes. Then Holden Ross gives Dominator a right to the nose so violently that Dominator is stopped in his tracks, and he has to blink his eyes and check to see if there's any blood, stumbling a half a step away. Ross socks Dominator in the jaw with a stiff right hand, followed by another, then another before beginning to drill him in the midsection with precision shoot kicks. Dominator is forced to back all the way into a corner to try and get on the defense from Ross’s flurry, but after a moment or so of defensive action, Dominator just reaches up in the middle of more Ross punches to grab him by the head and deliver another stone shattering headbutt of his own. It’s Holden’s turn to go reeling now, Dominator lifting himself up out of the corner and following that up with another hard right, this one sending Holden reeling into the opposite corner now. The roles have now been completely reversed, Ross propped into the corner and having his body open, giving Dominator all the space he needs to start laying into Holden Ross' midsection like he's throwing punches at a heavy bag. Dominator’s ham-sized hands would probably rupture the kidney of any other man getting punched there, but Holden just holds on to the ropes behind him and tries not to fall down.
Jerry Andrews: We always knew as hard hitting as both of these men we may see moves go the way of the dinosaur in favor of just plain fists.
Ace Anderson: Hoss fight. HOSS... FIGHT!!
All the air more than likely beaten out of Holden’s body, Dominator takes him with one hand and sits him upright in the corner and moves that hand across his chest, moving Ross’s arms out of the way. He doesn’t need to hold a finger up to his lips to make the crowd silent, they get deathly quiet when they see him raise his gargantuan right hand … gives him an overhand chop to the chest, with such force that it echoes all over the arena, the “OOOH”s being very sparse, but still heard. Holden curls up his upper body from the sting of the hand. Again, Dominator looks to continue the punishment and throws Holden back up with one hand and opens him back up before once more raising his enormous palm, and laying in a second, even more vicious overhand chop.
Ace Anderson: Let me tell you, the size of Dominator's hands, that's like getting hit in the chest with a baseball bat.
Holden Ross drops down on one side, feeling the pain as he gasps and pants, dropping to his knees and clutches at the point of impact, where we can clearly see the gigantic red markings of where the hand landed. But the punishment isn’t over so soon. As Dominator once more takes the weakened Ross and props him up in the same corner, opening him up, and looking for a third overhand slap to the chest... but Ross' hand shoots out, and he actually stops the incoming impact! Ross has to use both hands, but he stops the momentum of the hand before it impacts his chest once more, using nothing but sheer strength and will to power the hand of the big man away from him. The crowd is popping their heads off for Holden’s show of strength, none getting louder than when he successfully lifts the hand completely over his head. He doesn’t spend much time with it there, just merely giving us the spectacle of his strength before throwing the hand aside and delivering a knife edge chop to Dominator’s chest of his own. The chop jiggles the body of the Zenith but doesn’t take him off his feet, merely sending him back a step. Holden isn’t finished, coming right after him with another chop that sends the big man stumbling back again, only to be met with yet another chop. Dominator groans, and he stumbles away, and Holden Ross then delivers one more chop for good measure before stepping back and allowing us to see not only the welts beginning to form on his chest, but the blisters starting to show on the chest of the juggernaut Dominator. Holden takes a few more steps back and rubs his chest a little before rushing right at his opponent, trying to hit him hard enough to send the big man over the top rope. He hits Dominator with a ton of momentum, but he doesn’t get the big lug over. Holden begins backing, farther this time and hurls towards Dominator again, this time connecting under Dom's jaw with such earth shaking force and sending him over the top rope to the floor!
Jerry Andrews: How many times have we seen someone do that?!
Ace Anderson: For the longest time, I actually thought Dominator was rooted into the ground! It's amazing that someone put him clear out of the ring on it's own!!
Dominator flops right in front of the announcers’ desk, and immediately begins pulling himself up, shaking the cobwebs out of his head and roaring angrily, looking around him, albeit a little dazed in the aisle thinking Holden is out there with him. Instead, he lies in wait near the ropes for the big man to get back to his feet. Just as he gets vertical, the crowd gets on its feet to watch all 325 pounds of Ross run across the ring and clear the top rope with an AMAZING suicide dive! It is a thing of beauty and terror, seeing something that really shouldn't be flying clear the top rope, just for that one perfect instant, and then come crashing down, taking Dominator with him. Dominator absorbs every bit of the blow, going down hard, and Holden rolls onto all fours, shaking his head, before jumping right back on his feet and roaring in adrenaline. Then, Ross, being the Bastard he is, roars for the timekeeper to get out of his way. Ignoring any illegalities, Ross shoves people at the timekeepers station out of the way, picking up a steel chair from where they were stacked and looking at it with a teeth gritted stare of intensity. But, Ross doesn’t close the chair and look to hit Dominator with it. Instead, he roams over and opens the jaws of the chair like a crocodile, and he sets it right in front of a barricade corner. The referee is begging Holden to take it back into the ring. Ross ignores him and hoists the massive body of Dominator back to his feet, the bigger man wobbling a bit. Holden leads him over to the chair and forces him to sit down into it, delivering a straight kick to Dominator's chest for good measure. He then steps away from the chair.
Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross has an intense, manic look in his eye. I wonder what he plans to do now.
Holden Ross backs up so far across the aisle that he's on opposite sides from where Dominator is sitting, in a chair propped up into the corner. Holden Ross sprints the entire length of the aisle to lay in a devastating kick, Ross’s boot rakes across the skull, as Dominator damn near falls out of the chair, so hard does the facewash hit. However, while Dominator's head lolls and he nearly topples out of the chair, he sinks back, propped up by the back of the chair and the barricade but still, magically upright. Holden Ross lets out a bellow of rage, but as he turns back to Dominator, seeing he hasn't fallen out of the chair, he starts backing up, sparing a glance back at Dominator, not sure if he has the opportunity or if he'll ever get another chance. When he backs away, we can hear the referee's count, stopping once more to beg Holden to come back in. Holden, again, goes nearly the entire length of the aisle with a freight train charge before attempting to punt Dominator's skull damn near into the middle rows... but suddenly Dominator ROARS to life, coming out of the seat and meeting Holden in the middle with a spear. Ross is caught like a rag doll and smashed by the massive spear as Dominator intercepts him. The crowd explodes in a massive "OOOOOOOO" at the hard hit.
Jerry Andrews: Ross went to the proverbial well one too many times, a mistake Dominator made him pay for.
Ace Anderson: We knew this fight was going to be something, but both men have beaten the absolute stuffing out of each other.
The referee has broken his count because he's just so awed and flabbergasted by the brutality of the collision. Both men are laid out in the middle of the aisle, Holden Ross rolling and contorting around and gripping at his midsection in agony. Dominator blinks a few times as he's pushing himself up on his elbows, trying to get himself out of his stupor, and he slowly rises, pulling a weak and barely moving Holden up and rolling him back into the ring. At length, Dominator is able to lift his pain wracked body up and roll into the ring, gripping a leg and hooking it for a cover.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Dominator takes no more than a second to curse himself, and think about what he can do to put his hardy opponent away, slowly getting to his feet dragging the Bastard up, before tossing him right into a corner. Now it's Dominator's turn to pace out a good distance, clear across the ring, and the 365 pounder charges across the ring like a Sherman tank powered by the Speed Force before crushing him with a running hip attack. Ross is sandwiched into the turnbuckles, and Dominator, moving with speed that belies his bulk, comes out of the ropes off the hip attack. Ross is gripping those ribs that took the bad beating, but as he stumbles out he is too dazed to move out of the way of an incoming big boot. The big man drops down for another cover.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Jerry Andrews: I have never seen two super heavyweights go for such an extended period with such ferocity, such destructive power.
Ace Anderson: This is all to get to the finals of the Icemann Tournament, baby. And just think, this is only the quarter finals, there's two matches to go!
Jerry Andrews: Is there going to be anything left of either competitor but pieces to go to the next round??
It takes a lot to get the Zenith flustered and off his game, but he is growing frustrated by the resilience shown by Ross. Dominator snarls, but he doesn't waste time complaining to the referee, going right back to work. He stands to his full height and for the second time in this match he holds his hand up signalling for a chokeslam. Holden Ross takes longer to get to his feet, but he does by degrees, first to one knee, then slowly pushing himself up, not seeing the giant with his hand up behind him. An unaware Ross gets to his feet, turning in a daze, and he's caught! He's lifted up in the air for a chokeslam - but he breaks free! Holden jumps out of the move and latches behind Dominator, and amazing is able to lock his pythons around Dom's throat with a sleeper. Holden’s got the sleeper hold locked in, but Dominator, face turning beet red, refuses to fall. Holden can’t bring the big man to the canvas to fully lock in the hold! Dominator’s enormous amount of leverage allows him to just throw Ross over his shoulder, causing him to roll across the ring. Dominator, even though he didn’t fall, got something taken out of him on the choke, having to grab a rope to pull himself up a little. As Ross rolls to his feet and rushes back at Dominator. Dominator tries a mule kick, but Holden is able to see the trunk leg coming. Holden grabs hold of the massive leg of Dominator and has the strength to pull him away from the ropes, causing him to fall. He turns Dom over... and locks in an STF! Holden has the leg grapevined for the STF, but he can't clasp his hands under Dom's chin and pull back for the full effect of the hold because Dom in using all of his strength to push the hands and break the clasp!
Jerry Andrews: Dominator is fighting out of it, he's fighting free!
Ross struggles mightily to get the mountain in the full force of the hold and seems to have it in for a split second…but Dominator has enough in him to just extend his leg and force Holden out of the advantage. But the Avatar of Hate doesn’t let the loss of a leg stop him, transitioning from a failed STF, into a full nelson! Holden has a full nelson in and is possibly breaking Dominator’s back! Holden’s got a much deadlier hold locked in than originally intended, Dominator is now being forced to change his expression in a howl of pain. As Holden is cinching the hold in, throwing Dominator from one side to the other. The referee asks Dominator if he gives up.
Ace Anderson: Dominator is refusing, he's fighting with all of his might, but this hold is one of the most impossible to break, it's all leverage and application.
Jerry Andrews: The more pressure Holden Ross exerts, the more Dominator is fading.
Several agonizing seconds tick by in the hold. Holden screams for Dom to give up. Dominator is seemingly fading. Holden laughs, thinking he's triumphant, when suddenly the referee pulls on his arm. Holden's head whips around in annoyance, snarling at him, and the referee tells him he has to break the hold. Holden screams "What??" in frustration thinking he was near victory, and refusing without a good reason, but the referee points behind him, and shows Ross that Dominator’s long legs have reached a bottom rope! Holden Ross, trying to hold on to a tenuous hold of his leverage, yells and says that's BS, but the referee tells him to stop of he'll be disqualified. Ross has no choice but to let go of the full nelson, slamming Dominator’s upper body down with disdain. He taking a few steps back from the downed giant, as this capacity crowd boo’s at the official’s decision. While the crowd boos, Holden is now pumped up, shaking some of the sweat off his brow. Dominator tends to his lower back as he gets to his feet, the referee looking like he’s helping him. Just as Ross tries to get close to Dominator, he’s backed away by ref. Again the boo’s start up but Ross has never been a man to listen to the ref’s admonition, as he shoves the official aside storming the big man … only to eat a stone right hand knockout punch. Dominator springs a fast one on the reckless Ross, but Ross doesn't fall. He stumbles hard and takes several steps back, but somehow, he stays on his feet. Dominator is somewhat surprised at this, but he doesn’t let it shock him too much, charging full force back at Holden... but Holden Ross catches Dominator! He scoops him up with a front powerslam lift and he DROPS the giant with a ring shaking World's Strongest slam out on nowhere, perhaps on sheer desperation. But now neither man is even able to move, the damage having sufficient impact on both men. The official gets to his refereeing duties regarding motionless bodies and starts a count.
The ref: One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
Five...
Six... Both men start to stir...
Seven... Dominator blinks and tries to shake the cobwebs out as Holden Ross rolls over onto all fours...
Eight... Both men are starting to pull themselves up to all fours...
Nine...
Ross is the first to his feet, breathing heavily. He rushes up to the winded Dominator and lays a series of stomps and clubs to the back, kicks him in the chest, and catches Dom off guard, forcing him flat on his back. Ross runs off the ropes and comes off with a backsplash senton. Ross hooks the leg, clenching them tight. The referee counts.
The referee: One...
Two...
Th- Kickout.
Holden Ross snarls, shouting "Come on!!" and slapping the mat with furious anger and intensity, veins sticking out on his forehead. He's waiting for Dominator to get to his feet again, motioning for him to get up and when he does, he takes the back again and locks in a violent sleeper, this time more obviously a choke akin to a Tazmission. The crowd is white hot for it, and Dominator looks to be fading fast. As Holden screams in intensity and sells his want for the tapout, Dominator is sinking, his face going slack, and his flailing arms start moving slower as if through molasses. Holden sneers, telling Dom to go to sleep. Dominator's eyes close and his arms begin to slump. The referee asks him if he gives up. Dominator can't give a coherent answer. The giant is motionless, and it seems as Holden sneers through bared teeth that he's closing in on triumph. But suddenly, the Zenith's eye's open up and his bright purple face contorts with both a spike of adrenaline and pure rage as he starts shaking, quaking like a California highway.
Ace Anderson: You know that old adage about awakening a sleeping giant? ...Yeah, that.
Jerry Andrews: This does not bode well for Ross!!!
Dominator throws a defiant giant fist in the air and slowly gets to his feet, the whole arena in awe at this inhuman display of power, Dominator completely vertical with a human being nearly his size on his back, he backpedals … and sandwiches Holden at top speed between his body and the turnbuckles! The chokehold immediately relaxes. The intense hold is broken just the monstrous strength of the Zenith, Holden is forced to slump against the ring post that has so much been his bane for this match. Ross starts to stumble a bit out of the corner, but only to walk right into the grip of Dominator but Ross lands a thumb to the eye in a last ditch effort to keep momentum on his side. Holden is right there to grapple him around the waist as he reels... and peels off a German suplex!! Ross hoists the titan over his head and plants him, surprising all in attendance and possibly even himself as he climbs over for another cover…
The referee and the crowd: One...
Two...
Thr- Kickout!
Jerry Andrews: What a match!!
Dominator is barely able to move, but the crowd is on their feet still from the spectacle that just was. If Holden didn’t hit that move right, he could damn well have been paralyzed, but as it is, Holden is more angry that the move didn’t end the match than he is proud that he executed it at all. He looks up at the referee in disbelief before putting his hands on his hips to catch his breath. The sweat drops from Holden’s brow as he stares intensely at Dominator, as now it’s his turn to stalk the tank before him. Dominator pulls on the ropes in front of him and again climbs them like a ladder to get back to his feet, only to turn around and drift right into the clutches of Ross, who looks for a Polish hammer to end it all but instead Dominator turns it into a surprising lifted reverse STO out of nowhere! The move hits so quick that the entire crowd is stunned into silence, and then they explode.
Jerry Andrews: ANACHRONISM! DOMINATOR REVERSES INTO AN ANACHRONISM OUT OF NOWHERE!!
Ace Anderson: Hoss fight has not disappointed in the least.
There's a struggle for Dominator to move his weak limbs, that have taken such an energy drain they feel like he's moving through glass to get here as he pulls Holden Ross over and hooks a leg for a cover. The referee counts.
The referee and the crowd: ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!
Ding Ding Ding
"Wave of Darkness" by Garik Wheeler hits on the PA as Dominator, breathing heavily from the hard hitting match, rolls off Holden.
Jerry Andrews: The Lord of Time, once again proves he only need a split second to hit the Anachronism and put the lights out.
Ace Anderson: He had to battle through Holden Ross, who matched Dominator for power more than anyone else I've ever seen take a fight to the big man.
Horacio Mortimer is coming to ringside, handing Dominator the North American title as Dominator is pulling himself up with an arm over the bottom rope. Holden Ross is still laid out, and the referee is trying to revive him. Dominator rolls under the bottom rope, and Horacio Mortimer hands him his title.
Jerry Andrews: That man is going to be a force to be reckoned with in the later stages of the tournament.
Ace Anderson: Just imagine if he gets to the finals... whoever faces Dominator will have had to go through a match earlier in the night... and then compete against THAT.
Dominator raises his arms up, roaring to the crowd. Holden Ross is shaking the cobwebs out and holding his head.
The feed switches to a shot of a room somewhere within the warren that is the House of Dillinger. A room much like the others there at the end of All Souls Hollow – one of stone and wood, windows and bookshelves, a fireplace continuously tended. This particular room includes a desk pushed up against a wall opposite a window, and a certain red-headed scrivener-barbarian setting up shop at said desk.
He sits mulling over a sheet of yellowed paper. Pen in hand, full of oak gall ink he’d prepared himself.
Phinehas scribbles, stops, scribbles. Adjusts the candle guttering on the desk. Shifts in his chair, gives the pen a shake, scribbles some more. Lays the pen aside. He reaches overhead and leans back in a stretch. Taking up the paper, his pale blue eyes scan his work, then freeze over. Phinehas scowls. Shakes his head. Wads crinkles crushes the paper and, without looking, slings it into the fireplace to his left. Despite being nothing more than embers, the paper ignites. If one looks closely, one can follow along as the flame licks at the statement.
That this match is of an irregular nature has been acknowledged. It has been discussed ad nauseum. And it IS taking place. So, moving on…
Gerard – As we stand on the verge of Living a Legacy, I want you to be absolutely certain of this decision. And I want there to be no misperception whatsoever as to certain aspects of this night. True, your last match of this magnitude turned out quite well for you. But what did that require? Brutal sessions with your former trainer. Parsing through the analytics of the World Champion at the time. Hours of studying film.
And it worked.
So let me ask you this, Gerard. What do you two think my biggest strength is? My weakness? My major flaw? Have you analyzed the appropriate measurements and calculated the applicable numbers? The speed of Dead Reckoning at impact. Velocity reached as Lament Configuration drops you. Newton-meters of torque applied in the Winding Stair. Linear momentum necessary for an effective Foddershock.
Fun facts? Sure. Will they help you? Not in the slightest. For the full essence of the Hangtown Horror does not translate onto any medium, be it film, digital, analog, or otherwise. Nothing can capture the event horizon when one looks into these eyes the split second one recognizes he or she is being drawn into the Harvest. That, my friend, is beyond the limits of language. That’s something you have to experience for yourself.
“Desperate men do desperate things.” I’m not sure the Man Without Peer is desperate enough for this, but by all means, study up all you can. Let’s see how it translates into finally stepping into the ring.
After all, as an infamous pugilist once observed, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
And just like that, the paper erupts in a flare and is reduced to ash. A gust draws it up the chimney, and it is carried off and scattered over Hangtown. Phinehas stands and walks out with the visage of disappointment in himself for scratching out such drivel glowering over him.
"The Truth Reigns" hits and with it a modest amount of crowd noise.
He comes out from the back of the Audience in walks down the steps in high fives his Fans in walks down the stops in Climbs over the barricade in stops for a min in hops on the apron in raise both of us arms in the air in get's down in waits for his Opponent to arrive.
The lights flicker and fade out as the pulsating beats of Dope Star Inc's "10000 Watts of Artificial Pleasure" pops on the PA system. Smoke fills the arena as a figure stands in the middle of it. All the sudden, Crazy Boy comes out of the smoke and pumps a fist in the air.
He walks down the entryway and climbs the ropes of the ring. He bounces around the ropes a few times, pumps his fist in the air one last time and waits for his opponent to come.
"Pick Up the Pizzas" by The James Gang is about to usher in the third challenger. The tron features gritty footage of vintage classic rock bands. Darren runs out onto the stage, throwing a few chords of air guitar out to wind up the crowd.
Darren runs down to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. Ready for a fight, he bounces his back to the ropes a couple of times and throws up a double-shooting gesture with his fingers to the hard camera, grinning and soaking in the crowd's cheers.
The lights start going out as if with a rolling blackout, flickering and struggling to maintain power as the first guitar chords of "Fixxxer" by Metallica starts playing over the PA. As the lights come fully up, a battered, dilapidated ice cream truck, it's paint and decals peeling in a sinister manner rumbles up on stage, it's axles shaking with effort. The entrance ramp is backlit with a hellish red lighting as the ice cream truck pulls into a spot just to the left of the entrance ramp, making this vessel seem like some demonic harbinger. As the music hits the mid-point heavy guitar break the jumbotron shows images of Sicko, walking down a long hallway, his back turned to the camera, then the screen splits and two images of Sicko, two faces, one laughing, one letting out a bestial roar.
Tell me
Can you heal what father's done
Or fix this hole in a mother's son?
Can you heal the broken worlds within?
Can you strip away so we may start again?
Tell me, can you heal what father's done
Or cut this rope and let us run?
Just when all seems fine and I'm pain free
You jab another pin, jab another pin in me
Then, as the music kicks in harder, shots of Sicko ruthlessly attacking and destroying PCW superstars flicker on the screen. Sicko steps out from behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, and as he does, he cocks an ear, listening to an unheard spoken word or command, and he responds, talking to himself.
A red mist rolls out from the interior of the ice cream truck with Sicko. The Demon Clown slowly makes his way down to the ring, like a predator on the hunt. As he climbs onto the apron, James Hetfield is just getting to the "NO MORE PINS IN ME" part of the chorus and in time with that, Sicko holds his arms out at his sides and he throws his head back, letting out a guttural roar. As Sicko climbs over the top rope, he turns his head to talk to a voice only he can hear, waiting for the match to start.
DING!
DING!
DING!
Sicko gazes at the challengers in front of them like they were part of the lowest rung in the food chain. Hughes is the only one new to him, but he's also the smallest from a perspective of weight. He has all of the advantages and knows this. It's something that warms him like a blanket in the throes of winter. But the pilot light is out in his furnace tonight.
That's bad news for the opposition.
Sicko advances forward without so much as a second thought. Crazy Boy and Razor Blade rush him, but are dropped simultaneously with clotheslines as he closes in on Darren Hughes. The Bomber is more than happy to welcome the challenge, showing no sign of fear or thought of stepping aside to safety. Sicko removes space between he and the returnee. A lunge gives Hughes the chance to belt Sicko with a standing roundhouse kick alongside the head.
Sicko is stood straight up but an unnerving smile creeps across his face. A series of palm strikes to the rotund belly have no effect other than making the demon clown laugh like he was being tickled. Suddenly Sicko is chopped blocked from behind, lowering his center of gravity to a more manageable height. The trio converge with an onslaught of fists and kicks, forcing the champion to hide his torso.
Crazy and Razor pull apart Sicko's arms, only that serves as an invitation for him to swing them into one another. Hughes gives Sicko a running knee. That turns him partially around as Hughes continues through with a bounce off the ropes and another running knee. Sicko is spun in the opposite direction as Hughes goes for the trifecta. This time Sicko lifts him aggressively in the air after an agile jump to his feet, following it with a massive powerbomb from HELL. Hughes clings to his back after having the wind knocked out of his sails.
Jerry Andrews: What a nasty sound that made! I don't know if that was his body exploding from the inside or the ring absorbing the impact.
Sicko turns around in time to intercept an incoming superman punch from Razor Blade. Sicko bends the wrist back as far as it will go without breaking it off. Razor is pulled off his feet like that and held close so that Sicko can stare into his soul with a look that says 'you fucked up.' Crazy Boy goes low with a steel chair battering ram to the groin. Razor is unceremoniously dropped as Sicko is compromised. Crazy Boy scores with an uppercut using the top of the chair, putting Sicko back upright.
Crazy Boy shows off his speedy aerial ability, hopping right to left off the top rope and returning with a somersault double axehandle that places the chair around Sicko's neck. Sicko takes control of the legs while his own are under siege from Razor Blade and Darren Hughes. Crazy Boy's next springboard isn't so successful. He's goozled mid-air by a powerful grip. Sicko stomps the heads of the other two and then chokeslams Crazy Boy.
Sicko removes the chair from sight. The only weapons he needs are the hands he was born with. Razor Blade is shoved into a corner. Sicko rushes right into him and then uses his face for a punching bag. Each shot is landed harder than the other. Sicko cranes his head to the side for a conversation with the voices in his head. Darren Hughes rushes with a clothesline to break that. Sicko is pushed into Razor Blade. Just as he turns, Hughes BLASTS the daylights out of him with a double chairshot. Sicko responds by punching a massive dent in the seat.
Hughes is distracted by the sight, but doesn't fall into the danger zone. Crazy Boy arrives to dropkick the chair back at Sicko, but in turn, pushes Hughes forward. Darren spins around with a headbutt for Tyrone, sputtering him in the ropes. Hughes gives him a series of knees to the ribs and then pulls him into a swinging neckbreaker off an Irish whip.
Jerry Andrews: It's safe to say the alliance is over.
Ace Anderson: There is no alliances when a title is on the line. Hughes wants to win and doesn't have to pin the champ to do so.
Sicko steps away from Razor Blade with his sights on Darren Hughes. That is...until he violently turns to give Razor Blade the FCS WHILE still in the corner! Razor's head flops back violently as his body lifts off the ground, going over the top rope as he collapses to the floor. Sicko turns his attention back to Darren Hughes, but he's working Crazy Boy over on the arena floor away from the main action.
Sicko pushes the ropes down to their maximum tension without breaking. He exits the ring to where Razor Blade is picking himself up. Sicko lifts him in the air like a small child, but has his eyes watered with a palm strike to the nose. While Sicko attends to it, he's met with a spear. This gets him on the heels of his feet. Sicko, now emboldened, returns the favor, taking Razor through the air with a 360 spin!
On the other side, Crazy Boy has just hit a frog splash off the apron with a chair sandwiched between he and Darren Hughes. Crazy Boy rolls over to discard the chair and in the process, tags a few hands from fans that are rooting him on. Crazy Boy moves to the time keeper's table to grab the bell. Darren has his face smashed by it. Crazy Boy sets it down on the floor and attempts to piledrive Hughes onto the bell.
Darren pushes his body up so that he's sitting on Crazy's shoulders. He turns a hurricanrana ONTO the bell into a quick triangle choke submission with the referee in perfect place to check for the tap out! At the same exact time as that is going on, Sicko is clobbering Razor Blade down to his knees with boots and heavy clubs to the back. He drags Razor Blade by one arm to the nearest post. He pulls him by that arm and then yanks Razor Blade under the bottom turnbuckle so that Razor Blade cracks into the post.
Sicko ferociously, and without mercy, looks as if he's trying to remove limb from socket so that he can take it back to his truck to be frozen with his ice cream. Razor Blade is heard screaming like a man who is being murdered.
Jerry Andrews (disgusted): What in the hell is he doing?! He could tear every ligament he has!
Ace Anderson: Why don't you go tell David Hunter to stop him then??
Jerry Anderson: Sicko doesn't belong in a wrestling ring. He belongs in a psych ward on a thorazine drip!
Back over to Hughes and Crazy Boy as Hughes is shown putting him on the opposite side of the rail. Darren cracks his head a few times and then sends himself into the crowd with a sunset flip piledriver on the concrete! Darren celebrates his innovation with some fist bumps to fans who remain close by. Hughes attempts a running bulldog further into the crowd, but Crazy Boy buckles and sends Hughes crotch first into a series of chairs with an unceremonious landing. This gives him time to favor his head following the previous piledriver. Crazy Boy recovers enough to take control of Darren Hughes with a one-armed DDT.
Back at ringside, the one-armed Razor Blade has just slid out of Sicko's shoulders as he was about to post him head first like a dart. Sicko instead kisses steel with a loud crack, but in a show of insanity, proceeds to bang his head over and over until he's busted open. The crimson streaks of blood add a macabre visual to his paint and an extra layer of FUCK THAT to his absolutely creepy as hell scowl. The voices in his head have returned because he engages in conversation. A running forearm smash shuts him up while also putting the back of Sicko's head against the post. The return is a boxing three punch combo and a big boot.
Crazy Boy has a suplex attempt blocked by Darren. Hughes hip tosses Crazy Boy, but misses the leg drop. This gives him the chance to hit a standing 450 splash...onto knees! Hughes cradles Tyrone's head, works them back up and then waffles him with a spike DDT. Meanwhile, Sicko has begun stacking two tables in one of the corners, while Razor Blade is laying flat out in the ring. A snarled grin makes an appearance as he approaches Razor. The BIG DOG is peeled off the canvas by the arm that had been nearly been ripped out of socket.
Darren Hughes is back in the ring. Sicko snaps his head around just as a pair of boots swing into his face. Hughes hits the ropes and gives Razor Blade a running body hockey check. This also has the effect of turning Sicko partially around. Darren rolls under the bottom rope, then picks himself up for a slingshot shoulder charge over the top rope! Sicko trips over the body of Razor Blade and is OFF his feet! Darren quickly pins Razor...
1!
2!
Sicko puts a boot to the head of Hughes to stop that noise. Crazy Boy hits a springboard shooting star press on Darren, picking things back up where they left off. He hooks both of the legs!
1!
2!
Sicko uses puts his other boot to the head of Crazy Boy with equal violent authority. The human tank wastes little time rising back to his feet. Razor and Crazy Boy are there to meet him. They work in tandem the best they can to pierce the armor of the defending champion. Sicko shoves them both against the ropes, but has his arms trapped on an attempted double clothesline. They fire shot after shot anywhere it will soften Sicko and then with his arms still braced, they try to lift him for a double suplex.
Jerry Andrews: Teamwork may be the only way they can rid themselves of Sicko.
Ace Anderson: You've never watched Highlander, have you? There can only be ONE! They'll stab each other in the back in order to win the gold. So don't get all moist thinking that Sicko will be under threat from a pseudo-alliance.
To the surprise of many, Sicko is picked a few inches off his feet. The faithful are rallying behind the two with chants of CRA-ZY BOY! RAZ-OR BLADE! Chants that are dashed out once Sicko elbows his way out of things. Crazy Boy and Razor Blade have their throats squeezed for an attempted double chokeslam. They counter with double boots, but all that does is cause Sicko to throw Razor Blade aside like a paper airplane. Crazy Boy is still locked in a vice grip, however. It's from this Sicko picks him up overhead with a gorilla press slam. Sicko turns in Razor's direction because Crazy Boy is HURLED into him like a cross body. The ref slides in for the count!
1!
2!
Sicko drops a massive splash on top of his two foes. Darren hits a bulldog on the champion! The faithful rally behind The Bomber with as much energy as they have to give. Sicko rolls over onto his back. Hughes glances at the middle rope with the wheel in the sky turning. Darren hops onto it to give everyone an air guitar performance. Upon bending the final note, he leaps in the air...
Jerry Andrews: He's going for AIR GUITAR SOLO!
Ace Anderson: I think somebody is going to unplug the cord from the air amplifier...
Sure enough, Sicko sticks his meathooks up to block the double knees from landing. Sicko sends Hughes flying into the corner where the tables were previously stacked. The Bomber halts himself by pushing his hands along the top ropes and a foot against one of the tables. Just as he spins around, Sicko cuts him nearly in half with a MAMMOTH spear, destroying the tables and making forcing Hughes into going full ragdoll as the top and middle ropes collapse on top of him.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
Sicko slowly slides to the floor. He turns to the faithful, spotting someone sporting a David Hunter t-shirt. Sicko's unnerving smile returns as he first pie-faces the fan, then rips off the shirt, leaving his stick body exposed to the world (and probably Youtube). Sicko walks around the ring ignoring every sound but the ones in his head. Crazy Boy is lassoed around the neck like a tightening noose has been slipped over.
Crazy Boy tries slipping his fingers under the ligature, but Sicko is choking him out in the process of full on dragging him to his parked ice cream truck. A lifeless Crazy Boy is picked up and thrown like a javelin onto the hood with such incredible force that he cracks the windshield while rolling up. After he rolls back down, Sicko picks him up again to clubber him hard enough into going limp. Tyrone finds his head violently getting pinged off the fender and tires, but is it enough to satisfy the bloodthirsty champion?
Inside of the ring with only one rope still fully attached, the remaining challengers engage in a back and forth of sorts. Neither are a full one-hundred. Darren fights out of an attempted Samoan drop as he slips behind Razor Blade. Darren hammerlocks Razor by his bad arm, wrenching it as far as he possibly can. He starts to rotate his body, looking to throw him shoulder first into the steel post. Razor spins fully around so that he is in front of Hughes. This gives him the chance to BLAST him with an uppercut.
Jerry Andrews: Was that teeth that I just saw go flying?
Ace Anderson: No, popcorn. I was startled by some unaccompanied brat. Want some?
Jerry Andrews: Children? No.
Ace Anderson (scoffs): I was talking about popcorn. If you hurry now, you can still get make the snack bar.
A leaping clothesline from Razor Blade's one good arm is countered into a cross armbreaker. The submission is locked in tight while Crazy Boy gets peeled off the stage in the background. Looking like a human sack of potatoes, Sicko carries him around to the back of the truck. The doors are pulled open and Crazy Boy is dumped inside of the truck's storage. With him locked up, Sicko is seen putting his eyes on the action in the ring.
Jerry Andrews: Darren has this won! Sicko has ground to make up. Oh yes! I can hear it now. "And NEW Underground Champion..."
To Razor's credit, he's not tapping. His bad arm is in the air like he wants to, though. Darren notices Sicko has made it to the bottom of the ramp. The distraction allows Razor to waffle Darren in the face, which breaks things. The two strain to find their bearings as Sicko is now halfway back to the ring. Darren kicks Razor Blade in the midsection, scooping him upside down. Razor's inside cradle isn't fully cinched in, so the two wind back up on their feet...
Jerry Andrews: RAZOR'S EDGE!
Razor Blade keeps a folded Darren Hughes as is, allowing him to shift his weight to push down on the pin. The fans count along with the ref.
1!
2!
3---SICKO BREAKS THINGS UP. Razor's previously worked over arm is now sadistically ripped apart. Sicko bends it at an inhuman angle as he savagely works it over. Razor Blade's anguish tells the whole story with Sicko standing on the bend with every pound of his weight getting applied. He decides to take it one step further. Sicko yanks Razor Blade up into a double chickenwing submission, a finisher he calls LAUGHING GHOST.
It doesn't take long for his ligaments to be further strained before Razor Blade is forced to submit. The referee calls for the bell as this is thankfully over.
As "Fixxxer" by Metallica plays to a chorus of resounding boos, Sicko takes HIS championship belt while snarling like an animal and flexing his muscles. But he's not done and not alone in the ring. Darren is removed with an FCS because Sicko felt like giving him one. Razor Blade is unceremoniously dumped with PAGLIACCI. The last image of Trauma 252 is a pov shot from their bodies on the floor and Sicko standing above in the ring with a triumphant roar.
"Mother's Day just recently passed. Gone for another year." He sighs. "But for me, it's always celebrated. Even when she's not here to see it."
Seromine gently combs his fingers through the parts in his hair. His mood perks up over the thought of honoring the person who gave him life every day of the year. He slides over to the still rocking chair.
"You know something, Stormm? You almost had me fooled. You almost had me convinced that I could unleash The Anarchist again. Enter Rick Majors and his reminder that there are outstanding sins needing to be paid for."
Seromine begins tugging on his braided hair. "Don't let them do this to you" he whispers just as a flash of lightning passes outside.
"I thought Grimm was my penance, but one never expects to be smacked in the fucking face with a shovel, do they? Sorry XIII. You're going to have to come out of the shadows and try a lot harder than beating me in a tournament I wanted nothing to do with."
His ire only grows behind tightly closed eyes. One gets the sense his voice of reason is talking him down to a more manageable mood. Seromine runs his fingertips across the rocking chair before getting up to approach the moonlit window. He gazes at the orange tree (or is it trees?), childishly waving at it.
"I'm here, Richard. Just like I said I would be. Now I'm going to return the favor. Just like I said I would do." His next word is through a whisper. "Sinner."
The sound of footsteps quietly approaching captures Seromine's attention. Just as he begins turning his head around, a shadow is cast over his body. A wind up carousel starts playing its melody. He turns and smiles big with his arms held out for a hug.
"Hi Mommy!"
Pure Class Wrestling Trauma
Thursday May 23rd, 2019
Thursday May 23rd, 2019
After the opening credits, we head backstage, to find Kyle Shane, and the camera is following after him as he's going down the steps leading into the parking concourse and where the production trucks are parked with all the sound, lighting, pyro and stage equipment. Kyle is wearing skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors, an expensive and tight leather motorcycle style jacket over a Coheed and Cambria shirt. Kyle gives little looks back to the cameras to make sure they're following along. They cut between two mack trucks with the PCW logo on the side used for transport, like a tunnel and then stopping at the end of the gap. And as they get down into the production area, they happen upon a scene we wouldn't have expected. There are equipment cases set up, and a big white board on wheels has been set up next to a gaggle of four people. They are all pooling money on an equipment case. Kyle bursts from between the two trucks into the open, and the camera comes along behind.
Kyle Shane: What up fools?!
Production assistant #1: Oh god!
He gave them a huge spook, and the one production assistant handling the money, seemingly the ringleader of the little pool startles, letting loose dollar bills waft out of his grasp. He's a spindly little man, with an oversized nose and glasses. Kyle advances on the group.
Kyle Shane: You dirty little ingrates, you were going to do this without me? You were going to do the infamous Icemann Tournament Betting Pool without Kyle Shane??
The PA's and the other stagehands all exchange looks, their eyes and faces showing a wealth of emotions, but they all look to the kid holding the money and their expressions reading that he should be the one to tell him. Someone even sucks their teeth and looks away with an "Awkward..." grimace.
Production assistant #1: Well I - we just... we didn't think you had any interest in running it this year, and -
Kyle sneers, but he squints and looks upward in consideration for a moment, then he shrugs it off with a vague little headshake, because nah, he wasn't... (He thought they kinda nailed the story last year and didn't need to revisit it, until something came to his attention.) But then he looks back down at the group of people gathered around the whiteboard brackets, peeved.
Kyle Shane: It's still rude that you didn't let me know. You don't think I like making money on the side of -
Production assistant #2: Oh for God's sake you- You make money from a God damn main event, World champion A-list contract, you aren't needing to go on food stamps.
Stagehand #2: Yeah, and last year you were manipulating the odds so that your favs could win and that cost us all a LOT! I spent my kids braces money on Tyler Scott going all the way - BRACES MONEY! But you, mister big shot, you got braces money comin' out of your ears, don't you!
Kyle Shane: And... you don't feel like maybe you're to blame for making fucking terrible life choices? Like betting on Tyler Scott?
The insulted party snarls at that. They're ganging up on him now, pointing fingers and yelling like a mob. Kyle glances back into the camera, nervous, but holds his hands up to calm them down.
Backstage gofer #1: This is why we didn't want you around this time, this is exactly why!
Stagehand #1: You and your... your tight pants!
Kyle Shane: Guys... come on. That's all in the past... I'm Remastered now. I'm an entirely new Kyle Shane, starting over from the -
They boo him down so ferociously that he flinches back, but keeps holding his hands out, trying to soothe and peacekeep them.
Kyle Shane: Listen... what if I used that main event run A-list contract money and I paid all of you back? What if I made good this time around?
They all exchange skeptical, but to varying degrees interested looks at each other, and their apparent spokesperson of the unrest has a look of dissatisfaction cross his face, rubbing his chin.
Production assistant #2: And how do you propose to do that?
Kyle goes over to the whiteboard, and he points at the rest of the brackets. It's down to the semis on one side, Kyle versus Stormm.
Kyle Shane: Living A Legacy is the next show. So, the Icemann Tournament semifinals and finals are going to be in one night. So, optimally, I'm going to have to face and defeat two opponents in the same night and win. If I get that, then I will personally pay out, big enough to compensate. You'll be betting on longshot odds, but more importantly, you'll be betting on me to win it all.
One of the stagehands looks at her partner, confused, but then back to Kyle.
Stagehand #2: Can you do that?
A look of supreme, purest Kyle Shane-esque confidence crosses Kyle's face. He grins, cocks a thumb at himself.
Kyle Shane: Baby, you're looking at the man who invented that. No, well, but... two years ago, I did that very thing, when I defended the Underground title AND won a triple threat match to win the TIIT finals all in one night.
Production assistant #1: Yeah but that makes it imPOSSIBLE, now, you're basically counting on lightning striking twice in - pfft- the exact same manner.
He giggles, goofily, nerdily, and elbows the nearest worker in the ribs, trying to get them into laughing with him. Kyle's confidence is at ease, but he smiles broadly, pointing his finger out in an understood "Bingo" gesture.
Kyle Shane: This basically is my turn at the TIIT, Remastered. I'm planning on doing the same thing all over again, better and more jawdroppingly climactic than I did before. Better, faster, stronger. I did it once, and I'm better this time around, knowing what I'm getting into and knowing full well what I am capable of at my upper limit. I can do this. And - only IF I do this, you guys are going to be so rich off all that money I swindled you out of last year...
A few of them look at each other, but some look away, uneasily, having a hard time if they can trust Kyle or not. For his own part he's trying not to grin like the devil, or look at the stacks of cash they're laying out.
Backstage gofer #1: Yeah but... to prepare for that match... only one of those opponents is someone you know right now, you could be facing Holden Ross, Rick Majors, Dominator, Hunter... you are... You are going to have to do promos for all of them. You're basically going to have to do promos not just against Stormm, but against the other two men in the second semifinal all the way to the final.
Kyle huffs out a breath, nodding his head to indicate yeah, that's obvious. He knows he'll have to prepare a lot for his opponents, whoever they may be. The poor little mousy backstage worker sighs, and echoes a sentiment we've heard before.
Backstage gofer#1: It’s just…there’s so much talking these days, you know? In that ring. Backstage. In the parking garage. In hotel rooms. So much talking.
Kyle's mouth twists, a bit annoyed.
Kyle Shane: Yes. I'm going to tell you right now. I'm going to be talking A LOT going into the 2019 Icemann Invitational. A lot. About my opponents. About winning the match. About the finals. That's how Kyle Shane operates. I'm sorry. I will personally apologize and buy anybody who objects to that a very nice dinner. Do you like Tex Mex? Chipotle?
Stagehand #1: I can't eat burritos, they upset my stomach. They rumbly in my tumbly. They irritate my IBS. Theres so much farting going on. In the bathroom. In elevators. In church.
He closes his eyes and sighs.
Stagehand #1: So. Much. Farting.
A bit put off by the tangent, the ringleader of the pool squints and cocks his eyes sideways at the guy who just spoke up, then shakes it off and looks back at Kyle.
Production assistant #1: You're betting a lot on what isn't at all a sure thing. Some of us can REALLY use that money you're promising to put up, and it's only on the condition that you win through all of the rounds. What if you can't get past the second round? What if you can't even beat Stormm?
Shane looks at this man like he just slapped Kyle's sainted momma. Kyle turns his head to all the others, in fact, so they can also see Kyle's outraged look. Kyle gets serious.
Kyle Shane: Can't beat Justin Fuck-knuckle Michaels? I think you might actually have me confused with someone who sweats overrated hacks who havent had original ideas since 2006 or whenever Lantlas was here. I do not give a damn about Justin Michaels and in fact, beating Stormmy and bouncing his bitch ass out of the tournament is the number one thing I've been looking forward to of this whole thing, because it affords me one final and devastating way to shut Michael's mouth. Stormm has had the world's worst luck trying to beat me. In fact, the records pretty one-sidedly show - he CAN'T beat me. Not without Johnny Matthews interfering, not without hitting me from behind like the bitch he is, not without jumping me, and not without using his outdated, ripoff ideas like spray painting a title belt or sending Stormm clones out to the ring as a distraction.
The camera catches Kyle's profile as he smirks.
Kyle Shane: And yet Justin Michaels is so quick to come out here and talk about what he DESERVES, why he's DESERVED to be in the main event because he held the North American Title a combined 900 days and why he DESERVES to be the World champion because he's been here so long. Justin Michaels thinks he is owed every bit of consideration based off how long he's been here, but I have been working so much harder and rising so much stronger than Justin Michaels has, and I have beaten him. When it counted. When it was time to step up and proclaim a reason why someone should be a World champion. That's when I beat Justin Michaels in the past...
He laughs.
Kyle Shane: And it's why the Remastered, Refocused, and stronger than ever God of Game is going to run through Justin Michaels. Speed run, in fact, because I know this empty bronze trophy and I could beat it with my eyes closed. So yes. Please. Bank on me getting past Justin Fuck-knuckle Michaels. Bank on me getting to the finals. Write out a check payable, by me, dated to the night of Living a Legacy, after I win my second tournament, overcome the odds, and do it all again, better than the first time.
Production assistant #2: It sounds good, Kyle... but little Susie still needs braces, the dentist said if we didn't fix her snaggle tooth it could start growing sideways and getting infected, and -
Kyle Shane: Oh my god, woman, I didn't want to hear your life story. Now. I'm going to go watch the other two TIIT matches tonight and scout who I'm facing in the finals. Peace out, homies.
As Kyle leaves, the camera lingers on the few, disparate members of the 2019 TIIT Betting Pool. We don't know their names, or their stories, or their hopes and dreams, but we do know, a lot of them are putting their faith in Kyle Shane to deliver at Living a Legacy. For Susie's braces, hell, for them all.
The camera switches to ringside.
Jerry Andrews: Welcome everyone to the last stop before Living a Legacy! I'm Jerry Andrews and welcome to PCW Trauma! With me as always is Ace Anderson, how's it going Ace!?
Ace Anderson: I'm pumped for the night of action we're about to see! Enough talking, let's get to the ring!
Sasha Greene: The following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first...
Can you feel it coming? Can you feel it coming?
'Switchblade Smiles' by Kasabian gradually rises in volume to announce the arrival of Tyler Scott. The lights dim and flicker as the crowd react with alternative waves of boos and cheers.
Move back this wrecking ball,
Rips through the blackest hole,
Violence is coming. It's coming. It's coming
However, as Tyler Scott appears through the curtain, the boos surpass the cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp and takes a moment to adjust the strapping around his wrists and direct a few abusive words to the front row crowd. A quick turn of the wrist and crack of the knuckles and Tyler continues his descent down the ramp.
Sasha Greene: Making his way to the ring, weighing 225lbs, from London, England. TYLER SCOTT!!!
He heads to the ring, climbs through the ropes and walks to the centre where he stands and stares intensely into the crowd. He mouths a few obscenities before beginning warming up for the upcoming contest.
Jerry Andrews: Will we FINALLY be able to have this take place?
Ace Anderson: Quiet, Jer. I've got a bet on who'll stop it this week.
Sasha Greene: And his opponent.
A school bell rings....the crows claps along with the clapping of the song matching its beat. A motorcycle emerges from the back with Cory Steel on the back, the outlaw stops at the top of the ramp where he holds a fist up in the air. The massive man also lays down on the accelerator drowning out the music and the crowd!
Sasha Greene: From New York, New York. Weighing 300lbs, CORY STEEL!
Cory smiles and then launches himself down the ramp on his motorcycle. He takes a few laps around the ring before coming to a stop and rolls into the ring. The large man lumbers to his corner turning his rage into focus on his opponent.
Singles Match
Tyler Scott vs Cory Steel
Referee: Tyrone Little Jr.
Tyler Scott vs Cory Steel
Referee: Tyrone Little Jr.
The referee is hesitant to call for the bell. After enough time passes to quell his concern, he makes the request.
DING!
DING!
DING!
That's when the lights are cut and the sound of a ticking watch is heard. No, PCW isn't being highlighted by 60 minutes. It's also got nothing to do with anyone's entrance. But when the lights do power back on...Tyler and Cory are in the crosshairs of The Zenith...
DOMINATOR
The North American champion has arrived for target practice. Both men fall victim to an unleashed FORCE OF TIME, cutting them where they stand in violent fashion. Dominator approaches Tyler Scott first. He deadlifts him up onto his broad shoulders some seven feet in the air, only to reintroduce him to an impact landing with THE NAMESAKE. Cory is ripped up and put back down like his 300lbs made him a cruiserweight, as Dominator hits DAY BREAK.
Jerry Andrews: This has gotten out of hand now.
Ace Anderson: Maybe he's sending a message to everyone remaining in the Icemann Invitational Tournament.
Tyler and Cory are pulled at the same time into a double ANACHRONISM! They remain face down as Dominator gets back to his feet. The applause from Horacio Mortimer doesn't go unnoticed as he raises Dominator's arm in the air. Satisfied with the use of their time, they depart the ring while "Wave of Darkness" by Garik Wheeler filters into the minds of the faithful.
Jerry Andrews: Welp.... maybe next time. They're booked for the pay-per-view, right?
The feed cuts to the halls of the arena. David Hunter and Holden Ross are huddled together, whispering words that the camera can not pick up. In the background we can see the stairs and a curtain, leading to the area behind the stage.
Jerry Andrews: This is backstage, right outside the arena.
On David's left arm in a duffel bag, hunched over with some of the weight. Eventually, they shake hands. David slaps Holden on the back before they start to make their way towards the stairs.
Ace Anderson: Looks like the best tag team in PCW is about to hit the ring.
Jerry Andrews: Yeah and they're not coming alone.
Just as quickly as the feed was sent to the back, it returns to the arena. We get a good shot of the stage and all its glory.
Before too long, "Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" by GaMetal starts blaring on the PA speakers. The lights in the arena all go out, barring the spotlights on the stage. David Hunter comes out, adorned in his usual Hawaiian shirt, worn over another black shirt with a square on it with four different colors from the top: white, blue, pink, yellow going clockwise. He also has on his standard blue jeans because of course. Over his left shoulder still is the duffel bag containing unknown knows what.
He steps forward on the stage, arms spread, t-shirt exposed, which gets a fairly muddled reaction from the crowd. He looks around at his peasants, breathing deeply and ready for what's to come, but otherwise focused on the ring in front of him. He shows off a smirk, glancing around at the crowd before him.
As the drop begins, David pumps his fist forward, punching the air. He turns around, facing the curtain.
The sound of a needle being drug across a record interrupts the song. It is replaced by “Spiders,” midway through Billie Corgan's instrumental feat. Holden strolls out from the back and as he walks up alongside Hunter, the two bump fists. He is in a pair of baggy jeans and a black t-shirt with the “Leviathan Cross” in white in the center of his chest. His biker jacket now has a large patch of the “Sigil of Bael” stretched across his back.
David turns around and the two of them begin the trek to the ring. A few fans---mostly little kids enamored by his choice of t-shirt--attempt to get a high-five but they are promptly ignored, much to their disappointment. The back of Holden's shirt can now be seen and in white, block, lowercase lettering it reads; “Bastard by Birth. Ultraviolent by Choice.”
Sasha Greene: Making their way to the ring, they are the self-professed Best Tag Team in Pure Class Wrestling! The team...of DAvid Hunter...and The BASTARD...HOLden ROSS!
Ace Andrews: Semantics, Jerry. It's all about semantics.
The duo hit ringside where David reaches up to grab the middle rope. He pulls himself up onto the apron, but quickly hops to the top rope. He points straight at the hard camera. During this, Holden crawls in under the bottom rope. David hops into the ring, setting the duffel bag down on the mat. He climbs onto the middle rope, staring straight at the hard camera. After making sure his balance is alright, he raises a clenched right fist into the air. Holden, ever simplistic yet quite intimidating, looms next to him, standing straight and staring strong.
David flips his hair back before jumping to the mat.
Jerry Andrews: Their first time teaming together on the last Trauma did not end the way either would have liked.
Ace Anderson: A rough start for the Best Tag Team in PCW, but that's far from something to shame them for.
Holden motions towards Sasha, who quickly gives him her microphone. Just as quickly as he obtains it does Holden toss it over to David. With a swift catch with one hand, David Hunter begins to speaking, just as the music fades away.
David Hunter: Hey howdy hey, deputies. Welcome to another addition of PCW Trauma, am I right?
This gets the standard cheap pop, courtesy of a little smoodging.
David Hunter: Yes siree Bob, and as per the norm, as you can see, the Best Tag Team in Pure Class Wrestling is here and...quite frankly...a little bit pissed.
The mood changes just as fast. What was once a smirking and happy David turns into a frowning and peeved one. Holden's arms, folded over his chest, come to stand at their side, fists clenching with a quite clear annoyance.
David Hunter: It's interesting, looking back to last Trauma...how the first time the two of us team together officially...it ends in a loss...to the two guys...we have beef with. And that's just par for the course at this point. All the confidence in the world, ready and waiting to kick anybody's ass we deem fit. Ready and waiting to go to town on two sons of bitches like this is the Old West. Ready and waiting to claim our first win, and what happens?
David turns towards Holden, who is doing what he can to refrain from blowing up.
David Hunter: Do we walk away with a win? Are we able to secure the pinfall? Hell, you've all seen the damn match, of course we didn't! Because it's quite clearly evident that unless you're a a goddamn wordsmith. Unless you're meaner and tougher and stronger or just don't give a shit about the rules, than you aren't going anywhere! To say that the two of us ended up losers after last Trauma is an understatement. And no...we're not happy about it.
David returns the smirk to his face.
David Hunter: But it's okay. Wanna know why it's okay? I'll tell you why it's okay. Cause between The Bastard...and this son of a bitch...we're just not gonna give a shit anymore. I know, that's a loaded statement and I have no doubt Sicko's already planning on some arrogant and cocky response to it once he gets his chance, but damn if it isn't the truth.
David takes a little bit of a break to allow the crowd to soak in his words.
David Hunter: You see I've come to a revelation. When Sicko ran around and destroyed the arena, he earned a King of the Underground Title rematch--after losing to me, by the way. Yes, I know, he beat almost everybody else in the division...before getting the match. He didn't get the damn rematch until he destroyed everything and everybody in sight. So good job there. No, when Sicko dismantled the roster, he was rewarded. When I did it...it cost me $300,000 dollars and a probation period by the Pure Class Board of Directors.
This gets a solid reaction, all positive from the crowd.
David Hunter: Yeah yeah, lap it alllll up there. David Hunter, big bad David Hunter, destroyer of locker rooms, retirer of Alexa Black, jizzer on desks of Loki, forced to pay $300,000 because he decided to have a bit of fun. It was at the point that money left my bank account that I realized...why should I give a shit about anything? I could give everything in this ring trying to win...but it could mean nothing in the end. I could dismantle the establishment...but the establishment still gets its final say. I could rebuild the tag team division...but it won't mean a damn thing...if there's nothing to fight for.
David cracks another smirk, earning a muddled response from the crowd. He hands the microphone over to Holden. He then leans down, unzipping the duffel bag. As Holden can't help but smile himself, David pulls out two brand new spanking golden tier championships.
The PCW logo is slapped on the top, with "World Tag Team Wrestling Championship" engraved around the center. In the center is a plate of the Earth, colored to see what's land and what's sea. The side plates of both titles have both the PCW logo and--depending on which "champion" it belongs to--the logos of one of the wrestlers in the ring.
David reaches his feet, handing off one of the championships to Holden, who slaps it over his right shoulder. David does the same, holding it close and flipping his hair back. After slapping the title a few times, Holden begins to speak.
Holden Ross: I've been here a year now. I have proved myself in the trenches and I am still considered nothing more than a scrub. I'm slightly higher on the Totem Pole than the likes of Razor Blade and Joey Handy! Even Tyler Scott, the joke he has become, is considered “better” than me.
He shakes his head and David pats him on the shoulder. The mic picks up David telling him “Nobody is better than us!” which stops Holden's head from swiveling right-to-left and gets it nodding up-and-down.
Holden Ross: Tonight, in this ring, I am facing Dominator in what is unarguably the biggest match in my career thus far. Betting odds would have me the underdog. An almost foregone conclusion that he will walk out still champion. The HE will advance in the tournament. And that I will once again walk away in defeat. Dom, don’t count me out and don't you dare look past me.
"Spiders" rips the the speakers and Holden drops the mic, drawing a thud and feedback from the sound system. The duo pose and mug for the camera as we go to commercial.
Shane Dodge is joined by Rick Majors in the backstage area, just behind the curtain.
Shane Dodge: "Rick Majors, tonight you enter the Icemann Invitational Tournament. Last year, competing as Gabriel, you made it all the way to the final before losing to Grimm. What are you going to do different this year to win the tournament?"
Rick Majors: "Well, first of all, I'm not Gabriel anymore, so I've got that going for me. Second, Grimm isn't in the tournament this year, so maybe I stand a chance. It's going to be tough though, don't get me wrong. David Hunter is a strong opponent and he's going to be really difficult to beat. But, don't worry Shane, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."
Shane Dodge: "Did you hear Seromine's warning earlier this evening? He's threatened to "return the favor." Do you think he'll try to interfere in your match? Does that concern you going into such a big contest?"
Rick Majors: "Of course it does. Not only is Jason Willard a dangerous man, but I need to be fully focused on my opponent tonight if I want to win. And I will be. Seromine's not in my head. I'm in his."
Shane is about to ask another question, but Rick Majors takes the microphone from him. He stares right into the camera as he continues to speak.
Rick Majors: "Seromine. Jason Willard. Whoever you have decided to be today. You can put on a tough face for the cameras, you can pretend to still be in control, but I know you. You managed to get inside my mind and change me during our time together, but I learned a lot about you as well. I know when you're rattled. And you're definitely rattled. It's all falling apart for you. Just as I hoped."
Majors has a look of anger on his face as he speaks.
Rick Majors: "You can threaten me all you want, but it's all meaningless. 'Returning the favor' won't save you. Nothing will. You can beat me down, you can string me up, you can rip me in two, and it won't matter. It won't bring you what you really want. And that's the power you once had. There is nothing you can do that will give you the rush you felt when you were leading that cult. You used me and Tyler and Holden for your professional gain, yes, but you also did it so you could feel proud of yourself. You wanted a last hurrah in this business. You wanted to show everyone that you still had it. You wanted to same things I did when I joined you."
Majors shifts his weight and walks closer to the camera.
Rick Majors: "The truth is, you're ageing. We all are. And you and I, Jason, you and I know we don't have much time left in this business. We both wanted to make one more big impression so badly. We both wanted to let everyone know how important we are one last time. We wanted to feel good about ourselves again. But the opportunity to do that has passed us both by. Our time is fading. The only path we can take now is annihilation. I'll see you at the end of the world."
With that, Majors walks off and the scene returns to ringside for the match.
Sasha Greene: The following is a quarterfinal match in the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament! Introducing first, he weighs in at 227 lbs... RICK MAJORS!
Wearing a black denim military jacket, a grey t-shirt, and jeans, Rick Majors pauses for a moment and looks down briefly. He then looks up and starts to make his way to the ring.
"This is war with no weapons,
Marching with no stepping,
Murder with no killing,
Illing every direction."
Majors walks slowly, looking out around the arena as he continues his way down to the ring.
"And no, I'm not afraid of that
Print it in your paperback
Every rap is made in fact
To act as a delayed attack
Every phrase a razor blade
That's saved until they play it back
To slay and leave em laying on the pavement
Bang, fade to black"
The lights in the arena burst on fully as the song's chorus hits.
"In the wastelands of today,
When there's nothing left to lose,
And and there's nothing more to take,
But you force yourself to choose,
In the wastelands of today,
When tomorrow disappears
When the future slips away,
And your hope turns into fear,
In the wastelands of today."
Majors climbs the ring steps and pauses. He turns towards the crowd, standing on the ring apron for a moment before entering the ring. As he does, he turns to Lucy Willard, looking around and shouting for her son to show himself.
Jerry Andrews: I can't believe this match is still going to take place with Seromine's mother Lucy Willard at ringside, given the threats Seromine made.
Ace Anderson: That only affects one man in this match, that being Rick Majors. And from the looks Rick keeps cutting towards Lucy, it's plain that he knows her son isn't far behind.
Sasha Greene: And his opponent, he weighs in at 247 lbs... DAVID HUNTER!!
"Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" by GaMetal starts blaring on the PA speakers. The lights in the arena all go out, barring the spotlights on the stage. David Hunter comes out, adorned in his usual Hawaiian shirt. He steps to the stage, arms spread, chest exposed. He looks around at the crowd, breathing deeply and ready for what's to come, but otherwise focused on the ring in front of him. He cracks his wrist, neck, and knuckles, glancing around at the crowd before him.
As the drop begins, David pumps his fist forward, punching the air. David begins to walk to the ring, the lights in the arena coming on completely. His eyes focus on the ring in front of him, and shows heavy remnants of a scowl. He avoids the audience members looking for a high-five or some hope of touching him.
As he approaches ringside, he starts to head towards the steps, before taking a u-turn and jumping onto the apron. He climbs the nearest turnbuckle and stands tall, one foot on the top rope, another on the middle. He points towards the hard camera, giving it a wink and something akin to a smirk before resetting and hopping into the ring. He takes off the Hawaiian shirt, tossing it towards the nearest body. He begins doing some quick warm-up stretches.
Icemann Invitational Tournament Quarterfinal Match
Rick Majors vs David Hunter
Referee: Joseph Buckland
Rick Majors vs David Hunter
Referee: Joseph Buckland
Ace Anderson: As you can see, David Hunter isn't put off by having one extra guest out at ringside tonight.
Jerry Andrews: David Hunter has proclaimed himself the most consistent main event talent - and the tag team champion - and he feels now is his time to break out.
Ace Anderson: Right now is a good time to put his money where his mouth is.
Rick Majors is still turned towards Lucy, and he grips the ropes in a frustrated manner, telling her to bring Seromine out so they can do this. David Hunter axehandles him over the back and begins laying into him with clubbing blows and right hands.
Jerry Andrews: And Hunter from behind!
Ace Anderson: Rick Majors needs to try and keep his mind off Seromine and get focused on this match.
Jerry Andrews: Majors knows in his heart that Seromine is lurking somewhere nearby.
Hunter clubs and boots Rick down to the mat. He lifts Rick up, gives him a knee to the midsection, then slams him down with a body slam. Hunter drops an elbow across his chest, then another, then another. He backs up to the ropes, coming in for another elbow drop, but Rick moves out of the way. Hunter hits the mat and gets to his feet, and Majors immediately flings a right at his face, then another, then another. Hunter cuts him off by violently kicking him in the midsection, and then taking him down with a Russian legsweep. The ref removes the TV title belt from the ring as Hunter gets down and starts choking Majors with his hand around his throat as he pushes down. The ref spots it and warns Hunter about the choke, and Hunter breaks it up.
Jerry Andrews: David Hunter isn't even letting Rick Majors get his wind in this match.
Hunter lifts Majors up, clubbing him over the back. He whips Majors into the corner, and goes charging in for a move but Majors catches him by flaring out his elbow. Hunter stumbles back, and then snarls. He turns back to Rick, but Rick elbows him again. Rick begins fighting his way out of the corner with right hands, backing Hunter up. He goes to whip Hunter to the ropes, but Hunter plants his feet and refuses to budge. Rick tries again, but again Hunter will not be moved. Finally, Hunter reverses, sending Rick to the ropes with force. Rick bounces off the ropes right into a drop toehold followed by an elbow to the back of the head. Hunter pulls Rick to his feet again. This time, Rick rakes Hunter’s eyes. Rick blasts Hunter with a vicious European uppercut, followed by two more. Majors lands a kick to the gut. Rick takes Hunter down with a kneelift to the face. Rick applies a grounded headlock. Hunter struggles in the hold, trying to push Rick off. Rick gets up, pulling Hunter to his feet. Rick takes Hunter down with a snap suplex. Lucy is glaring at Rick as Majors floats over for the pin.
The referee: One… Hunter powers out.
Rick stands up and he hits a series of stomps to Hunter’s midsection. Hunter rolls out of the ring to catch his breath, prompting the crowd to boo. Rick watches on as Hunter gets to his feet. Rick runs off the ropes, sliding in and taking Hunter down with a baseball slide. Hunter is knocked over. Rick climbs to the outside and begins peppering Hunter with right hands. He walks Hunter over and bounces his head off the apron. He rolls Hunter in the ring, but he is stopped by Lucy Willard, who is sneering at him but saying nothing. Still, the old woman glares at him, and Majors has a calculating look on his face as he turns his head back towards Hunter. He slides in the ring and he waits for Hunter to get to his feet. When he does, Rick tries a kick to the gut. Hunter catches it, but then he catches a kick to the back of the head via an enziguri by Majors. Rick gets up and he drops a leg across Hunter's throat. Majors spots the apparent weakness in his opponent and doesn't waste another moment, bulling Hunter into the corner before unloading on him with a series of vicious chops. Hunter finally shoves the Hunter away, but as he steps out of the corner, Majors greets him with a roundhouse kick to his tender right side, then spins around and doubles Hunter over with a kick to the gut. Majors hits the ropes and rebounds, connecting with a vicious knee strike to the side of David's head. Hunter tries to roll to safety, but Majors is too quick and lashes into him with another sharp kick to the side. David follows up by drilling Hunter with a European uppercut that sends the young gun staggering into the ropes Trying to press the advantage, Majors shoots his opponent off the ropes, but when Majors bends down for a back body drop Hunter leapfrogs him, hits the ropes on the other side, and rebounds by catching Majors with a flying forearm just as he turns around. Now Hunter gets to his feet.
Jerry Andrews: Some pure athleticism in the early goings of this match.
Ace Anderson: I'm really amazed that Major's old ass can keep up with Hunter.
Jerry Andrews: Interesting, isn't Majors of a similar age to be your peer.
Ace Anderson: Uhhh -
Now Hunter takes Majors to the mat with an arm drag. Majors scrambles up, but LS again catches Majors off-guard, hip tossing him to the mat. Majors pulls himself to a seated position, which presents a perfect target for Hunter, who hits the ropes and drills the Impact with a seated dropkick right to the chest. Hunter drags Majors up and whips him into the corner, then follows him with a charge and delivers a hard running back elbow. With Majors prone in the corner, Hunter takes the chance to unload with a few vicious chops of his own. This draws a "WOOOOOOO" from the crowd with every successive chop to the chest. Hunter takes a break from the chopping to pepper Majors with a series of clubbing forearms, but the referee says he’s seen enough and forces a break. Pulling him out of the corner, Hunter hooks Majors for a vertical suplex, but Majors comes back with a series of elbows to the right side. Majors attempts to switch position with a snap suplex of his own, but in mid-air Hunter shifts his weight and rolls through into a small package.
Ace Anderson: Majors is all off his game, Hunter might have it!
The referee: One...
Two... kickout.
Rick breaks free and gets to his feet. Majors tries another kick to the gut, but it’s caught again. This time, Hunter takes Rick down with a dragon whip. Hunter pulls Rick up and then he hits a swinging neckbreaker. Hunter applies a rear chinlock. Rick reaches out and he grabs a hold of the bottom rope. Hunter lets go right away, but he also drives his forearm into the back of Majors’s shoulders. Holding Rick in chinlock position, Hunter punishes him with a wicked looking crossface forearm shot, then another, then another. Hunter pulls Rick to his feet where he nails him in the back of the neck with a forearm smash. Hunter hooks Majors by his head, and then he plants him into the mat with a double arm DDT. Hunter gets up, but then he puts Rick right into a half crab with armlock submission. Rick screams in pain as Hunter pulls bag on the leg. Hunter cinches the hold in even more, making Rick scream out in pain. The ref asks Rick if he gives up, but he yells “NO!” at the top of his lungs. Hunter lets go of the move, but it’s apparent damage was done to his lower back. Rick rolls around on the mat. Majors, groaning, rolls under the bottom rope to the outside. Hunter gets annoyed and starts to go after him. The ref tries to stop Hunter from going outside, but Hunter pushes past him. Hunter rushes over to Rick, clubbing him in the back. Hunter spins Rick around and he goes for an Irish whip. Rick reverses it, sending Hunter knees first into the steel steps. Hunter is knocked over the steps and sprawls to the concrete. As Rick walks over to Hunter, he stops and looks at Lucy Willard, pointing and saying he needs to come out now. Lucy Willard stares at him with a stone face.
Jerry Andrews: And again Majors is berating Lucy.
Ace Anderson: She's just an old woman, leave her alone!
Jerry Andrews: Obviously Seromine IS around... his mom is out here to get inside Majors head.
Majors grits his teeth, and he nods his head at Lucy. He walks over to David Hunter and he points at her and then says "This is what's coming for your rotten son!", and he lays in a heavy right hand to the forehead of Hunter. He begins dropping vicious boots to Hunter’s legs as Hunter groans. Finally, Majors pulls Hunter up and he scoop slams him onto the concrete. Hunter arches his back and contorts in the aisle. The referee is begging the both of them to get back in the ring, but Majors is content to punish Hunter while staring at Lucy, making his point to her that this is what's coming for Seromine. Majors pulls Hunter back up, gripping him by the hair. Rick tries a hard right, but Hunter blocks it. Hunter lands a hard right of his own. Rick staggers backwards as Hunter holds himself up on the apron, shaking the cobwebs out. Both men take a moment to recover, then Majors rushes towards Hunter, but Hunter catches him, maneuvers his hands so that he's holding him in position for a front powerslam or fallaway slam, then he turns, runs forward and rams Rick midsection first into the steel ringpost with a lot of force. He releases Majors, and Majors immediately begins holding his sides and groaning in pain.
Jerry Andrews: Did you see that sickening impact, Rick Majors was folded up like a piece of paper!
Ace Anderson: Not quite the impact that The Impact has in mind, that's for sure.
Hunter lifts Majors up on his shoulder and snarls at the crowd, before dropping Majors face first across the steel guardrail. Hunter gives Majors a flurry of right hands, beating him down to a sitting position, then the ref tries to get Hunter to get back in the ring. Hunter ignores him, backs up and connects with a running kick right to the face of Majors, knocking him halfway over the guardrail. Hunter snarls at the fans at ringside. He lifts Majors up, and walks him over to roll him in the ring. Hunter lifts Rick up, walking him over to the corner. He slams Rick's head off the turnbuckle. Hunter slaps Rick in the chest several times with a series of chops. With his opponent hanging limply in the corner, Hunter backs up to the opposite edge of the ring, thundering across the ring and nailing Majors with a flying clothesline in the corner. Grabbing Majors out of the corner, the King spins his opponent around, hooks in a rear waistlock and sends Majors way overhead with a release German suplex, flipping Majors completely over and forcing him to land flat on his chest. Majors groans, selling the hard landing. Majors tries to push himself up on his elbows, but Hunter is all over him before he can, pulling him up and driving a knee into his ribs, then one more for good measure. After throwing in an elbow to the side of the head to disorient Majors even more, Hunter scoops him up with a fireman’s carry and drops him, planting both of his knees into Majors midsection with a gutbuster. Then he covers.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Hunter looks to the crowd, a sneer of disdain on his face, then he piefaces Rick Majors, shoving him down with disrespect. He gets up, smooshing Majors face with his boot a few times, and slaps him across the back of the head as he pulls him up. Hunter picks Rick up walks him over to the corner and unloads with a few right hands until Majors doesn't resist. Then, Hunter tries to sit Majors up on the top rope, hauling the slightly dazed superstar up. Hunter stars to climb up, but Majors stops him with a rake to the eyes. Rick shoves Hunter off of the ropes with a boot. Rick stands up on the second rope, and Hunter is staggered and turned half a step away, Majors flies and he crushes Hunter with a second rope bulldog. Rick crawls over and he drapes his arm across Hunter’s chest.
Jerry Andrews: Majors showing signs of life!
The referee: One…
Tw… Kickout
Rick gets to his feet as Hunter holds his knee in pain. Rick tries to pull him back to the center of the ring so he can reapply the hold. Hunter twists his body in such a way that he’s able to push Majors off with his other foot. Rick flies and he smacks the corner face first. Hunter gets up to his feet, favoring his injured knee. Majors turns around, only to be slammed to the mat with a spinebuster. Both men are down for a second as the ref checks on them. Hunter is the first man to move, pushing himself up. Rick also starts to stir, but Hunter is to his feet before Majors can get up. Rick stands up with his back to Hunter. Hunter wraps his arms around Majors's waist and he flings him with a high angle release German suplex. Hunter stands up and he gets charged up by his adrenaline rush. Hunter pulls Majors to his feet and he executes an Irish whip. Hunter destroys Rick on the rebound with a sidewalk slam. He rolls over for the cover.
The referee: One...
Two.. Kickout.
Hunter snarls down at Majors. He screams for him to get his ass up, and when he goes Hunter boots him in the gut, walks him towards the corner and sticks his head between his legs. He gives Majors a vicious jack-knife style powerbomb into the turnbuckles. Majors's head snaps back with sickening whiplash, and he falls to the mat. Hunter starts to turn him over for the pin, but he shakes his finger "no" with a cold expression on his face. Majors in on all fours in the corner, and Hunter comes in with a bicycle Kick to the kneeling opponent, sending all of his foot into his opponent's face. Rick limply tries to hold himself up in the corner, but then simply flops to the mat.
Jerry Andrews: Ode to Frank in the corner!
Hunter has a look of aggression on his face as he looks down at Majors. The ref tries to come between the two men so that he can check on Majors. Hunter and The ref argue for a second. Hunter finally pushes the ref away. He goes to lift Majors up, only to be cut off by a punch to the stomach, then Majors drops down, pulling Hunter's head across his knees with a double knee facebuster. Hunter stumbles back to the ropes, checking him mouth. Majors rests, trying to catch his breath.
Jerry Andrews: Desperation counter by Majors!
Majors and Hunter come together, going back and forth with right hands. Rick gets the better of Hunter. Majors whips Hunter to the ropes, but Hunter stops himself by holding on to the top rope. Majors spots Hunter, and comes running at him, but Hunter runs forward, hooks his arm across Majors's throat and in one quick motion, slams him down to the mat with powerful STO. Rick arches his back. Hunter takes a moment to lift him up, and drop him with a gutbuster. Rick yells in pain and holds his injured midsection. Hunter applies a rear bearhug, grinding his forearms into Majors's midsection. Majors screams and yells, trying to thrash his arms. Hunter simply sweeps him down to the mat with a belly to back takedown. He gives Rick several powerful mounted knee strikes to the midsection. Hunter decides to focus on the ribs a little bit more, grabbing Majors’s arm in a Fujiwara armbar before he can rise, and planting his right knee down across Major's right side to turn up the pressure. Majors groans in pain, and tries to pull himself over with his free arm. Several agonizing seconds tick by as Hunter continues to clamp down on the hold, applying pressure to both the arm and the ribs, but the Impact struggles towards the ropes, flailing his feet before his right leg finally hooks over the bottom cable. Hunter has a look of utter annoyance as lets go of the hold, tossing Majors to the mat. He argues with the ref for a second. The ref assures him Rick's hand stayed up. Hunter turns back and he pulls Majors to his feet. Hunter goes for an Irish whip, but Rick holds onto the ropes. Hunter charges, and Rick drops down with the top rope in hand. Hunter goes over the rope and he hits the floor hard. Rick slowly rolls out of the ring and he goes right at Hunter with hard boots to the gut. Rick clubs Hunter over the back, and then he devastates Hunter with a dragon suplex onto the concrete. Rick rests on the floor for a second. The crowd is starting to get behind him with "Majors" chants, and Majors sits up, clasping one arm against his side but the other arm is balled into a fist as he begins shaking and vibrating, feeding off their energy.
Jerry Andrews: Can Majors get back into this?!
As Majors starts picking Hunter up to his feet, he notices the ring apron flare out. It's almost as if someone is under there, a certain Willard. Majors sneaks a suspicious look over at Lucy Willard, but the old crone is just staring at him like she's casting an evil eye. Majors, curious, goes over to the ring apron and pulls it up, but he doesn't see anybody under the ring. Majors looks back at Lucy, then he points at her, saying he isn't playing these games with her. He goes over to her, yelling that she is going to tell him where Seromine is right now. The old woman stays silent.
Ace Anderson: Come on, Majors, get your head in the game!!
Jerry Andrews: Majors is letting Lucy Willard's evil glare get inside his head!
Rick struggles to move the big man, but he’s able to get him to the ring. Rick slides Hunter into the ring and he follows closely. Majors goes to pick David up, only to be cut short by a throat thrust uppercut. Hunter lifts Rick up, viciously clubbing him over the back. He spins Rick around, and then he sends Rick crashing to the mat with a t-bone suplex. Hunter pulls Rick up by the back of his trunks. Hunter whips Majors into the ropes, and then he nails Rick with a clothesline. Hunter drags Rick back up. He hoists Rick high up in the air, and then he drops Majors head first with a brainbuster. He goes for another pin attempt.
The referee: One...
Two...
Th- Kickout.
Hunter stands up and he doesn’t believe Rick kicked out. The ref assures him it was only a two count. Hunter takes a couple of deep breaths and he walks over to Rick. Hunter drags Rick back to his feet, and he hooks his head, going for a leaping single arm stunner, but Majors fights out of it, pushes Hunter off and spins him around. Majors boots Hunter in the gut, grips him in a front facelock and spins it into a Twist of Fate. The crowd is on their feet for the sudden counter.
Jerry Andrews: Hunter is looking to put Majors away with Thrill of the Hunt - NO! Majors counters! He wants Hunter to Believe In This!
Majors comes in for the leg hook.
The referee: One...
Two...
Thre- Kickout.
Rick is on his knees with an expression of disbelief. Hunter is staring straight up at the lights. Majors begs the referee to tell him that was three, but he assures Majors it was only two. The crowd is on their feet, giving Majors positive support. Despite how the faithful are reacting, Majors spots Lucy and her sour expression casting a pall on all of it. Rick motions that it's over, calling for the Major Impact. Rick reaches down picking Hunter up off the mat before locking in the double underhook. Suddenly Hunter explodes by driving Rick back into a neutral corner where he smashes Rick into the referee and the referee into the buckle. Hunter quickly spins Majors around where he looks to lift him up into the Kings Throne package DDT. Rick Majors counters by bring Hunter towards the buckles, he’s able to climb the inner buckles before pushing off the middle rope sending Hunter back to the mat while Majors flips over David stacking his shoulders to the mat... but there's no referee. Majors he flings his arms out, seeing there's no referee. He goes over to the ref, pulling at his shirt and trying to revive him. When he does, Hunter pulls himself up, and he gives Majors a low blow. Majors doubles over in agony, holding his groin. This, finally, brings a smile to Lucy's face.
Ace Anderson: I think I just saw something that reminded me the night is dark and full of terrors.
Jerry Andrews: Hunter taking advantage of the referee being down, and it cost Majors everything.
Ace Anderson: Rick Majors has been a half step behind this whole match, plus he let these mind games put him off his guard. Hunter took advantage of that.
Hunter waits in the corner, gripping the top ropes and stomping his foot, and Majors coughs, holding his groin and grimacing. Hunter waits until he's in the perfect doubled over position, then he comes in and drops Majors with a flying knee fameasser. Hunter goes over to check the referee, who is coming to, crawling on all fours. The camera cuts to the outside to show the ring apron again, which billows out as if someone is moving underneath it. In the ring, Hunter lifts Majors to his feet. He picks Majors up, hooks him in suplex position before bringing him in for a lifting package DDT. Then, he shakes the referee as he drops into a cover. The referee weakly crawls over.
Jerry Andrews: And now the Kings Throne connects, and it's over at this point.
Ace Anderson: Yeah, Majors sealed his own finish with that one.
The referee: One...
Two...
Three!!
Ding Ding Ding
"Hopes And Dreams/Save The World" by GaMetal begins playing on the PA as David Hunter sits up, holding his arms up and smiling. The referee, still winded, gets to his feet, helping Hunter up and holding up his arm. Majors is groaning on the mat.
Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, advancing to the next round of the Icemann Invitational Tournament... DAVID HUNTER!!
Hunter paces around the ring, holding his arms up arrogantly. As he does, Majors is starting to pull himself up, holding his head. Hunter smiles at him, exiting the ring, as Majors looks on, disappointed.
Jerry Andrews: Majors put up a hell of a fight, but a combination of Hunter's own skill and Majors not being able to look past the looming presence of Seromine and Lucy cost him.
Ace Anderson: What matters is that Hunter is moving on to the next round.
As Majors is sitting up in the ring, a dejected look on his face, the ring apron flares out, and SEROMINE crawls from underneath the ring! Seromine gets out and crawls into the aisle, rising up to stare coldly at his archnemesis. Majors has an openmouthed look of shock and outrage, because Seromine had been there all along. Majors, though still hurting from the match, starts staggering to his feet. The crowd is buzzing, building anticipation.
Jerry Andrews: Seromine is here! Seromine was here all along!
Ace Anderson: These two are staring each other down, it's about to combust.
Seromine shakes his head and wags his finger "No", and he walks over to ringside, taking Lucy by the hand. He motions that he's only here for his mother. Rick Majors, fired up, stands in the ring, throwing his arms out and motioning for Seromine to come in the ring. Seromine smiles at Majors and waves "Bye bye" to Majors, and he exits through the crowd, holding Lucy by the hand and leading her away, leaving Majors behind.
We cut to the back where Tabitha is seen slipping out of Holden and David Hunter's locker room. Shane Dodge suddenly enters the shot and, giving Tabitha a confused glance, leads the camera into the locker room. “Redneck” by Lamb of God thunders from a stereo system set up near where Holden sits with his back to Shane and the camera. Sensing someone’s presence he looks over his left shoulder and smirks at Shane. He rises from his seat and turns the volume down using his smartphone.
Holden: What do you want, Shane?
Shane Dodge: Just trying to get a few words before your big match tonight…
Holden nods, staring off and nodding knowingly, and remains staring off into space for a moment before snapping his attention back to Shane.
Holden: Tonight is the single biggest night of my career. Not only am I fighting for the North American Championship, I am also fighting to move on in the Iceman Invitational Tournament, in what most consider a certain conclusion to this match. One that involves the reigning Champ leaving with his hand raised and my shoulders on the mat. I am a true Bastard and I just Love to play spoiler. The big Dummy isn’t gonna see me comin.
Shane looks skeptical but trudges on nonetheless.
Shane Dodge: Was that Tabitha, our Ring Fox, who just slipped out of here?
Holden shrugs.
Holden: I don’t know…
Shane rolls his eyes and gives the camera an irritated glare.
Shane Dodge: I just saw her trying to sneak out just as I was coming in here. Why was she in here, Holden?
Holden: What do you care, Madge?! Since when is the company into shopping tabloid gossip? Get the Hell out of here before I warm up for tonight by kicking your ass….
Shane makes the cutting motion across his throat and we go back to the ring.
Sasha Greene: The following is a quarterfinal match in the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament... and it is also for the Pure Class Wrestling North American Championship... Introducing first, he weighs in at 325 lbs... The Avatar of Hate... HOLDEN ROSS!!
Holden makes his way down to the ring, ignoring the fans, apparently all business. He ascends the ring steps and takes a few steps along the apron before wiping his feet. He enters through the ropes and proceeds to his corner where he removes his mask and hangs it atop the ringpost.
Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross has been in a foul mood as of late, even more than usual. He has come with a singular goal in mind, to get to the finals of the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament and prove that he is the true monster here in Pure Class Wrestling, even over behemoths like Sicko and our North American champion.
Ace Anderson: It may be a tall order, but if anyone rivals the strength and power of our resident juggernauts, it's the self-described "Bastard".
Sasha Greene: And his opponent, weighing in at 365 lbs... he is the Pure Class Wrestling North American Champion... DOMINATOR!!
The arena is enveloped in total darkness, save for a solitary spotlight shining at a vacant spot central to the stage. Stepping into view, Horacio Mortimer is welcomed by a chorus of thunderous boos. He wastes little time, extending his arm as if to beckon the audience to bear witness to a presentation crafted of his own accord.
Indeed, this very sentiment rings true in the most literal sense as a graphic appears on the Tron in scripted white letters; “A Presentation By The Chronological Order,” Horacio steps aside as the lights suddenly begin flashing fiery colours; orange, yellow, white and red, as the image change to the hands of a clock spiralling out of control, accompanied by an ominous guitar riff. After a few seconds, the name that strikes fear towards all who oppose him appears in front of another image of a clock in bold red letters…
DOMINATOR
The guitars suddenly increase their tempo and energy as the Tron shows the total devastation of various PCW stars at the hands of the titular monster. The Zenith arrives with purpose, standing directly next to Horacio Mortimer. Dominator looks out across the sea of fans in attendance, lifting his forearm in front of his face whilst flexing his gargantuan bicep to display the wristwatch that he wears always, without fail. As he raises his arm further into the air, to the point where the giant cannot reach any higher, a shower of fiery sparks falls from the top of the Tron, briefly masking the entrance video being played. He holds this position for no more than eight seconds before lowering it, taking deep breaths in preparation for the oncoming duel.
The thrashing of the guitars mirrors the intensity in every single one of The Zenith’s strides. Horacio follows his client at his own pace. Dominator makes no attempt to slap hands with the fans. He reaches the ring apron, grabbing the middle rope to haul him onto the side of the ring. He pushes down the top rope with his right hand, throwing one foot over the top before the other follows. He slowly makes his way to the center of the ring, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees to admire the capacity crowd before raising his arm in the air in the exact same manner as he had done atop the entrance ramp, lifting it with malicious purpose to display the watches covering his wrists.
He cricks his neck back and forth before swinging his arms in preparation for the impending fight. All the while, that devious smile is still on his face and he looks to make eye contact with his opponent without a single hint of intimidation. Horacio Mortimer patrols the perimeter of the ring. The music slowly fades, the lights returning to a more average level of illumination as Dominator waits with masked enthusiasm for the start of the match.
Jerry Andrews: As Dominator enters the ring, you really have to marvel at the size, the presence and the sheer mass of both men. Truly, Ross only gives up about 30 pounds of muscle, and he's still a colossus in size.
Ace Anderson: What you're trying to say is, the fans here at ringside are in for a good ol' fashioned Hoss Fight (TM).
Icemann Invitational Tournament Quarterfinal Match
PCW North American Championship
Holden Ross vs Dominator (PCW North American ©)
Referee: Eric Russo
PCW North American Championship
Holden Ross vs Dominator (PCW North American ©)
Referee: Eric Russo
The referee orders the bell rung. Both men hold their hands out in a test of strength, and they come together, both jockeying for position, but neither is able to get an advantage at first, and they stalemate. Finally, Ross starts pushing Dominator into a corner. The referee gets in between them in the corner and tells them to break it up. Dominator and Holden both hold their hands up to show the break, and then both men back up a few steps. Dominator runs at Holden, and he is taken down by an arm drag. Dominator gets to one knee, looking at Holden with a bit of approval. He gets to his feet as Holden comes closer. Dominator slaps Holden across the face. Holden nods his head in an understanding grimace, and then he swings at Dominator for a right hand. Dominator ducks and begins peppering Holden with right hands, backing him towards the ropes. Dominator goes for a right hand, and Holden ducks and begins laying into Dominator with right hands. He goes to whip Dominator into the ropes, but Dominator reverses, sending Holden to the ropes. On the return Dominator is taken down by a shoulder block from Ross. Dominator gets to his feet again and stomps his foot in frustration. They both look to the crowd as the fans begin building a buzz of anticipation.
Jerry Andrews: The crowd looks like they don't know who is going to come out ahead in this battle of power.
Both men go for another collar/elbow tieup, buth Dominator jerks Holden down into a side headlock. He cinches the hold in for a second, and then Holden backs him up to the ropes and pushes him off, looking for a clothesline as Dominator comes back towards him, but on the return Dominator ducks, runs to the opposite ropes and comes off, taking Holden down with a shoulder block. Ross gets up, with a nod of approval of his own.
Jerry Andrews: Looks like both men are looking for the upper hand in the early goings of the feeling out process.
Both men get eye to eye, talking trash to each other and getting in each other's face. The smaller Ross points to his chin, daring Dominator to hit him. Dominator rears back and gives Holden a big right hand. Holden stumbles away, holding his jaw and nodding his head. Dominator mocks Holden, telling him to hit him back, and Holden throws a right hand that makes Dominator stumble back.
Ace Anderson: It isn't often you see someone begging for their opponent to lay one on them, in fact I think I've found finally someone weirder than you, Andrews.
Dominator nods his head, and looks away for a second, then he turns quickly and swings for a clothesline, but Holden ducks and boots him in the gut, taking him down with a quick snap suplex. Holden picks Dominator up, but Dominator flails his arms and breaks loose, and he boots Holden in the gut and gives him a snap suplex of his own. He holds his arms up, arrogantly, taunting the crowd, who have zeroed in on the Avatar as the one they hate more in this match, washing over him with boos. Dominator goes to lift Holden, and he gives him a big right hand, then another, backing Holden into the corner. Dominator whips Holden into the opposite corner, and as Holden staggers out, holding his back, he is taken down by a back body drop. Dominator lifts Holden up and plants him with an atomic drop. Dominator runs off the ropes, as Holden turns around, doubled over, and Dominator takes him down with a clothesline. Holden stumbles to his feet. Dominator grips him and takes him down with a swinging neckbreaker. Dominator paces around, roaring with intensity and Holden gets to his knees, holding his neck in pain. Dominator charges in and boots him to the mat. Then he goes for a cover.
The referee: One... Ross kicks out strongly.
Dominator slams his fists on the mat in frustration. He gets to his feet, holding his hand up and motioning for a chokeslam, and as Ross starts getting to his feet Dominator begins calling for it. He grips Holden around the throat, and he begins to elevate him in the air, but in midair Ross flings an elbow at the side of Dominator's head, knocking him loose. Dominator goes for a clothesline, but Ross ducks. Dominator turns, right into a boot to the gut, making him drop to one knee, and then Holden Ross runs off the ropes, then he plows into Dominator with a Pounce. Dominator is actually thrown backwards, and he rolls onto his side. Dominator looks dazed. Ross scrambles into a cover of his own. The referee attemps a count.
The referee: One... Dominator kicks out with authority.
Jerry Andrews: A breathless sprint and exchange of heavy moves, these two super heavyweights have come out of the gate dropping bombs.
Ace Anderson: Let's not forget, Dominator's North American title is also on the line here. There's a lot at stake for both men, and neither one is going to give up easily.
The Bastard lifts Dominator up, but he takes a second as he holds the bigger man by the hair to jeer the audience at ringside with aggro taunts, and as he endeavors to lift the superheavyweight he is cut off by a headbutt. Dominator gets to his feet, red-faced and seething, and yanks Holden over to the ropes and begins choking him violently on the middle rope. The referee starts counting Dominator for disqualification, and he pretends to ignore the official. Finally Dominator releases, holding his hands up innocently as if nothing ever happened. Ross is trying to get some air into his lungs. Dominator lifts him up and plants him with a torture rack flapjack, then he covers.
The referee: One... kickout.
Taking his time, Dominator turns to his gasping opponent, laying in a stomp here and there, before pulling the Avatar of Hate up again and walking him by the back of the hair. Ross begins to slowly fight back. He lands punch after punch, making Dominator stumble off. He runs off the ropes, hitting the bigger man with a shoulder block that knocks Dominator back a bit. Holden Ross lifts Dominator up, gripping him by the ears. Dominator fights back by violently plunging his fingers into Holden Ross' eye holes like the Mountain on Game of Thrones, trying to pulp Ross' eyes. Ross screams and flings his arms, trying to shoo Dominator away from raking his eyes. Then Holden Ross gives Dominator a right to the nose so violently that Dominator is stopped in his tracks, and he has to blink his eyes and check to see if there's any blood, stumbling a half a step away. Ross socks Dominator in the jaw with a stiff right hand, followed by another, then another before beginning to drill him in the midsection with precision shoot kicks. Dominator is forced to back all the way into a corner to try and get on the defense from Ross’s flurry, but after a moment or so of defensive action, Dominator just reaches up in the middle of more Ross punches to grab him by the head and deliver another stone shattering headbutt of his own. It’s Holden’s turn to go reeling now, Dominator lifting himself up out of the corner and following that up with another hard right, this one sending Holden reeling into the opposite corner now. The roles have now been completely reversed, Ross propped into the corner and having his body open, giving Dominator all the space he needs to start laying into Holden Ross' midsection like he's throwing punches at a heavy bag. Dominator’s ham-sized hands would probably rupture the kidney of any other man getting punched there, but Holden just holds on to the ropes behind him and tries not to fall down.
Jerry Andrews: We always knew as hard hitting as both of these men we may see moves go the way of the dinosaur in favor of just plain fists.
Ace Anderson: Hoss fight. HOSS... FIGHT!!
All the air more than likely beaten out of Holden’s body, Dominator takes him with one hand and sits him upright in the corner and moves that hand across his chest, moving Ross’s arms out of the way. He doesn’t need to hold a finger up to his lips to make the crowd silent, they get deathly quiet when they see him raise his gargantuan right hand … gives him an overhand chop to the chest, with such force that it echoes all over the arena, the “OOOH”s being very sparse, but still heard. Holden curls up his upper body from the sting of the hand. Again, Dominator looks to continue the punishment and throws Holden back up with one hand and opens him back up before once more raising his enormous palm, and laying in a second, even more vicious overhand chop.
Ace Anderson: Let me tell you, the size of Dominator's hands, that's like getting hit in the chest with a baseball bat.
Holden Ross drops down on one side, feeling the pain as he gasps and pants, dropping to his knees and clutches at the point of impact, where we can clearly see the gigantic red markings of where the hand landed. But the punishment isn’t over so soon. As Dominator once more takes the weakened Ross and props him up in the same corner, opening him up, and looking for a third overhand slap to the chest... but Ross' hand shoots out, and he actually stops the incoming impact! Ross has to use both hands, but he stops the momentum of the hand before it impacts his chest once more, using nothing but sheer strength and will to power the hand of the big man away from him. The crowd is popping their heads off for Holden’s show of strength, none getting louder than when he successfully lifts the hand completely over his head. He doesn’t spend much time with it there, just merely giving us the spectacle of his strength before throwing the hand aside and delivering a knife edge chop to Dominator’s chest of his own. The chop jiggles the body of the Zenith but doesn’t take him off his feet, merely sending him back a step. Holden isn’t finished, coming right after him with another chop that sends the big man stumbling back again, only to be met with yet another chop. Dominator groans, and he stumbles away, and Holden Ross then delivers one more chop for good measure before stepping back and allowing us to see not only the welts beginning to form on his chest, but the blisters starting to show on the chest of the juggernaut Dominator. Holden takes a few more steps back and rubs his chest a little before rushing right at his opponent, trying to hit him hard enough to send the big man over the top rope. He hits Dominator with a ton of momentum, but he doesn’t get the big lug over. Holden begins backing, farther this time and hurls towards Dominator again, this time connecting under Dom's jaw with such earth shaking force and sending him over the top rope to the floor!
Jerry Andrews: How many times have we seen someone do that?!
Ace Anderson: For the longest time, I actually thought Dominator was rooted into the ground! It's amazing that someone put him clear out of the ring on it's own!!
Dominator flops right in front of the announcers’ desk, and immediately begins pulling himself up, shaking the cobwebs out of his head and roaring angrily, looking around him, albeit a little dazed in the aisle thinking Holden is out there with him. Instead, he lies in wait near the ropes for the big man to get back to his feet. Just as he gets vertical, the crowd gets on its feet to watch all 325 pounds of Ross run across the ring and clear the top rope with an AMAZING suicide dive! It is a thing of beauty and terror, seeing something that really shouldn't be flying clear the top rope, just for that one perfect instant, and then come crashing down, taking Dominator with him. Dominator absorbs every bit of the blow, going down hard, and Holden rolls onto all fours, shaking his head, before jumping right back on his feet and roaring in adrenaline. Then, Ross, being the Bastard he is, roars for the timekeeper to get out of his way. Ignoring any illegalities, Ross shoves people at the timekeepers station out of the way, picking up a steel chair from where they were stacked and looking at it with a teeth gritted stare of intensity. But, Ross doesn’t close the chair and look to hit Dominator with it. Instead, he roams over and opens the jaws of the chair like a crocodile, and he sets it right in front of a barricade corner. The referee is begging Holden to take it back into the ring. Ross ignores him and hoists the massive body of Dominator back to his feet, the bigger man wobbling a bit. Holden leads him over to the chair and forces him to sit down into it, delivering a straight kick to Dominator's chest for good measure. He then steps away from the chair.
Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross has an intense, manic look in his eye. I wonder what he plans to do now.
Holden Ross backs up so far across the aisle that he's on opposite sides from where Dominator is sitting, in a chair propped up into the corner. Holden Ross sprints the entire length of the aisle to lay in a devastating kick, Ross’s boot rakes across the skull, as Dominator damn near falls out of the chair, so hard does the facewash hit. However, while Dominator's head lolls and he nearly topples out of the chair, he sinks back, propped up by the back of the chair and the barricade but still, magically upright. Holden Ross lets out a bellow of rage, but as he turns back to Dominator, seeing he hasn't fallen out of the chair, he starts backing up, sparing a glance back at Dominator, not sure if he has the opportunity or if he'll ever get another chance. When he backs away, we can hear the referee's count, stopping once more to beg Holden to come back in. Holden, again, goes nearly the entire length of the aisle with a freight train charge before attempting to punt Dominator's skull damn near into the middle rows... but suddenly Dominator ROARS to life, coming out of the seat and meeting Holden in the middle with a spear. Ross is caught like a rag doll and smashed by the massive spear as Dominator intercepts him. The crowd explodes in a massive "OOOOOOOO" at the hard hit.
Jerry Andrews: Ross went to the proverbial well one too many times, a mistake Dominator made him pay for.
Ace Anderson: We knew this fight was going to be something, but both men have beaten the absolute stuffing out of each other.
The referee has broken his count because he's just so awed and flabbergasted by the brutality of the collision. Both men are laid out in the middle of the aisle, Holden Ross rolling and contorting around and gripping at his midsection in agony. Dominator blinks a few times as he's pushing himself up on his elbows, trying to get himself out of his stupor, and he slowly rises, pulling a weak and barely moving Holden up and rolling him back into the ring. At length, Dominator is able to lift his pain wracked body up and roll into the ring, gripping a leg and hooking it for a cover.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Dominator takes no more than a second to curse himself, and think about what he can do to put his hardy opponent away, slowly getting to his feet dragging the Bastard up, before tossing him right into a corner. Now it's Dominator's turn to pace out a good distance, clear across the ring, and the 365 pounder charges across the ring like a Sherman tank powered by the Speed Force before crushing him with a running hip attack. Ross is sandwiched into the turnbuckles, and Dominator, moving with speed that belies his bulk, comes out of the ropes off the hip attack. Ross is gripping those ribs that took the bad beating, but as he stumbles out he is too dazed to move out of the way of an incoming big boot. The big man drops down for another cover.
The referee: One...
Two... Kickout.
Jerry Andrews: I have never seen two super heavyweights go for such an extended period with such ferocity, such destructive power.
Ace Anderson: This is all to get to the finals of the Icemann Tournament, baby. And just think, this is only the quarter finals, there's two matches to go!
Jerry Andrews: Is there going to be anything left of either competitor but pieces to go to the next round??
It takes a lot to get the Zenith flustered and off his game, but he is growing frustrated by the resilience shown by Ross. Dominator snarls, but he doesn't waste time complaining to the referee, going right back to work. He stands to his full height and for the second time in this match he holds his hand up signalling for a chokeslam. Holden Ross takes longer to get to his feet, but he does by degrees, first to one knee, then slowly pushing himself up, not seeing the giant with his hand up behind him. An unaware Ross gets to his feet, turning in a daze, and he's caught! He's lifted up in the air for a chokeslam - but he breaks free! Holden jumps out of the move and latches behind Dominator, and amazing is able to lock his pythons around Dom's throat with a sleeper. Holden’s got the sleeper hold locked in, but Dominator, face turning beet red, refuses to fall. Holden can’t bring the big man to the canvas to fully lock in the hold! Dominator’s enormous amount of leverage allows him to just throw Ross over his shoulder, causing him to roll across the ring. Dominator, even though he didn’t fall, got something taken out of him on the choke, having to grab a rope to pull himself up a little. As Ross rolls to his feet and rushes back at Dominator. Dominator tries a mule kick, but Holden is able to see the trunk leg coming. Holden grabs hold of the massive leg of Dominator and has the strength to pull him away from the ropes, causing him to fall. He turns Dom over... and locks in an STF! Holden has the leg grapevined for the STF, but he can't clasp his hands under Dom's chin and pull back for the full effect of the hold because Dom in using all of his strength to push the hands and break the clasp!
Jerry Andrews: Dominator is fighting out of it, he's fighting free!
Ross struggles mightily to get the mountain in the full force of the hold and seems to have it in for a split second…but Dominator has enough in him to just extend his leg and force Holden out of the advantage. But the Avatar of Hate doesn’t let the loss of a leg stop him, transitioning from a failed STF, into a full nelson! Holden has a full nelson in and is possibly breaking Dominator’s back! Holden’s got a much deadlier hold locked in than originally intended, Dominator is now being forced to change his expression in a howl of pain. As Holden is cinching the hold in, throwing Dominator from one side to the other. The referee asks Dominator if he gives up.
Ace Anderson: Dominator is refusing, he's fighting with all of his might, but this hold is one of the most impossible to break, it's all leverage and application.
Jerry Andrews: The more pressure Holden Ross exerts, the more Dominator is fading.
Several agonizing seconds tick by in the hold. Holden screams for Dom to give up. Dominator is seemingly fading. Holden laughs, thinking he's triumphant, when suddenly the referee pulls on his arm. Holden's head whips around in annoyance, snarling at him, and the referee tells him he has to break the hold. Holden screams "What??" in frustration thinking he was near victory, and refusing without a good reason, but the referee points behind him, and shows Ross that Dominator’s long legs have reached a bottom rope! Holden Ross, trying to hold on to a tenuous hold of his leverage, yells and says that's BS, but the referee tells him to stop of he'll be disqualified. Ross has no choice but to let go of the full nelson, slamming Dominator’s upper body down with disdain. He taking a few steps back from the downed giant, as this capacity crowd boo’s at the official’s decision. While the crowd boos, Holden is now pumped up, shaking some of the sweat off his brow. Dominator tends to his lower back as he gets to his feet, the referee looking like he’s helping him. Just as Ross tries to get close to Dominator, he’s backed away by ref. Again the boo’s start up but Ross has never been a man to listen to the ref’s admonition, as he shoves the official aside storming the big man … only to eat a stone right hand knockout punch. Dominator springs a fast one on the reckless Ross, but Ross doesn't fall. He stumbles hard and takes several steps back, but somehow, he stays on his feet. Dominator is somewhat surprised at this, but he doesn’t let it shock him too much, charging full force back at Holden... but Holden Ross catches Dominator! He scoops him up with a front powerslam lift and he DROPS the giant with a ring shaking World's Strongest slam out on nowhere, perhaps on sheer desperation. But now neither man is even able to move, the damage having sufficient impact on both men. The official gets to his refereeing duties regarding motionless bodies and starts a count.
The ref: One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
Five...
Six... Both men start to stir...
Seven... Dominator blinks and tries to shake the cobwebs out as Holden Ross rolls over onto all fours...
Eight... Both men are starting to pull themselves up to all fours...
Nine...
Ross is the first to his feet, breathing heavily. He rushes up to the winded Dominator and lays a series of stomps and clubs to the back, kicks him in the chest, and catches Dom off guard, forcing him flat on his back. Ross runs off the ropes and comes off with a backsplash senton. Ross hooks the leg, clenching them tight. The referee counts.
The referee: One...
Two...
Th- Kickout.
Holden Ross snarls, shouting "Come on!!" and slapping the mat with furious anger and intensity, veins sticking out on his forehead. He's waiting for Dominator to get to his feet again, motioning for him to get up and when he does, he takes the back again and locks in a violent sleeper, this time more obviously a choke akin to a Tazmission. The crowd is white hot for it, and Dominator looks to be fading fast. As Holden screams in intensity and sells his want for the tapout, Dominator is sinking, his face going slack, and his flailing arms start moving slower as if through molasses. Holden sneers, telling Dom to go to sleep. Dominator's eyes close and his arms begin to slump. The referee asks him if he gives up. Dominator can't give a coherent answer. The giant is motionless, and it seems as Holden sneers through bared teeth that he's closing in on triumph. But suddenly, the Zenith's eye's open up and his bright purple face contorts with both a spike of adrenaline and pure rage as he starts shaking, quaking like a California highway.
Ace Anderson: You know that old adage about awakening a sleeping giant? ...Yeah, that.
Jerry Andrews: This does not bode well for Ross!!!
Dominator throws a defiant giant fist in the air and slowly gets to his feet, the whole arena in awe at this inhuman display of power, Dominator completely vertical with a human being nearly his size on his back, he backpedals … and sandwiches Holden at top speed between his body and the turnbuckles! The chokehold immediately relaxes. The intense hold is broken just the monstrous strength of the Zenith, Holden is forced to slump against the ring post that has so much been his bane for this match. Ross starts to stumble a bit out of the corner, but only to walk right into the grip of Dominator but Ross lands a thumb to the eye in a last ditch effort to keep momentum on his side. Holden is right there to grapple him around the waist as he reels... and peels off a German suplex!! Ross hoists the titan over his head and plants him, surprising all in attendance and possibly even himself as he climbs over for another cover…
The referee and the crowd: One...
Two...
Thr- Kickout!
Jerry Andrews: What a match!!
Dominator is barely able to move, but the crowd is on their feet still from the spectacle that just was. If Holden didn’t hit that move right, he could damn well have been paralyzed, but as it is, Holden is more angry that the move didn’t end the match than he is proud that he executed it at all. He looks up at the referee in disbelief before putting his hands on his hips to catch his breath. The sweat drops from Holden’s brow as he stares intensely at Dominator, as now it’s his turn to stalk the tank before him. Dominator pulls on the ropes in front of him and again climbs them like a ladder to get back to his feet, only to turn around and drift right into the clutches of Ross, who looks for a Polish hammer to end it all but instead Dominator turns it into a surprising lifted reverse STO out of nowhere! The move hits so quick that the entire crowd is stunned into silence, and then they explode.
Jerry Andrews: ANACHRONISM! DOMINATOR REVERSES INTO AN ANACHRONISM OUT OF NOWHERE!!
Ace Anderson: Hoss fight has not disappointed in the least.
There's a struggle for Dominator to move his weak limbs, that have taken such an energy drain they feel like he's moving through glass to get here as he pulls Holden Ross over and hooks a leg for a cover. The referee counts.
The referee and the crowd: ONE...
TWO...
THREE!!
Ding Ding Ding
Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, advancing to the semi-finals of the Icemann Invitational Tournament... and STILL Pure Class Wrestling North American Champion... DOMINATOR!!
"Wave of Darkness" by Garik Wheeler hits on the PA as Dominator, breathing heavily from the hard hitting match, rolls off Holden.
Jerry Andrews: The Lord of Time, once again proves he only need a split second to hit the Anachronism and put the lights out.
Ace Anderson: He had to battle through Holden Ross, who matched Dominator for power more than anyone else I've ever seen take a fight to the big man.
Horacio Mortimer is coming to ringside, handing Dominator the North American title as Dominator is pulling himself up with an arm over the bottom rope. Holden Ross is still laid out, and the referee is trying to revive him. Dominator rolls under the bottom rope, and Horacio Mortimer hands him his title.
Jerry Andrews: That man is going to be a force to be reckoned with in the later stages of the tournament.
Ace Anderson: Just imagine if he gets to the finals... whoever faces Dominator will have had to go through a match earlier in the night... and then compete against THAT.
Dominator raises his arms up, roaring to the crowd. Holden Ross is shaking the cobwebs out and holding his head.
The feed switches to a shot of a room somewhere within the warren that is the House of Dillinger. A room much like the others there at the end of All Souls Hollow – one of stone and wood, windows and bookshelves, a fireplace continuously tended. This particular room includes a desk pushed up against a wall opposite a window, and a certain red-headed scrivener-barbarian setting up shop at said desk.
He sits mulling over a sheet of yellowed paper. Pen in hand, full of oak gall ink he’d prepared himself.
Phinehas scribbles, stops, scribbles. Adjusts the candle guttering on the desk. Shifts in his chair, gives the pen a shake, scribbles some more. Lays the pen aside. He reaches overhead and leans back in a stretch. Taking up the paper, his pale blue eyes scan his work, then freeze over. Phinehas scowls. Shakes his head. Wads crinkles crushes the paper and, without looking, slings it into the fireplace to his left. Despite being nothing more than embers, the paper ignites. If one looks closely, one can follow along as the flame licks at the statement.
That this match is of an irregular nature has been acknowledged. It has been discussed ad nauseum. And it IS taking place. So, moving on…
Gerard – As we stand on the verge of Living a Legacy, I want you to be absolutely certain of this decision. And I want there to be no misperception whatsoever as to certain aspects of this night. True, your last match of this magnitude turned out quite well for you. But what did that require? Brutal sessions with your former trainer. Parsing through the analytics of the World Champion at the time. Hours of studying film.
And it worked.
So let me ask you this, Gerard. What do you two think my biggest strength is? My weakness? My major flaw? Have you analyzed the appropriate measurements and calculated the applicable numbers? The speed of Dead Reckoning at impact. Velocity reached as Lament Configuration drops you. Newton-meters of torque applied in the Winding Stair. Linear momentum necessary for an effective Foddershock.
Fun facts? Sure. Will they help you? Not in the slightest. For the full essence of the Hangtown Horror does not translate onto any medium, be it film, digital, analog, or otherwise. Nothing can capture the event horizon when one looks into these eyes the split second one recognizes he or she is being drawn into the Harvest. That, my friend, is beyond the limits of language. That’s something you have to experience for yourself.
“Desperate men do desperate things.” I’m not sure the Man Without Peer is desperate enough for this, but by all means, study up all you can. Let’s see how it translates into finally stepping into the ring.
After all, as an infamous pugilist once observed, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
And just like that, the paper erupts in a flare and is reduced to ash. A gust draws it up the chimney, and it is carried off and scattered over Hangtown. Phinehas stands and walks out with the visage of disappointment in himself for scratching out such drivel glowering over him.
Sasha Greene: The following match is a fatal four way and is for the PCW Underground Title!
"The Truth Reigns" hits and with it a modest amount of crowd noise.
Sasha Greene: From Orlando, Florida. Weighing 265 lbs, RAZOR BLADE!
He comes out from the back of the Audience in walks down the steps in high fives his Fans in walks down the stops in Climbs over the barricade in stops for a min in hops on the apron in raise both of us arms in the air in get's down in waits for his Opponent to arrive.
The lights flicker and fade out as the pulsating beats of Dope Star Inc's "10000 Watts of Artificial Pleasure" pops on the PA system. Smoke fills the arena as a figure stands in the middle of it. All the sudden, Crazy Boy comes out of the smoke and pumps a fist in the air.
Sasha Greene: From Biloxi, Mississippi. Weighing 227 lbs, CRAZY BOY!
He walks down the entryway and climbs the ropes of the ring. He bounces around the ropes a few times, pumps his fist in the air one last time and waits for his opponent to come.
"Pick Up the Pizzas" by The James Gang is about to usher in the third challenger. The tron features gritty footage of vintage classic rock bands. Darren runs out onto the stage, throwing a few chords of air guitar out to wind up the crowd.
Sasha Greene: From Staten Island, New York. He weighs 184 lbs, DARREN "THE BOMBER" HUGHES!
Darren runs down to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. Ready for a fight, he bounces his back to the ropes a couple of times and throws up a double-shooting gesture with his fingers to the hard camera, grinning and soaking in the crowd's cheers.
Sasha Greene: And their opponent...
The lights start going out as if with a rolling blackout, flickering and struggling to maintain power as the first guitar chords of "Fixxxer" by Metallica starts playing over the PA. As the lights come fully up, a battered, dilapidated ice cream truck, it's paint and decals peeling in a sinister manner rumbles up on stage, it's axles shaking with effort. The entrance ramp is backlit with a hellish red lighting as the ice cream truck pulls into a spot just to the left of the entrance ramp, making this vessel seem like some demonic harbinger. As the music hits the mid-point heavy guitar break the jumbotron shows images of Sicko, walking down a long hallway, his back turned to the camera, then the screen splits and two images of Sicko, two faces, one laughing, one letting out a bestial roar.
Tell me
Can you heal what father's done
Or fix this hole in a mother's son?
Can you heal the broken worlds within?
Can you strip away so we may start again?
Tell me, can you heal what father's done
Or cut this rope and let us run?
Just when all seems fine and I'm pain free
You jab another pin, jab another pin in me
Then, as the music kicks in harder, shots of Sicko ruthlessly attacking and destroying PCW superstars flicker on the screen. Sicko steps out from behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, and as he does, he cocks an ear, listening to an unheard spoken word or command, and he responds, talking to himself.
Sasha Greene: From Death Valley, California. He weighs 383 lbs. The PCW Underground Champion, SICKO!!
A red mist rolls out from the interior of the ice cream truck with Sicko. The Demon Clown slowly makes his way down to the ring, like a predator on the hunt. As he climbs onto the apron, James Hetfield is just getting to the "NO MORE PINS IN ME" part of the chorus and in time with that, Sicko holds his arms out at his sides and he throws his head back, letting out a guttural roar. As Sicko climbs over the top rope, he turns his head to talk to a voice only he can hear, waiting for the match to start.
PCW Underground Championship
Sicko (PCW Underground 👑) vs Darren "The Bomber" Hughes vs Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith vs Razor Blade
Referee: Ed Lane
Sicko (PCW Underground 👑) vs Darren "The Bomber" Hughes vs Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith vs Razor Blade
Referee: Ed Lane
DING!
DING!
DING!
Sicko gazes at the challengers in front of them like they were part of the lowest rung in the food chain. Hughes is the only one new to him, but he's also the smallest from a perspective of weight. He has all of the advantages and knows this. It's something that warms him like a blanket in the throes of winter. But the pilot light is out in his furnace tonight.
That's bad news for the opposition.
Sicko advances forward without so much as a second thought. Crazy Boy and Razor Blade rush him, but are dropped simultaneously with clotheslines as he closes in on Darren Hughes. The Bomber is more than happy to welcome the challenge, showing no sign of fear or thought of stepping aside to safety. Sicko removes space between he and the returnee. A lunge gives Hughes the chance to belt Sicko with a standing roundhouse kick alongside the head.
Sicko is stood straight up but an unnerving smile creeps across his face. A series of palm strikes to the rotund belly have no effect other than making the demon clown laugh like he was being tickled. Suddenly Sicko is chopped blocked from behind, lowering his center of gravity to a more manageable height. The trio converge with an onslaught of fists and kicks, forcing the champion to hide his torso.
Crazy and Razor pull apart Sicko's arms, only that serves as an invitation for him to swing them into one another. Hughes gives Sicko a running knee. That turns him partially around as Hughes continues through with a bounce off the ropes and another running knee. Sicko is spun in the opposite direction as Hughes goes for the trifecta. This time Sicko lifts him aggressively in the air after an agile jump to his feet, following it with a massive powerbomb from HELL. Hughes clings to his back after having the wind knocked out of his sails.
Jerry Andrews: What a nasty sound that made! I don't know if that was his body exploding from the inside or the ring absorbing the impact.
Sicko turns around in time to intercept an incoming superman punch from Razor Blade. Sicko bends the wrist back as far as it will go without breaking it off. Razor is pulled off his feet like that and held close so that Sicko can stare into his soul with a look that says 'you fucked up.' Crazy Boy goes low with a steel chair battering ram to the groin. Razor is unceremoniously dropped as Sicko is compromised. Crazy Boy scores with an uppercut using the top of the chair, putting Sicko back upright.
Crazy Boy shows off his speedy aerial ability, hopping right to left off the top rope and returning with a somersault double axehandle that places the chair around Sicko's neck. Sicko takes control of the legs while his own are under siege from Razor Blade and Darren Hughes. Crazy Boy's next springboard isn't so successful. He's goozled mid-air by a powerful grip. Sicko stomps the heads of the other two and then chokeslams Crazy Boy.
Sicko removes the chair from sight. The only weapons he needs are the hands he was born with. Razor Blade is shoved into a corner. Sicko rushes right into him and then uses his face for a punching bag. Each shot is landed harder than the other. Sicko cranes his head to the side for a conversation with the voices in his head. Darren Hughes rushes with a clothesline to break that. Sicko is pushed into Razor Blade. Just as he turns, Hughes BLASTS the daylights out of him with a double chairshot. Sicko responds by punching a massive dent in the seat.
Hughes is distracted by the sight, but doesn't fall into the danger zone. Crazy Boy arrives to dropkick the chair back at Sicko, but in turn, pushes Hughes forward. Darren spins around with a headbutt for Tyrone, sputtering him in the ropes. Hughes gives him a series of knees to the ribs and then pulls him into a swinging neckbreaker off an Irish whip.
Jerry Andrews: It's safe to say the alliance is over.
Ace Anderson: There is no alliances when a title is on the line. Hughes wants to win and doesn't have to pin the champ to do so.
Sicko steps away from Razor Blade with his sights on Darren Hughes. That is...until he violently turns to give Razor Blade the FCS WHILE still in the corner! Razor's head flops back violently as his body lifts off the ground, going over the top rope as he collapses to the floor. Sicko turns his attention back to Darren Hughes, but he's working Crazy Boy over on the arena floor away from the main action.
Sicko pushes the ropes down to their maximum tension without breaking. He exits the ring to where Razor Blade is picking himself up. Sicko lifts him in the air like a small child, but has his eyes watered with a palm strike to the nose. While Sicko attends to it, he's met with a spear. This gets him on the heels of his feet. Sicko, now emboldened, returns the favor, taking Razor through the air with a 360 spin!
On the other side, Crazy Boy has just hit a frog splash off the apron with a chair sandwiched between he and Darren Hughes. Crazy Boy rolls over to discard the chair and in the process, tags a few hands from fans that are rooting him on. Crazy Boy moves to the time keeper's table to grab the bell. Darren has his face smashed by it. Crazy Boy sets it down on the floor and attempts to piledrive Hughes onto the bell.
Darren pushes his body up so that he's sitting on Crazy's shoulders. He turns a hurricanrana ONTO the bell into a quick triangle choke submission with the referee in perfect place to check for the tap out! At the same exact time as that is going on, Sicko is clobbering Razor Blade down to his knees with boots and heavy clubs to the back. He drags Razor Blade by one arm to the nearest post. He pulls him by that arm and then yanks Razor Blade under the bottom turnbuckle so that Razor Blade cracks into the post.
Sicko ferociously, and without mercy, looks as if he's trying to remove limb from socket so that he can take it back to his truck to be frozen with his ice cream. Razor Blade is heard screaming like a man who is being murdered.
Jerry Andrews (disgusted): What in the hell is he doing?! He could tear every ligament he has!
Ace Anderson: Why don't you go tell David Hunter to stop him then??
Jerry Anderson: Sicko doesn't belong in a wrestling ring. He belongs in a psych ward on a thorazine drip!
Back over to Hughes and Crazy Boy as Hughes is shown putting him on the opposite side of the rail. Darren cracks his head a few times and then sends himself into the crowd with a sunset flip piledriver on the concrete! Darren celebrates his innovation with some fist bumps to fans who remain close by. Hughes attempts a running bulldog further into the crowd, but Crazy Boy buckles and sends Hughes crotch first into a series of chairs with an unceremonious landing. This gives him time to favor his head following the previous piledriver. Crazy Boy recovers enough to take control of Darren Hughes with a one-armed DDT.
Back at ringside, the one-armed Razor Blade has just slid out of Sicko's shoulders as he was about to post him head first like a dart. Sicko instead kisses steel with a loud crack, but in a show of insanity, proceeds to bang his head over and over until he's busted open. The crimson streaks of blood add a macabre visual to his paint and an extra layer of FUCK THAT to his absolutely creepy as hell scowl. The voices in his head have returned because he engages in conversation. A running forearm smash shuts him up while also putting the back of Sicko's head against the post. The return is a boxing three punch combo and a big boot.
Crazy Boy has a suplex attempt blocked by Darren. Hughes hip tosses Crazy Boy, but misses the leg drop. This gives him the chance to hit a standing 450 splash...onto knees! Hughes cradles Tyrone's head, works them back up and then waffles him with a spike DDT. Meanwhile, Sicko has begun stacking two tables in one of the corners, while Razor Blade is laying flat out in the ring. A snarled grin makes an appearance as he approaches Razor. The BIG DOG is peeled off the canvas by the arm that had been nearly been ripped out of socket.
Darren Hughes is back in the ring. Sicko snaps his head around just as a pair of boots swing into his face. Hughes hits the ropes and gives Razor Blade a running body hockey check. This also has the effect of turning Sicko partially around. Darren rolls under the bottom rope, then picks himself up for a slingshot shoulder charge over the top rope! Sicko trips over the body of Razor Blade and is OFF his feet! Darren quickly pins Razor...
1!
2!
Sicko puts a boot to the head of Hughes to stop that noise. Crazy Boy hits a springboard shooting star press on Darren, picking things back up where they left off. He hooks both of the legs!
1!
2!
Sicko uses puts his other boot to the head of Crazy Boy with equal violent authority. The human tank wastes little time rising back to his feet. Razor and Crazy Boy are there to meet him. They work in tandem the best they can to pierce the armor of the defending champion. Sicko shoves them both against the ropes, but has his arms trapped on an attempted double clothesline. They fire shot after shot anywhere it will soften Sicko and then with his arms still braced, they try to lift him for a double suplex.
Jerry Andrews: Teamwork may be the only way they can rid themselves of Sicko.
Ace Anderson: You've never watched Highlander, have you? There can only be ONE! They'll stab each other in the back in order to win the gold. So don't get all moist thinking that Sicko will be under threat from a pseudo-alliance.
To the surprise of many, Sicko is picked a few inches off his feet. The faithful are rallying behind the two with chants of CRA-ZY BOY! RAZ-OR BLADE! Chants that are dashed out once Sicko elbows his way out of things. Crazy Boy and Razor Blade have their throats squeezed for an attempted double chokeslam. They counter with double boots, but all that does is cause Sicko to throw Razor Blade aside like a paper airplane. Crazy Boy is still locked in a vice grip, however. It's from this Sicko picks him up overhead with a gorilla press slam. Sicko turns in Razor's direction because Crazy Boy is HURLED into him like a cross body. The ref slides in for the count!
1!
2!
Sicko drops a massive splash on top of his two foes. Darren hits a bulldog on the champion! The faithful rally behind The Bomber with as much energy as they have to give. Sicko rolls over onto his back. Hughes glances at the middle rope with the wheel in the sky turning. Darren hops onto it to give everyone an air guitar performance. Upon bending the final note, he leaps in the air...
Jerry Andrews: He's going for AIR GUITAR SOLO!
Ace Anderson: I think somebody is going to unplug the cord from the air amplifier...
Sure enough, Sicko sticks his meathooks up to block the double knees from landing. Sicko sends Hughes flying into the corner where the tables were previously stacked. The Bomber halts himself by pushing his hands along the top ropes and a foot against one of the tables. Just as he spins around, Sicko cuts him nearly in half with a MAMMOTH spear, destroying the tables and making forcing Hughes into going full ragdoll as the top and middle ropes collapse on top of him.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
Sicko slowly slides to the floor. He turns to the faithful, spotting someone sporting a David Hunter t-shirt. Sicko's unnerving smile returns as he first pie-faces the fan, then rips off the shirt, leaving his stick body exposed to the world (and probably Youtube). Sicko walks around the ring ignoring every sound but the ones in his head. Crazy Boy is lassoed around the neck like a tightening noose has been slipped over.
Crazy Boy tries slipping his fingers under the ligature, but Sicko is choking him out in the process of full on dragging him to his parked ice cream truck. A lifeless Crazy Boy is picked up and thrown like a javelin onto the hood with such incredible force that he cracks the windshield while rolling up. After he rolls back down, Sicko picks him up again to clubber him hard enough into going limp. Tyrone finds his head violently getting pinged off the fender and tires, but is it enough to satisfy the bloodthirsty champion?
Inside of the ring with only one rope still fully attached, the remaining challengers engage in a back and forth of sorts. Neither are a full one-hundred. Darren fights out of an attempted Samoan drop as he slips behind Razor Blade. Darren hammerlocks Razor by his bad arm, wrenching it as far as he possibly can. He starts to rotate his body, looking to throw him shoulder first into the steel post. Razor spins fully around so that he is in front of Hughes. This gives him the chance to BLAST him with an uppercut.
Jerry Andrews: Was that teeth that I just saw go flying?
Ace Anderson: No, popcorn. I was startled by some unaccompanied brat. Want some?
Jerry Andrews: Children? No.
Ace Anderson (scoffs): I was talking about popcorn. If you hurry now, you can still get make the snack bar.
A leaping clothesline from Razor Blade's one good arm is countered into a cross armbreaker. The submission is locked in tight while Crazy Boy gets peeled off the stage in the background. Looking like a human sack of potatoes, Sicko carries him around to the back of the truck. The doors are pulled open and Crazy Boy is dumped inside of the truck's storage. With him locked up, Sicko is seen putting his eyes on the action in the ring.
Jerry Andrews: Darren has this won! Sicko has ground to make up. Oh yes! I can hear it now. "And NEW Underground Champion..."
To Razor's credit, he's not tapping. His bad arm is in the air like he wants to, though. Darren notices Sicko has made it to the bottom of the ramp. The distraction allows Razor to waffle Darren in the face, which breaks things. The two strain to find their bearings as Sicko is now halfway back to the ring. Darren kicks Razor Blade in the midsection, scooping him upside down. Razor's inside cradle isn't fully cinched in, so the two wind back up on their feet...
Jerry Andrews: RAZOR'S EDGE!
Razor Blade keeps a folded Darren Hughes as is, allowing him to shift his weight to push down on the pin. The fans count along with the ref.
1!
2!
3---SICKO BREAKS THINGS UP. Razor's previously worked over arm is now sadistically ripped apart. Sicko bends it at an inhuman angle as he savagely works it over. Razor Blade's anguish tells the whole story with Sicko standing on the bend with every pound of his weight getting applied. He decides to take it one step further. Sicko yanks Razor Blade up into a double chickenwing submission, a finisher he calls LAUGHING GHOST.
It doesn't take long for his ligaments to be further strained before Razor Blade is forced to submit. The referee calls for the bell as this is thankfully over.
Sasha Greene: Here is the winner and STILL Underground champion, SICKO!
As "Fixxxer" by Metallica plays to a chorus of resounding boos, Sicko takes HIS championship belt while snarling like an animal and flexing his muscles. But he's not done and not alone in the ring. Darren is removed with an FCS because Sicko felt like giving him one. Razor Blade is unceremoniously dumped with PAGLIACCI. The last image of Trauma 252 is a pov shot from their bodies on the floor and Sicko standing above in the ring with a triumphant roar.
- CLICK -
