A C W



ASCENSION
COURAGE 119 ¤ 05 AUGUST 2010
SKJERN BANK ARENA, SKJERN, DENMARK

So What Exactly IS This Piece of Shit?

   

The power struggle in ACW was about to begin for yet another week and COURAGE 119 would begin on quite an explosive note. Sitting in the middle of Jeremy Hunt's office sat the man himself, Jeremy Hunt and the man who sat opposite him?

The one and only Aaron Jones.

SilverHAWK had been quietly fixing all the things that Hunt had broken over the previous two months while ACW was in Eastern Europe, but there was one thing that he had no control over; because he didn't have a fucking clue what it was.

"So just what the fuck is this crazy looking piece of shit?"

Jeremy Hunt smiled as he leaned back on his chair and nodded for his bodyguard WAR to make his way to the other side of the door.

"This, Mr. HAWK, is one of the final pieces of my puzzle."

SilverHAWK twisted his face up all weird-like wondering just what the hell the man from SlySports was talking about.

"Listen... I want this out of my federation. I don't think this should be anywhere near any of my talent, and if I see you making random Black Title matches again, I'll walk down to the ring myself andp pluck the feathers from your birdman and that will be that."

Chuckle.

Chuckle Chuckle.

"My my, HAWK... looks like ol' Jack Daniels has given you quite the backbone tonight. It wouldn't be around your talent if you could take control of these animals. People losing bits of their face, other men missing and feared dead... what kind of show are you running here?"

SilverHAWK got to his feet as it seemed he had had enough of this little exchange.

"You do just as good controlling your thugs I see, Mr. Hunt. When you get your own house in order, you and me can talk and as I said if that title goes anywhere near that ring again we will have words."

As the door closed behind him, Jeremy Hunt picked up the rather disgusting Black Title and looked at it in the light.

We will have more than words, Mr HAWK.

Just the beginning...

   

Orlando Grant paced around backstage in his wrestling attire with the thought of getting back at ‘Vicious’ Greg Miles tonight. He knew it would have to been done during the Battle Royale that was aimed at crowning a new #1 Contender at the Scorpion Fighting Title (and another chance for Orlando to lock horns with Fejona Min), but how was he going to do it without everyone else getting in his way?

He was clueless.

So instead of waiting until later, Orlando decided he would head straight towards the curtains leading to the ring.

“Hit that music, playa!” he demanded with a finger in the technician’s face and suddenly…

WHEN THE GUNS COME OUT.

Grant bullied himself through the curtains and as soon as the fans made eye contact with The OG of acw - they erupted with cheers. Grant power-walked to the ring with a sneer stretched across his face. He was defiantly one pissed off mother-sumthin and was ready to lash out at VGM.

So before entering the ring, Grant walked around, and grabbed the unattended microphone off the Broadcast Booth. He slid into the ring and stood up.

He clinched the microphone firmly within his grasp, "GREG MILES!” he roared, “Get yo ass out here RIGHT NOW! fuck wait’n till da Battle Royale. You pissed me off last week and now Imma make you pay, bitch!”

What?

You thought VGM would puss out?

Ha.

I will not sit silently by as you mock and curse my God…
Stand against Him, you will be brought down…

Here I come, I'm 'bout to rise up
With all of my people, we're 'bout to rise up
Here we come now, we're 'bout to rise up
With all of my people, we're 'bout to rise up

When the lyrics to Rise Up by Disciple cried out - ‘Vicious’ Greg Miles stepped out. He pushed through the curtains with a smirk glaring as he turned his head left and then right while staring at the thousands of fanatics calling his name. He nodded at the fans and focused on Grant who rested his elbows on the top rope.

Miles put the microphone in position.

“OHHHH how I’d love to walk down this ramp and shove my fist down your throat right now…” the fans cheered, “But, I‘ll wait until later before I do that. You see Grant, tonight is a big night for me and YOU. We both have a shot to win the Scorpion Fighting Title, but still yet here you are moaning and bitching because I smacked you around last week.

Well Grant…GET OVER IT!

Be happy I chose you to excel myself to the top. Tonight, I will be the one to eliminate you from the BR whether I win the damn thing or not. I’m making an example out of you and showing the ACW who the real badass is in this company!”

Grant’s lips began to quiver as he listened to VGM.

“Miles, you lil cocky son-of-a-whore! We will finish da shit tonight in this ring and imma beat that ass. I’ll show you, you lil cunt whore. Fuck’N Cracka!”

Greg tossed two fingers in OG’s direction, swinging them from left to right.

“Oh I don’t think so Grant. I’ve been here 3 weeks and listen to these fans. They already cheer my name louder than you could ever imagine and you wanna know why?

Because I give them my BLOOD, SWEAT, and TEARS! I pour my heart out in every match…I don’t do it for them, or anyone else - But I do it for my family! I want that damn money and I want it bad and the only way for me to get rich is to kill everyone son-of-a-bitch who crosses my path.

But you Grant, I’m showing the world what I’m capable of by knocking your teeth out and tonight will be just the start. Over the next couple of weeks, I’m going to break every bone in your body and show everyone how vicious I really am…so enjoy the next hour because it’ll be the last hour you ever get to enjoy.”

VGM dropped the microphone and flashed his hand in the air signaling his goodbye.

Grant stood amongst the fans growling as Greg Miles made an exit.

“We’ll see Miles…we’ll see.”

The Right Type

SilverHAWK -- back in his office after a short walk from Hunt's office -- sat behind his desk and balanced the near empty bottle of Jack on the top of his knee cap. He heard the door open and shut but refused to look up.

“So…yeah” came the voice, causing SilverHAWK to finally turn his eyes upward. In front of him was Chris Storm, the Rock Superstar.

There was a moment of awkwardness for Storm, who waited for SilverHAWK to say something. But he just kept balancing the bottle, making sure it never tilted too far one way or the other. Chris sat down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, adjusting the protective mask covering his fractured orbital bone.

“You’re looking worst than when I last saw you,” HAWK pointed out.

Chris wiped the comment away, “Nothing serious. Just the nature of the business.”

SilverHAWK nodded in agreement. It’s ACW, he knew all about broken bones and shattered bodies. Here a fracture was as close to a paper cut as anything else. Chris knew that. It was the whole reason he stood there in that office.

“You got the contract drawn up?” Chris asked, trying to study the desk for any hints.

Lifting the bottle up off his knee, SilverHAWK took a drink. He pushed a shot glass toward Storm and pointed the end of the bottle at him.

Chris just shook his head, “I don’t drink.”

“I can respect that, but before we get to the contract stuff, let me as you something, you still O negative?”

“Uh…yeah, I don’t imagine I changed since the last time we talked.”

SilverHAWK let out a good laugh on that one, taking another drink from the bottle. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Well that’s great; I have the one day contract all drawn up. Legal just sent it.”

Reaching into one of his drawers, SilverHAWK pulled out a manila folder and pulled out the paperwork inside. He slid it across his desk for Chris to look over. Scanning through the pages, Chris’ eyebrow perked up.

“Why is there a section in here about organ donating?”

Looking over the top of the paperwork, SilverHAWK grabbed the page. “Don’t worry about that one, that’s just in case I need a new liver.”

Chris dropped the pen and SilverHAWK just laughed. Reaching across the desk he gave the Rock Superstar a playful slap.

“I’m just fucking with you.” He stopped, more serious now, “but really, you are O negative right?”

Sinking back into his chair, the two-hundred and fifty pound wrestler suddenly began to wonder if he had made the correct choice. Still, it was only a one day contract. What was the worst that could happen? Signing his name away, Chris quickly had the contract snatched out from under him by SilverHAWK.

Rubbing his hands together Chris looked at SilverHAWK, “so who is my opponent?”

The former World Champion and Hall Of Famer turned General Manager paused, putting down the contract “we got you the opening match against JP Boudreau. He’s a great wrestler, someone you can really showcase your talents against.”

“Wait, opener?”

SilverHAWK looked down at his watch as he thumbed through the pages of the contract. “Yeah, in fact it should be starting any minute now.” He looked across his desk at Storm, “so you might need to hurry.”

Chris slammed his fist down onto the desk and quickly had to push himself up to his feet. He growled at SilverHAWK but nonetheless still bolted through the door and into the hallway. He needed to find the ring and fast.

It was, after all, only a one day contract.

C O M M E R C I A L S

SINGLES MATCH - STANDARD RULES
JP Boudreau vs. Chris Storm
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

All eyes had hit the entrance ramp, taking a look at the man that hurried out from behind the curtains. Tossing back his hoodie, he stopped and gave himself a moment to breath. The lights in the arena glistened off his golden locks that stood high in spikes. Feeling that rush of energy only a packed crowd could give, Chris Storm threw off his hoodie and ran straight for the ring.

Poor Boudreau never saw it coming. He was still trying to taunt for the fans in the front row. First it was the forearm smash that sent him into the ropes. Then it was being locked around the waist and slammed hard into the canvas with a Belly to Back slam. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the Last Great Technical Wrestler managed to hold onto his grip and brought Boudreau back to his feet by force. Even at two-hundred and forty pounds, he seemed like a lightweight as Storm easily arced and allowed his hands to snake up for a Full Nelson. Chris wasn’t looking for a submission, he had other plans for the Montreal Frog. Rolling off the balls of his feet, Storm arced back and brought Boudreau with him for a devastating Full Nelson Suplex.

Ol’ Trent Savage was having a hard time keeping up, and it wasn’t until the time keeper had reminded him that the referee finally signaled for the bell.

DING-DING!

“I’m already liking this guy” Reid stated, “he’s not wasting any time. He’s trying to make a statement.”

Cardinal disagreed, however, “he blindsided Boudreau. I would like to see how this match would be right now if he had faced him fair and square.”

Regardless of what either thought, Chris Storm showed no signs of slowing down even if the bell had rang. He went straight to putting the leather to Boudreau, looking as if he was trying to smear him into the canvas. Backing off, the crowd was already hot with boos on Storm, who just ignored them and picked Boudreau up to a vertical base.

Cinching in another Waist Lock, Chris was surprised when Boudreau counters with his own waist lock by reaching over Storm. Driving his shoulder under the bottom rib, Chris tried to pry him off but it wouldn’t be so simple. At least not when you have a knee being driven into your chest repeatedly. Realizing he was in a bad way, Storm released his lock and pushed away. The crowd gave a small cheer, which surprised the Montreal Frog so much so that he allowed himself to get distracted long enough for Storm to unleash a rarely used Shuffle Side Kick right to the jaw.

Chris Storm flopped down to the mat next to Boudreau and made sure to add insult to injury. Even if the camera could pick up what he was saying, it likely wouldn’t be able to broadcast it. We’ll just assume it was something about his mother and an ugly bullfrog. And a bottle of maple syrup, because he’s Canadian and all.

“I’m REALLY liking this guy. He’s whooping him, telling him he’s whooping him, and then going right back to whooping him” Reid pointed out, no doubt reminiscing about his own time in the ring.

Cardinal just rolled his eyes and watched as Chris again picked up JP Boudreau. A quick Snap Suplex had him right back on the canvas, but Storm just peeled him off the mat once more. A kick to the gut and a Vertical Suplex had Storm running on cruise control in the match. Even with the limited time to get ready for his match, Chris Storm was making sure to look good in the time he had.

Walking around the ring, Storm looked out at all the fans and couldn’t help but smile behind the mask. Behind him JP Boudreau was trying to get back to his feet, clinging to the ropes for any form of help. By the time Chris had finally turned back around, the Montreal Frog was nearly to a vertical base. That quickly changed. Coming up behind him, Storm kicked the legs right out from under Boudreau, sending him high into the air and crashing down hard on the neck.

The Rock Superstar should have been staying on top of his opponent. He should have been following through with his game plan. Instead he went right back to the crowd and taunted them again. He was loving this too much. On the mat, however, JP Boudreau wasn’t having the same level of fun. When Chris finally did return to his opponent, he haphazardly reached down for a cover.

SMALL PACKAGE!

Staying calm and collected, bidding his time, JP Boudreau saw a chance and struck with a quick pin attempt. Chris Storm suddenly found himself rolled up for a pin in his first ACW match. Trent Savage dropped down to make the count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

JP Boudreau rolled out, knowing he was just milliseconds away from a win. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, though, as Chris Storm was already making his way back up to his feet.

Getting right to work, JP Boudreau nailed a forearm smash to start off, just something to keep Chris off balance while he grabbed the wrist and launched him into the opposite ropes. Chris bounced back and before he knew it he was off his feet and crashing into the mat with a Belly to Belly Suplex.

The Rock Superstar was in shock that someone would dare suplex him. Boudreau was just worried about staying on top and continuing to press. He floated over onto Storm and tries to weigh him down. The problem is, when you’re two-hundred and fifty pounds of ‘pissed the fuck off’, it isn’t going to work. Chris Storm got back to his feet even with Boudreau on his back and flipped the Canadian over onto the mat. The Montreal Frog’s face got a rough meeting with the bottom of Storm’s boot.

STOMP!

STOMP!

STOMP! STOMP!

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

STOMPY! STOMP! MOTHER! STOMP! FUCKING! STOMP!

Boudreau’s head was nearly smashed into the canvas, and while he looked to be completely out of it, Chris Storm wouldn’t go for the pin. Instead he peeled him off the canvas and whipped Boudreau into the far ropes. The poor man could hardly defend himself against a monstrous Belly to Belly Suplex that nearly took him out of his boots.

Chris Storm lifted him off the mat, his opponent looking like jelly, and turned Boudreau around as he locked arms around the waist. Chris Storm prided himself on his suplexes. And of all his suplexes there was one he loved more than any other. Ulf would be proud, because no one does the German Suplex better than Storm.

Lifting Boudreau into a high arc, Chris rolled off the balls of his feet and brought him crashing down at the point of his neck. JP Boudreau folded over like an accordion, flipping onto his stomach. There was a moment of silence in Denmark.

“What a move!” Cardinal cried out, seeming to agree that it was one of the more impressive German Suplexes in the business. “After seeing that impact, you have to worry about Boudreau.”

The most logical thing would be to pin him. In the state Boudreau was in, there would be no way he could possibly kick out. He had been absolutely crushed by that German Suplex. But instead Chris dropped down next to the Montreal Frog, verbally abusing the hell out of the guy. When he finally finished, he pulled himself up and rolled Boudreau onto his back. Placing one foot on his chest, Chris made a lazy pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Chris Storm looked shocked when the referee signaled for two. His eyes turned to the person who would dare kick out at two. Once more Chris Storm made JP Boudreau pay by stomping away on any exposed body part. He seemed to be taking the kick out very personally, until he finally lifted the man up to his feet.

In one swift motion Chris had Boudreau off his feet and onto his shoulder. With a free hand, Chris Storm signaled for the Perfect Storm. If JP Boudreau was willing to kick out of the German Suplex, Chris wanted to see him try to kick out of the Tombstone Piledriver.

Sensing the danger he was in, JP Boudreau started to violently kicking his feet. Fighting with everything he had left in him, the Montreal Frog managed to slip out the back and land on his feet behind Storm. The Rock Superstar turned around and found a Knife Edge Chop waiting for him.

WOOOOOOO!

Feeling something building, he rifled in another.

WOOOOOOO!

And another.

WOOOOOOO!

Feeling that Chris was rocking back on his heels, JP Boudreau grabbed him by the wrist and launched Storm across the ring. This time it wasn’t going to be so easy. Chris Storm caught the rope, keeping himself from bouncing back. JP Boudreau had to feel that was going to happen and followed it up with a big beautiful Dropkick that sent Storm up and over the top rope.

Following him out, Boudreau lifted Storm up and just as quickly brought him right back down with a Swinging Neckbreaker. Trent Savage made his way toward the ropes to start his ten count. Hearing the count start, Boudreau pulled Storm vertically and rolled him back under the bottom rope before Savage even got to five. Sliding in behind him, Boudreau grabbed the one day ACW star and wrapped both arms around the waist.

Despite still feeling the sting from the last lesson about suplexing Storm, JP Boudreau was really planning to rub it in now. His arms moved from the waist and under each of Storm’s arms. The Montreal Frog was looking to score big with a Double Arm Suplex.

Unfortunately he really should have learned his lesson about trying to suplex a man they dubbed the Last Great Technical Wrestler. He took stuff like that personally. When Boudreau tried to lift he felt Storm’s leg wrapped around his, preventing the lift. So after he found both arms being pinched under Chris’. Unable to lift or create any separation, Boudreau was in a bad way.

Chris Storm smiled at him through the protective mask. He reared his head back.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Five head butts with that harden plastic mask and when Chris finally released Boudreau, the Montreal Frog crumbled to the mat.

Cardinal couldn’t believe what he was seeing, “ah come on now! Is that mask even legal? He shouldn’t be able to use it as a weapon!”

It didn’t matter. Trent Savage seemed to be showing no signs of signaling for a disqualification. Chris hadn’t cared either. He dropped down and made the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And just like that it was over. The crowd booed, but Chris Storm came in with only a one day contract and walked out with a victory. Was this a sign of things to come? “Broken” by Seether played over the announce system and Chris Storm exited the ring. Throwing both arms up into the air, he seemed to soak in the jeers of the fans as he walked to the back. Tonight, had been a good night.

It's Good To Talk

   

A nervous looking Khristain Keller twitched in his locker room deep inside the arena. He looked at his cell phone, hemming and hawing whether or not to press the button which greeted him right now.

CALL - CARRION

He took a deep breath and clicked it.

It's ringing

It's ringing

It's ringing

CLICK.

"Carrion... are you there?"

On the other side of the phone there was a lot of static before finally it settled and quietened down as breathing could be heard on the other side.

"I'm here."

"I need to see you, we need to speak."

...

...

"What is this about Keller?"

K2 looked around him to make sure he wasn't being watched.

"Listen just meet me in the fucking basement OK? I need to speak to you because there has been something of a hiccup in our plan."

A sigh was all that could be heard as Keller waited for a reply.

"I'll be there."

CLICK.

Keller put the phone to the side and looked straight into space as the wheels had been set into motion... as nobody else was any the wiser as to what the fuck was going on.

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - MATCHPLAY 3.1
Jade Argent vs. Jesse Ramey
REFEREE: LEON HURST

   

And now, time for a match! Over to ringside.

“If he thinks Keller tore him a new asshole…” Rhyme muttered under her breath as she gripped the arm of the Australian Opportunist, “You are gonna go ten times worse. That stupid little punk.”

“Yeah!” Reason joined in as the twins now both held their hands above Argent’s head and snapped their fingers shut – mimicking his ‘shut your ugly mouth’ gesture that he had become famed for. “You suck, Jesse!”

Argent smiled, ignoring his annoying valets as the lights flickered around him, the camera shutters and the music slowly faded to nothing. He was stood in the centre of the ring and this was go-time. He ushered the girls out of the ring, concealing his silent disgust for their attitudes, and stood across from his adversary.

A man who had a storied past with Jade Argent, their World Series – along with aforementioned Khristian Keller – was one of the talking points of LEGENDS IV. Now they met once more, in this King of Ages Matchplay Round to determine the seedings for the latter stages.

The two men circled one another, it’d been a while now since they last fought and they would need to get accustomed to each other in the early going to gain the momentum. Argent had been skull fucked by Superstar Vince Jacobs a few times in the last couple of weeks, and the permanent headache that followed him around now jarred him. A constant reminder that there were other things on his mind right now.

And it was exactly that lapse of concentration that leads to Jesse Ramey sliding in and taking out your ankle with a Russian leg sweep, leaving falling faster than Pee Wee Herman’s career back in ’91 to a canvassed grave in the middle of the squared circle.

And the crowd went wild. Ramey straddled Argent and started wailing on the out-of-favour Australian relentlessly with rights and lefts and more rights until Jade Argent managed to thrust an arm out of the chaos and grab a hold of the bottom rope, pulling himself out of harm’s way.

With a second or two to regroup, Argent shook his head and neck out, cracked his wrists and took a deep breath. “Okay, Ramey, you asked for it…”

Rhyme and Reason patted his shoulder as he stepped back into the ring, and the Australian shook it off like some kind of disease, before looking down at them frustrated.

It wasn’t that they’d done anything wrong. In fact, they hadn’t changed at all. It was Argent that had changed. Ever since the whole VETO debacle, Max Danger’s mindfuckery and Jacobs’ disregard, Argent had begun to see the wrestling world in a different light.

Ramey ran at him and Argent sidestepped, Ramey sprung off the ropes and hit a forearm to the skull – the crowd lapped it up, as they did with everything the Anti-Star did these days. Argent quickly got to his feet, just in time for a dropkick to smack him in the centre of his mouth. He just couldn’t catch a break and it was driving him nuts.

Persistent as always, however, the Australian was back to his feet and chasing down any sign of a chink in the Right Attitude’s armour. It wasn’t to come just yet, though, as Jesse Ramey grabbed the wrist of Jade Argent and whipped him hard into the corner buckle – the impact of which shook the ring to its very core.

Ramey built up a rapport with the crowd, encouraging yet more noise from the Danish locals as he stood on the bottom rope opposite Jade Argent. With his call satisfied, he ran across the ring diagonally, leaping and hitting Argent with a running senton!

But nobody was home, and finally Argent caught a break. He ran at Ramey and delivered a big boot to the side of the skull that sent the Anti-Star to the outside through the middle ropes, clattering against the steel ring steps on his way.

In the corner of his eye, he knew that the twins would be doing their dirtiest as soon as they were sure that referee Leon Hurst’s attention had been successfully attracted by some problem or other that Argent would be having right about now. That was how the game worked with them. “Gain and exploit any and all leverage possible in order to achieve the ultimate goal.”

The mantra he knew and could recite by heart.

He shook his head at Rhyme and Reason. Not tonight. He didn’t want it tonight.

Their frustration turned to horror when they witnessed the same thing that the rest of the world was witnessing… Jade Argent Airways Flight Number One Two Three taking off headed straight for RAMEY INTERNATIONAL…

PLANCHA SUICIDAAAAA~!!!!

Car crash on the outside, with TWO casualties!

DENMARK, IS THIS WHAT YOU PAID TO SEE??? FUCK YAHHH~!!!

It was a few seconds before referee Leon Hurst got himself out to the two competitors and started to pull them from the guard railings and what-have-you, he leaned in and did his mandatory motor function checks on the athletes, and then started his ten count. He didn’t really need it, though, both were already stirring by this point and it was Argent who got to his feet and back into the ring fairly sharply.

Ramey followed, the after-effects of his blood being painted all around the arena at Countdown to Disaster being his ability to withstand large amounts of pain, and the two traded rights and lefts at the centre of the ring with little fatigue showing. A sluggish thump to the temple rocked Ramey but a forearm to the jaw going in the other direction took Argent to his knees.

Sweat dripped and stuck his bleached blond locks to his face, and he tried to push it out of his eyes as he took a few heavy breaths. Argent grinned through grit teeth as Ramey came at him.

SPEAR~!!

Argent goes for the cover, both legs hooked, out of nowhere!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THRE-KICKOUT~!!!

Argent has an abundance of adrenaline flowing through his veins now, as he comes off the middle rope to meet Ramey with a precision-timed…

SPRINGBOARD PÉLÉ KICK~!

And the Anti-Star is down clutching the top of his head.

The camera pans to a shot of Rhyme and Reason staring calculatedly at the match going on, emotionless despite their man having turned the tide greatly in the encounter.

Jade Argent wastes no time trying to get a pinfall at this juncture, no. Instead he grabs a fat wad of Ramey’s hair and pulls him to his feet, whipping him violently across the ring to the corner buckle and following up very quickly behind with a thrusting knee to the skull.

But oh no, the momentum doesn’t end there. As he comes down from the knee strike, he grabs a headlock on Ramey and drives his skull into the mat on his way down.

Now Argent stands above Ramey, pleased. Can he make this three out of three in his Matchplay campaign? Seems done right here.

Rhyme stands on the apron, though, and she has something vital to share with Argent as she’s gesturing him over to her.

Exasperated, Argent barks, “WHAT?”

“Here, I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.” Rhyme smiled broadly as she placed something hard and cold into the palm of Argent’s hand. “Finish him for good tonight. Cement your legacy.”

Argent looked down at the talisman in his hand, and weighed up his options in oooh, about a millisecond. Then he hit the fucking roof. “MY LEGACY? MY LEGACY!! MY LEGACY WAS DAMN CEMENTED WITH A THREE COUNT IN THE CENTRE OF THE RING, RIGHT THERE AND THEN.”

Argent wasn’t looking at Ramey as he irately chastised the Czech princess.

“I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THE MEDDLING! IT STOPS NOW~!” Jade Argent declared as he thwacked his fists HARD onto the turnbuckles in frustration. “GET OUT OF MY RING, GET OUT OF MY MATCH!! GO!”

And he threw the object out of the ring as well, leaving the devastated Rhyme and her twin sister gobsmacked on the outside of the ring.

“Doesn’t matter either way Argent, I’m going to tear your head off.” Ramey nodded at Argent, “At least you’re not going to cheat this time.”

Argent turned to look Ramey in the face and whilst his words may or may not have been genuine, there was still no love lost between the two and thus came Ramey’s second wind.

A barrage of rights and lefts thundered and hailed down on Argent as Ramey hit the deck still pumping his fists at the Heir of ACW.

Ramey was an outside contender in anyone’s books for the ACW King of Ages 2010 tournament, and Argent held the right to a World Championship shot at any time he pleased… he won that right in the World Series, a series he clinched with – overall – two pinfall victories over Jesse Ramey.

Ramey had punched himself tired, now, though. He had Argent’s arm around his own neck in a sitting sleeper hold, applying the rest hold as much to tire Argent out as to recuperate some of his own strengths. The Australian was red and struggling to breathe. The Anti-Star was in control and the crowd was behind him. But they were behind Argent too, which felt strange.

Deep inside the crowd watching live was this urge, this willingness for Argent to overcome and fight back.

Referee Leon Hurst held an arm up high in the air.

Fall.

Again.

Fall.

A third and final time.

Like timber… but no! Argent got his hand up and in control at the last second, signifying the start of his fight back.

JA-ADE AR-GENT~!

Was this, gosh, his first ever cheer?

He drove elbows into Ramey’s sternum, the grip of the Anti-Star loosening…

Argent burst free from Ramey’s grasp and trying to capitalize on the sudden burst of momentum shifted his feet in the direction of the ropes. Coming back through Jesse’s legs were knocked out from under him with a basement dropkick to the knees.

The Anti-Star lay face first on the mats as the Australian Opportunist quickly found his way back to his feet and quickly was off the ropes once again. This time he delivered a sharp elbow to the back of Ramey’s head, back rolled up to his feet and fell with a leg drop across it as well.

While Rhyme and Reason could have seemed to care less about the reaction the crowd was giving to Argent, he looked rather pleased to be taking in some kind of admiration. Looking to the mats and noticing Ramey was barely able to crawl his way toward the ropes Argent took a brief moment to stand and take in what he was hearing from the crowd.

Even he knew he couldn’t linger long though as he paced himself toward Ramey who was up on one knee and leaning against the ropes. Jade grabbed him by the hair and helped him the rest of the way back to his feet, only to sling him off and toward the ropes.

Argent looked ready for a hip toss upon Ramey’s return, but was only met with Ramey dropping and sliding between his legs. Jesse ended up on the ring apron, and as quickly as possible pulled his way back to a standing base. In that amount of time though Argent had turned and was ready to land a right in Jesse’s face, but he blocked and sent a forearm into Argent’s face.

Argent’s body twisted from the impact, and he took a few wobbly steps toward the center of the ring. When he turned Ramey leapt onto the top rope and spring boarded back into the ring grabbing hold of Argent’s neck and dropping him with a DDT.

Both men lay on the mats panting for air, as Leon Hurst checked over both men and then turned back to the center of the ring to start his ten count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Argent began crawling on his hands and knees toward the ring ropes, while Ramey continued to lie on his back; each breath showing through the compressions of his gut.

FOUR…

FIVE…

SIX…

Argent grabbed hold of the middle rope with his right hand and the top rope with his left and struggled trying to pull his way back to his feet. Ramey wasn’t moving.

SEVEN…

EIGHT…

NINE…

Argent looked destined to celebrate victory as he swung up to his feet and rested on the ropes, but that would be short lived as Ramey in one fluid motion kip-upped from his resting position and beat the ten count as well. The Anti-Star may have saved more energy by not struggling as much as the Australian Opportunist, but he still stood on wobbly legs.

Argent rushed from his leaning position and attempted a clothesline, but Ramey managed to duck under the move. Argent turned and was met with a forearm shot to the side of the head. He retaliated with a left fist to Ramey’s temple.

European uppercut from Ramey.

Chest chop by Argent.

Right hook from Ramey.

Jab to the bridge of the nose by Argent.

Spinning back fist from Ramey.

The last move landing saw Argent reeling, and Ramey darted toward the ropes. He jumped to the middle rope spring boarding off looking to catch Argent with a heel kick, but Argent took as large of a leap as he could. He wrapped his legs around Ramey’s head just before his feet could touch the mat and brought him tumbling down with a massive hurricanrana.

Jade was ready to float over into a pin attempt, but the momentum sent Ramey a little further across the ring than expected. He struggled quickly to get to Ramey’s body and cover him, pulling a leg up in the process.

ONE…

TWO…

THR---HAND ON THE ROPE!

Immediately seeing Ramey grab hold of the ring rope Leon Hurst stopped his count and jumped back to his feet. And despite the ”THIS IS AWESOME!” chant resonating throughout the arena, Jade Argent looked distressed for a brief moment. It hadn’t taken this much to put Ramey away in their last meeting, but then again he didn’t have help wearing him down as previously before either.

Nevertheless, the Australian Opportunist wasn’t going to let this unsettle him as much as it would have before. He simply rested for a moment in a seated position, Ramey’s arm still grasping onto the ring ropes.

Both wrestlers were blushed with exhaustion, neither willing to give an inch. Argent grabbed the wrist of Ramey and heaved the Anti-Star to his feet, tucked his head under Ramey’s arm and with ease took him over…

BRIDGING NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX~!!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THRKICKOUUUUUTTTTT~!!!!!!!

Ramey slipped out to the side of the bridge and clambered to his feet to meet the Australian Opportunist at centre ring.

Circling each other, stalemate. A fight of EPIC PROPORTIONS that both men just wanted to put away before it killed them.

Collar and elbow tie-up.

Ramey advantage. Double underhooks his arms, savage grin on his face as he squeezes the life out of Jade Argent momentarily with a bear hug belly-to-belly suplex within which he VIOLENTLY thrashes the Australian to the mat.

THIS IS AWESOME~!

THIS IS AWESOME~!

Yes, Denmark, yes it is.

Ramey grabs the ankles of Jade Argent and flips over for a bridging pinfall attempt.

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

KICKOUT~!!

Argent kicks out quite easily despite having no fire left in his tank. Ramey looks frustrated, and immediately runs towards Argent who ducks his advances and locks in a cobra clutch… could it be… YES!!

>>>>> ELEVAAAATION >>>>

PLAATINUM PLEXX~!! BUT NO~!

At the apex of the suplex, Ramey got a foot to the thigh of Argent just briefly but enough to swing the momentum of the maneuver the other way, leaving both men tied up into a small package pinning combination.

Argent’s shoulders on the mat!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREEEEROLLTHROUGH~!!!!!!

LITERALLY THIS CLOSE <-->

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREE~!! RAMEY KICKOUT~!!

Ramey keeps hold of the ankles of Argent, however and manages to turn it into a BRIDGING ROLL UP PIN!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THRE- - - -ELEVATION~!

LOCKED ARMS, BACK SLIDE~!! RAMEY DOWN~!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

RAMEY KICKS OUT~!!

WOW. Just WOW!

Ramey is quick to his knees as Argent gets to his feet, Ramey sweeps the leg leaving Argent on his derriere. A quick lateral press…!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREESHOULDER UP~!

Argent wriggles free, grabbing the waist of the Anti-Star in the process, pulling him through into a schoolboy.

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREE~!! ARGENT WINS~!

NO~! NO~! SHOULDER WAS UP~!!!

The tension in the arena was at boiling point, the Danish crowd could not contain this level of excitement so early on in the night, there were chants of:

JEH-sea RAY-mee! Clap clap clapclapclap!

JA-ADE AR-GENT!

ACW! ACW!

HOLY SHIT~!

THIS IS AWESOME~!

And everything else in between. The crowd was as exhausted as the commentators trying to follow that exchange and even referee Leon Hurst was ready for a water break.

And right then, Ramey ran at Argent.

Argent ducked for the back body drop.

Ramey hopped, hooked his legs under the armpits of Argent and let fly…

NON COMPOS MENTIS~!!

DEVASTATING Sunset flip powerbomb!

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREEEEE~!!!!!

…KICKOUTOO LATE~!

DING DING DING~!

And with that emphatic finish, Jesse Ramey has his hand raised high into the air as both wrestlers are on their knees. Argent was beaten by a millisecond and a vintage performance from Ramey.

He knew it, too, as he offered out a hand of respect to the Anti-Star.

And given the brutal history between these two, which could not be taken lightly in anybody’s books; Ramey stared directly at the outstretched hand.

Tension rising.

“Was a good match, Jesse.” Argent said, “You deserve it.”

“Yeah.” Ramey nodded as he slapped the Australian’s hand and rolled out of the ring.

And after all that, I think we need a commercial!

e is for extinction

Except, it wasn't time for commercials yet.

It HAD to be somewhere backstage. But, see, the Skjern Bank Arena was a big place.

Hence, all the fans watching along on the SlyTron began to wonder where exactly was the scene they were privy to, or why they were being treated to a close-up shot of a steel chair in a darkened room, illuminated by a single spotlight.

And then, it happened. Oh yeaaaaaaaah.

He with the fuschia mask came into view and ploppped himself down onto the chair.

The fans didn't need to wonder any longer. They just began to jeer, loudly and uncontrollably.

The Dastardly Mastermind. The Masked Enigma.

The Caped Crusader.

Z!

"Hh."

More jeering. Rather routine stuff. Z just smirked and extended his legs out in front of him.

Cocking his head sideways, Z smiled thinly. "Finally, August is here. Once upon a time, it was called Sextilis. But hell, that was ages ago. BC. Before Christ. Or before people started saying the word cunt.

Last week, on COURAGE 118, everybody in Oslo and nearly 25 million viewers watching the show live got a chance to see one of THE BEST MATCHES in wrestlin god-damn history. It was moi going up the one and only... Keith Scott Zimmerman."

You better believe those Danish wrestle-maniacs began hootin' and hollerin' at the mention of the ACW World Champion. KAY - ESS - ZEE! KAY - ESS - ZEE! was the chant of the moment, and instantly, the smile on Z's minimally-exposed face transformed into a disgruntled snarl.

"Oh, do shut up, you idiots!" Z snapped, which had the immediate effect of making the fans jeer the hell outta him again. "Now, at the end of that epic encounter, Keith had won via disqualification -- only after he had tried, UNSUCCESSFULLY, to keep me down. Tried as hard as he could, the Only Wrestler That Matters apparently couldn't come up with a way to beat me. And seeing how as I had other plans of a carnal nature, I decided to end things.

But, Keith? Keithy? Ohhh, Keithy Keith Keith. Let me tell you something.

... We're not done. Not by a long shot. You may have been standing tall last week, but in a contest where the material stakes didn't really matter to me? Hh, enjoy the memory. When we meet again, which will be sooner rather than later, the outcome WILL be different.

Very. Different."

Let's do a quick survey. How many fans liked the sound of Z's warning to KSZ?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!

Yeah, figured as much.

The Caped Crusader took a deep breath and turned his head to the side. "Now, onto more pressing issues. August, August. A very important moment in human history.

For one, today is International Beer Day. Beer. Hh. The solution to, and cause of, all of life's problems.

August was also the month that featured Emperor Hirohito's unconditional surrender of Japan. And that, brought an end to World War 2. Which in turn sparked a slew of countries gaining their independence. And for many of you blue-collared slobs in attendance, August means a great deal to you. It's vacation time for you useless sacks of nothing, ain't it?

Here in ACW, however, it's business as usual. After all, ACW's the best damned sports entertainment juggernaut out there. FWO? What? LoC? Give me a fucking BREAK. Legacy of Cunts is more like it. At any rate, tonight, I continue the business of the Summer of Z as I'm involved in yet another King Of Ages classic showdown. My opponent tonight? A former ACW World Champion, and... ahh, somewhat of a business associate of mine.

The legendary loudmouth himself. 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs!"

A mixture of cheers and jeers for the man who many felt should be in the ACW Hall Of Fame. What do YOU think?

Z waved his hands about dramatically as he returned his gaze to the camera. "Funny thing is, I've been trying to speak to Vince all week. Guess he's more preoccupied with getting his Hall Of Fame campaign back on the right track, and his dealings with Jade Argent, and f**k knows what else. But I'm sure he's watching now. So, Vince? Old friend, old pal? You cozy? Good.

Tonight, like the past two weeks, I find myself in a match that I don't have to win. And the past two weeks, I haven't won. A fact that many people have gleefully pointed out to me. Now, considering the dealings you and I have, I could very easily just flip the switch in your head and make you lay spread eagle on the canvas as I pin your legendary arse for the win. Trust me, it would be glorious.

But I don't swing that way. And I know you, Vince. You're in a mood. And when you're in that sort of mood, you're a dangerous son of a bitch. You're going to go all out for the victory tonight.

As well you should. Because a win over me MIGHT lead to a favourable drawing in the quarter-finals of this tournament. And hell, if you become the 2010 King Of Ages? Your quest for the Hall Of Fame will be a moot point. SilverHAWK himself will get down on his knees and lick the salt off of your balls during your induction ceremony. Which, by the way, I can make happen if you so wish.

But getting back to the point, Vince. Tonight? It's going to be a tough battle between the two of us.

Which will unfortunately end in defeat for you. It's just the way it is, Vince.

Purely business, nothing personal. Hh. A motherf**ker of a cliche if there ever was one, but there you go. And it gets worse for you, Vince. Every single day you spend moaning about the Hall Of Fame as opposed to doing something about it like I told you -- and beating up Jade Argent repeatedly doesn't count -- means a day closer to 'e day'. What's 'e day'? Glad you asked."

At this point, Z stood up and took two steps toward the camera, fists tightened and eyes narrowed. His next words were delivered with absolute precision and sincerity.

And with the tiniest of smirks to go along: "Your extinction day, Vince.

... See you in the ring."

With that, the Caped Crusader turned around and tipped over the chair with his right boot. The moment the chair hit the ground, Z started laughing like a complete maniac.

He gets weirder and more eccentric as the weeks pass by, doesn't he?

C O M M E R C I A L S

Scorpion Fighting Title #1 Contender Battle Royal

As things returned from the latest round of commercials, we find the duo dubbed Abilities warmomh up while the remaining moments of their music blared through the arena. Joining them in the ring were the "Masshole" himself, Rory Hayes and much to his dismay the New Yorker, Orlando Grant. While Hays and Grant stood in their seperate corners, Swift and Rex stood together.

Soon enough, "Jump Around" started up and through the curtain came the Irish Air Force consisting of Selby and Sheamus O'Brien. Bursting with energy, the duo dashed to the ring and slipped under the bottom rope in unison. The SOBs immediately took off to the corners and motioned for the crowd to come alive, rapping along with House of Pain while doing so.

Positioning themselves in the corner opposite of Abilities, the SOBs pushed one another, keeping themselves hyped. In a flash, the music changed and making his way to the top of the entrance ramp was none other than Z. He wasn't scheduled to be in the match, but he was ushering out his two cohorts, the massive Kevasan and Jack Harris. They weren't exactly pleased to be teaming and shoved one another, until Z stepped in.

"Get down there," Z commanded and shook his head, while the two started to the ring. "Tonight of all nights, they have to be at each other's throats. Hh."

The duo bumped shoulders and Kevasan shoved the smaller Harris into the barricade. Harris growled and slipped into the ring, as his unwanted ally climbed onto the apron and stepped over the top. The Mongolian monster stared a hole through Hayes and marched towards him, causing the Red Sox fan to evacuate the corner and share a corner with Orlando Grant. Just like that, another unhappy couple was paired up. Hayes and Grant started trading barbs and paid no mind to the next competitor. No love lost between those two longtime rivals.

"Rise Up" meant the coming of the newcomer to ACW, "Vicious" Greg Miles. Mr. Badass was focused solely on the task at hand and looked over his opponents in the ring. The ferocious fighter was chomping at the bits to get in the ring and once tightening his gloves, he darted into the ring, going right at the SOBs. The war had begun just like that and no one cared that there was one more competitor to go.

With Miles trying to overcome the numbers game against SOBs, Abilities squared off with Z's lackeys while Hayes and Grant finally let loose, trading right hands in the corner. The riot that is a battle royal was in full swing and the referees haven't even started it yet. The officials tried to restore order, but they couldn't do much from outside the ring. It was honestly the safest place for them. However, the lights dimming did get their attention.

A bell tolling accompanied the darkness that made it look like night engulfed the arena. Lights went off like lightning and water fell down across the entrance ramp like rain. Through the curtain came the femme fatale Aria Murphy. She looked over the arena in the rain while nodding her head to the beat of AC/DC's "Hells Bells". No one was sure why she was there and they soon found out why. With the hood of his black sweatshirt covering his head, a man stepped out into the rain. Aria directed everyone's attention to him and he removed the hood, showing the world Arkady Rasputin.

Like a man on a mission, he headed down the ramp, violently removing his sweatshirt and launching it into the crowd while Aria headed to the back, as Arkady had told her that he wanted to do this himself. In a flash, he was under the ropes and into the ring. As soon as he entered he was met by Hayes and Harris. A lighting fast kick to outside of Hayes' knee caused it to give out and the same foot immediately struck Harris in the stomach in the form of a thrust kick. Arkady followed it up by trying to rip Hayes' jaw from his face with a brutal elbow. He couldn't keep his focus on the Masshole with Harris firing off a left hand, which was blocked and the arm was trapped under Arkady's. A trio of left-handed elbows rattled Harris' brain and Arkady driving his elbow into the top of Jack's head sent Harris to the mat.

Obviously following his leader's instructions to destroy anyone involved with Aria, Kesavan shoved Orlando aside and took off after Arkady. The massive Mongolian may have had the power advantage, but he was lacking speed and technique. He snuck up on Arkady and grabbed him in a bear hug with the Russian's arms trapped. Out of instinct, Arkady whipped his head back, smacking big K in the nose. The hold was broken instantly and Arkady wasted no time in socking Kesavan with a barrage of the stiffest elbow strikes anyone has ever seen, going back and forth from left to right.

Seeing an opportunity, Orlando tried to sneak attack Arkady. However, his attempt failed. Arkady used a reverse drop toe hold to send Orlando head first into Kesavan's abdomen, knocking the big man back into the ropes. Orlando stumbled back into the waiting Arkady and found himself spiked head first into the mat courtesy of a dragon suplex.

Hayes was anything but pleased that he was shown up by the Russian and charged him, trying for a lariat. A swing and a miss for the Red Sox fan left him wide open for Arkady to capture him in a three-quarter nelson and slam him down face first against Arkady's knee. Immediately rising to his feet with the nelson intact, Arkady hoisted Hayes onto his shoulders and tried to drive a knee through his face with a Go2Sleep. The Russian never lost his grip on Hayes and kept him standing long enough to fire him over the top rope.

RORY HAYES ELIMINATED.

Instantaneously, Arkady was struck from behind by Orlando Grant and found himself stumbling into the corner. While that was happening in one corner, two of the other corners found themselves full of action. To the left, Z's henchmen had once again paired up and chose to restart the battle they had earlier with T. Rex and Abraham Swift. To the right, the SoBs were trying to force Miles over the top rope.

The battle between Kesavan and Harris and Abilities was equal with neither side in control. However, the VGM vs. The O'Briens was anything but. Miles was barely able to slip back into the ring and by doing so, left himself open for the two brothers to stomp away at him like they were putting out a fire. Like a well-oiled machine, the SoBs never said a word to each other, as they simultaneously wrenched each of their target's arms. The newcomer was definitely one to think on the fly, as he fell back while extending both his legs upward and forcing both O'Briens to land jaw-first across the bottom of his boots.

Miles used the opening to slip out of the ring and quickly starts digging under the ring. Weapons of all shapes and sizes from chairs to 2x4's to a fifteen-foot high ladder were pulled out to the ringside area and many were launched into the ring, while the ladder was propped up against the ropes on the outside. Back in the ring, The Mongolian monster was having a hard time keeping up with T.Rex and found his jaw being whacked again and again by a right hand. T. Rex's advantage would be cut off in a flash by a blatant thumb to the eye and a shove sent him stumbling back out of the corner. A move out of desperation by Kesavan ended up with serendipitous results, as T. Rex wound up in perfect position for what was happening on the opposite side of the ring.

Out of site of the two monstrous men, Arkady had countered an Irish whip and sent Orlando Grant into the ropes. Arkady sent him high into the air with a backdrop and Grant landed on T.Rex's shoulders. As soon as he landed, Grant whipped his body down to the side, pulling T. Rex over the top with a hurricanrana, while he landed safely on the apron.

WILLIAM T. REX ELIMINATED.

Orlando sat on the apron, clinging to the top rope with all of his might, not wanting to have his night end early. Unfortunately for him, he was seated right in front of a chair-wielding Greg Miles. The folding chair flew through the air and crashed into Grant's face, knocking him senseless.

Miles approached him and looked down as Grant laid in a pool of his own blood, “I told you I’d get you tonight…”

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

“Now I’m gonna make you hurt.”

Greg pulled the OG of Wrestling to his feet as the other contestants were fighting amongst themselves on the opposite side of the ring.

Stiff Kick.

VKO!

Grant’s throat bounced off VGM’s shoulder and because of the momentum of the move, OG went flying backwards over the top rope. Greg smirked as he pointed down at Grant and said, “Go powder that pussy Grant, because I’m not done pounding it yet.”

Miles wanted to go after Grant another time, but he focused on more important things for the time being as he turned around and debated on who he should go after next.

ORLANDO GRANT ELIMINATED.

Another gone, leaving seven remaining. Despite being unhappy to be teaming, Z's cohorts were working well together and taking turns pounding on Abraham Swift. Swift tried his darnedest to battle back, but every time he tried to go on the offensive, the numbers game would cut him off at the pass. He knew he couldn't take much more of this and he was hoping for just one opening. His opening was about to appear. Swift had just been leveled by a double back elbow in the corner, when Kesavan turned to the crowd, drawing jeers of all shapes and sizes. Harris noticed one of the steel chairs in the ring and started towards it. The pause in the offensive was all Swift had and he was going to use it. Swift put all he had into a kick right between Kesavan's legs.

Even the massive Mongolian goes down from a Grecco-Roman kick to the nuts and that allowed Swift to rush out of the corner and stomp down with both feet on the steel chair, as Harris tried to pick it up.

Swift knew he would have to hit and move, so he bolted to the ropes and took Harris down with a spinning heel kick. In the blink of an eye, he was back up and into the ropes once more, building up momentum to execute a picture perfect lucha-style flying headscissors on Kesavan.

The portly Abraham Swift was an adrenaline-fuelled ass-kicking machine and he whipped Kesavan into the corner. He rushed in as fast as possible and found himself launched over the top. He gripped the ropes tightly and landed safely on the apron. A wild swing by big K was ducked and he found Swift's shoulder driven into his gut. Swift pulled his large foe out between the ropes far enough for him to punt Kesavan square in the mouth.

Just as Kesavan dropped to all fours, Harris came screaming in from out of nowhere. He stepped up onto his ally's back and smacked Swift in the mouth with a yakuza kick, sending him flying off the apron to the floor.

ABRAHAM SWIFT ELIMINATED.

Harris's height and momentum almost had him eliminate himself and Kesavan had to help him back into the ring. With their foe gone, the duo took a moment to regain their breath as action went on elsewhere.

On the other side of the ring, VGM was getting his revenge on the SoBs with help from an unlikely ally in Arkady. The two had separated the O'Briens and were mercilessly hammering them with martial arts combinations. The two seemed to be engaged in a game of "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better". Sheamus was pinned against the ropes, as Miles unloaded with a barrage of punches that would make Mike Tyson look like a pussy. Shots to the body left Sheamus unable to breathe and wide open for VGM to clean his clock with a right hook.

Miles glared at Arkady as if to say "Top that, fucker." and the Russian was happy to show him what he could do. Shelby tried to attack before Arkady could get the chance, but his wild punch was easily brushed aside and his head whipped horribly to the side due to an inside right elbow.

A single strike by Arkady had done what VGM did with a series. Feeling as if he was shown up, VGM rushed Sheamus back up and he let loose a flurry of punches unlike ACW had ever seen before. Sheamus could do nothing but count the stars orbiting his head, as Miles hopped back and delivered a vicious sidekick to his mouth, sending him tumbling over the top rope.

SHEAMUS O'BRIEN ELIMINATED.

"What now, mother f*cker?" VGM snarled at Arkady.

Not amused in the least, Arkady looked to the now bleeding Shelby. The remaining O'Brien had just battled back to his feet, which was the worst thing he could have done. Arkady growled and erupted in a gigantic roar as he connected with an uppercut that sent Shelby flipping backwards over the top and to the floor.

SHELBY O'BRIEN ELIMINATED.

"If you can't do it in one strike, don't waste your time even trying," Arkady replied, drawing the ire of "Mr. Badass".

The two went nose to nose and Miles was the first to act. A right hand by Miles was blocked with a left by Arkady and the following right was deflected by the same hand. VGM tried to sweep Arkady with his leg, as the Russian twisted to block the second punch, but had his strike blocked by Arkady kicking his leg out backwards. A right-handed elbow strike by Arkady missed due to VGM ducking, but a back elbow with the same arm slammed into Miles' jaw. Arkady ducked under a left hook and this time, the right elbow strike found its mark, followed by a jumping left knee, which sent VGM stumbling into the ropes.

Arkady was looking to continue his assualt, but Kesavan and Harris had other plans. The duo attacked, cutting off any chance Arkady had of captializing on Miles. While not getting any style points, the duo were effective with their brutal assualt on the Russian, just punching and kicking at him without mercy. Soon enough, the difficult two-on-one advantage became an impossible to overcome three-on-one with VGM assisting Z's henchmen in brutalizing Arkady.

A pummeling like that could put down any man and Arkady was no different. He found himself at the trio's mercy with Kesavan and Harris holding him for Miles. Arkady's ribs were struck again and again by punches from all sides and if it weren't for the pair holding him, he surely would have fell to the mat. Miles was taking great pleasure in using the Russian as a heavy bag and unloaded with all he had with an overhand right that cracked Arkady square in the mouth.

The mat was a welcome place for Arkady to be, as he needed to escape the beating he was taking. However, his stay there was a short one. Kesavan pulled him up by the hair and wrapped his huge hand around Arkady's throat. With relative ease, the Mongolian fired Arkady into the air and drove him down into the mat with a chokeslam.

Things looked bleak for Arkady and they didn't get better as Kesavan and Harris looked to launch him over the top rope. The two men used all their might and Arkady went flying over the top and right into the ladder that was propped up against the ropes. The ladder fell along with him and landed on the security barrier. Arkady was on the ladder when it collided with the barrier and he casually slipped off the left side.

The duo's focus instantly turned to their short-term ally and they assaulted Miles just like they did to Arkady prior. VGM was unable to fend both men off and he was soon cornered. Kesavan drove his shoulder deep into Miles' stomach again and again, driving all the air out of him. A dazed VGM was shoved out of the corner and right to the waiting Harris. Using his target's doubled over position, Harris turned him upside down and spiked him into the mat with a picture perfect piledriver.

It was all over for Miles, but Z's goons were far from finished. Kesavan pulled their lifeless prey up and placed VGM up on his shoulders. Harris climbed up to the top rope and the duo broke out the world-famous Doomsday Device, turning VGM inside out.

Having enough fun, Kesavan and Harris sent Greg Miles tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

GREG MILES ELIMINATED.

Z's cohorts had all but wrapped up the battle royal, but the time had come for them to finally disband. The issue that was now presented to them was, "Who is going to win?". The two glared at one another, unsure of what was going to happen, as Z wasn't there to decide for them. Harris was going to try and talk to his now opponent, but a wicked clothesline sent him down to the mat.

There was no way Kesavan was going to let this moment pass him by and he launched Harris into the corner and crushed him with a huge Vader-like body attack. As Harris fell to his rear in the corner, the forgotten Arkady started to stir on the outside. Once the fog in his head cleared, Arkady noticed he wasn't on the floor and made sure to pull himself onto the ladder. Kesavan brutalized Harris in the corner hitting him with punches and elbows, using all his weight behind the strikes. The ferocity of Kesavan acted as blinders and he never noticed Arkady climbing onto the security barrier. Using the ladder to keep his balance, Arkady was able to stand up on the barrier and open the ladder. He took a deep breath before starting his climb into the ring.

Kesavan had things well in control and he made sure they stayed that way by planting Harris with a huge powerbomb. The Mongolian believed the title shot was all his and he raised his arm with a roar in the center of the ring with Harris laying at his feet. He had no idea that Arkady was perched atop the ladder on the outside. Kesavan pulled Harris back up and pointed to the outside. He was about to fire him towards the ropes when Harris shocked him with a thumb to the eye. Unable to see, Kesavan stumbled back turned around. That was all that Arkady needed. The Russian Wolf leapt high off the ladder and drove his knee into Kesavan's upper torso. The impact was like a car crash and Kesavan exploded backwards to the mat.

Needing a second to catch his breath, Arkady rested on one knee. Harris used the ropes to pull himself up, while Kesavan was out like a light. Harris and Arkady rose up at the same time and Harris tried to surprise Arkady with a quick attack, but he found himself falling face first to the mat courtesy of a low dropkick. Arkady does a front handspring back to his feet and bounces off the ropes to add momentum to a baseball slide-style knee to Harris' face.

The Russian wolf kept on the offensive and Irish whipped Harris towards the corner. Acting on instinct, Harris leapt up to the middle rope, thinking of utilizing a cross body, but before he can take off, Arkady was on him and sent him crashing to the outside with a leaping sidekick to the spine.

JACK HARRIS ELIMINATED.

And it was down to two...

The final two were both exhausted and Kesavan might have been suffering from a broken collar bone, while Arkady may have cracked ribs. Despite the wear and tear on thier bodies they both fought to rise up to their feet. Meeting in the center of the ring, the two men began trading strikes. What Kesavan lacked in training, he made up with unadulterated power and what Arkady lacked in power, he made up with flawless technique. Back and forth they went, with Arkady suprising everyone by overcoming the massive Mongolian. An Irish whip attempt was countered by the big man and he sent Arkady flipping to the mat with a short-arm lariat.

Kesavan had put all of his energy into that clothesline and he had to take a moment before pulling his opponent back up. Like one would expect, he used his power for all it was worth, displaying it with a big time full nelson slam.

With each passing moment, the Mongolian looked to be gaining more and more of an advantage. Arkady was having a hard time standing, but he didn't have to worry about it for long. Kesavan snagged him in a head and arm capture and spiked him into the mat with a Japanese-style uranage.

Things were once again in Kesavan's favor and his confidence was showing. His power was such a deadly weapon and he was using it to its full effect. Arkady's time in the match looked to be coming to a close and things didn't look to be getting any better when he was gorilla pressed into the air. Before the pair reached the ropes, Arkady struggled for all he was worth and kneed Kesavan in the side of the head. A trio of strikes allowed Arkady to drop down behind his enemy. Before Kesavan could react, Arkady had him in a waistlock. The crowd could not believe their eyes, as the Russian wolf planted him with a German suplex.

The crowd's shock was far from over with Arkady holding on and just flat out willing the pair back up, so he could hit a half nelson suplex.

No one could believe it, as the Russian wolf would not let go and pulled Kesavan up for a second time. This time, the Mongolian monster was dumped square on his head with a flawless dragon suplex.

Like a bolt of lightning, Aria came sprinting down the ramp and started to cheer Arkady on. She slapped the mat and howled like a wolf. The crowd began clapping and stomping along with her pounding, supporting Arkady. With the crowd behind him, the wolf was coming out of Arkady. A low growl began to bellow out of him and he started to pound the mat. A shot of adrenaline burst into his veins and he climbed back to his feet, snarling the entire way. He glared at his foe nearly bursting at the seams with rage. The ropes assisted Kesavan in his quest to get to a vertical base and he succeeded, only to stumbled out to the middle of the ring. Arkady marched to him and ducked under a wild right. That slight mistake was all Arkady needed. In the blink of an eye, Arkady struck him with a lighting fast combo of lefts and rights. The flurry expanded to knees and kicks, with Kesavan never knowing where the next one would come from.

Finally, Kesavan was backed all the way up to the ropes and Arkady smacked him in the chest with a huge kick that echoed through the arena.

A second did the same and the crowd recoiled in horror upon seeing the impact.

Arkady roared loudly and unleashed a hellacious kick that took Kesavan off his feet and falling backwards over the top rope and to the floor.

KESAVAN ELMINATED.

There can be only one and that one was Arkady Rasputin. As the bell rang and AC/DC began in the background, the Russian dropped to one knee and Aria hurried in to congratulate him. His body was tired and beaten, but the fire in his eyes was as strong as ever. He rose to his feet under his own power and raised both arms in victory with Aria hugging him tightly. From out of nowhere, the Wolf had become the number one contender to the Scorpion Fighting Title.

happy hunting

       

"This is a bit of a surprise."

"Is it? You HAD to be expecting me."

Jeremy Hunt leaned back in his fancy leather chair and signalled to his hulking bodyguard WAR to stand down. WAR duly backed away from the one and only Fejona Min, who graciously nodded towards Hunt.

And as Fejona took a seat on the edge of Hunt's table, Jeremy smiled. "Well, we do have a complicated business relationship. And my sources tell me you're rather peeved about a latest development. And I'm not talking about Arkady being the new top contender to your Scorpion Fighting Title. So, yes. I have been expecting you.

I'm surprised that you didn't barge in here, all hot-headed and crazy. I know how gigantic your ego is.

"Spare me the psycho-analysis, Jeremy." Fejona sharply cut in, clutching her Scorpion Fighting Title with a vice grip. "I'm not one of the blonde harlots you impress with your powers of observation before you command them to bend over and spread their legs wide open for you.

I want to know why the bloody hell the Black Title is in ACW, despite knowing how hard I've worked to get my hands on this Scorpion Fighting Title AND also privy to the story behind this lovely relic."

Jeremy Hunt clasped his hands together. Months ago, he had reached an agreement with the Rogue Slayer. One that saw the man from SlySports bring Fejona back into the fold, after being informed about the supposed magical voodoo surrounding the Scorpion Fighting Title.

Fejona's re-emergence in ACW coincided with Hunt declaring something of a dark reign over ACW once the federation began its tour of Eastern Europe. And although Fejona was unable to end the tour and the arc with her head held high thanks to the insane preservance of Omega, Fejona eventually did claim the Scorpion Fighting Title.

"Let me guess. You think the Black Title and everything it stands for is trying to overshadow you?" Hunt queried.

Rather mockingly, it had to be said. Fejona hissed. "Yes, you jackass. You never told me you had plans for the Black Title. For f**k's sake, I was in theAsylum. I know about the Black Title, and its storied history, and yadda yadda. Joe Campbell told me all about it. I might not have been around when The Freak and Villiam Ender and the rest of those psychotic idiots tried to kill each other for that piece of crap, but I know about it.

What I don't know is, why is it here and why it's part of your plan. And why wasn't I informed about it?"

Jeremy stood to his feet, lips pursed together tightly. This was getting serious.

"I don't appreciate your tone, Fejona." Hunt bluntly stated, making Fejona wince. "What we have, is a simple business arrangement. I don't HAVE to tell you everything that goes on in my head. And as far as the Black Title is concerned, you don't have to worry. You do your thing with the Scorpion Fighting Title. I have my own agenda for the Black Title, which frankly doesn't involve you.

That's not to say I didn't appreciate your cameo during last week's battle between Carrion... and Omega. But you need to understand something, Fejona. There are forces at work here far beyond your grasp and comprehension. You think you know about the Black Title, but you don't. I remember you saying those exact words to me as it pertained to the Scorpion Fighting Title. Yet, you have yet to divulge the full scope of why that red leather title belt means so much to you.

Do you see me hounding you for that information? No. Because I know my place.

... You should start to get an idea of your place in this company, too."

Oooh, stinging words. Fejona pushed herself off of Hunt's desk and stared the man from SlySports down. ACW's Original Femme Fatale was well aware of WAR standing behind her, which mean she couldn't do anything to Jeremy. Still, she had half a mind to incite WW3 right then and there.

However, she yielded. "Fine. I have more to say, but it can wait for another time."

Hunt smiled. He, however, wasn't quite done. "Good. Because, I have a little challenge for you. I think you'll relish it."

Fejona placed her title belt onto her left shoulder and her right eyebrow arched upwards. The tiniest of chuckles from WAR triggered alarm bells in her head.

"See, I got a communicae from somebody I recently tossed to the curb." Hunt began to explain as he sat himself down once more. "WAR really did a number to him, but he's a resilient warrior. And he wants back in. He's begging for forgiveness. I weighed the pros and the cons, and decided that to give him a chance at redemption.

And since you're feeling sore over the Black Title supposedly overshadowing you and the Scorpion Fighting Title, consider this my way of making it up to you. You want to cement yourself as the toughest bird around here? I've got just the challenger for you."

Fejona clenched her left fist. This was both interesting and a little creepy.

"Who is it?"

Hunt flashed his pearly whites. "You know him as... 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler."

Holy. Snap.

And just as Fejona Min felt her shoulders weighed down by what was apparently about to await her, Jeremy Hunt and WAR shared a look. It was one of common understanding. ACW was their playground, and everybody in it was theirs to mess about with.

For now? Commercials beckoned. Fejona, however, still struggled with the reality of it all.

"Happy hunting!" was Hunt's last words on the matter.

... That wily Jeremy Hunt is really one cheeky mastermind, ain't he?

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - MATCHPLAY 3.2
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs vs. Z
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

How do you know when business is about to pick up?

Yes, sir. That's how you tell.

Ladies and gentlemen of Denmark? Bow down to the Icon. The Living Legend. The Reason There Is A Show. The Ratings Grabber.

'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. And the should-be Hall Of Famer, accompanied out by Ring Superstar courtesy of Cypress Hill, stormed down the ramp in record time. After last week's defeat to Rud Albion, Jacobs -- the only man thus far to have competed in all three editions of the King Of Ages tournament -- was eager to get back on the winning track.

In the back of his mind, the pest better known as Jade Argent continued to reside in the 'continued annoyance' compartment. Nonetheless, Jacobs was intent on making sure his quest to win the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament and thereby cement himself as an inductee into ACW's Hall Of Fame was all but assured. Vince quickly rolled into the ring and glared at the thousands of eyes looking back at him. Beside him, referee Paige Allen anxiously scanned her surroundings. She, as well as Jacobs, didn't really fancy the man SVJ was about to lock horns with.

Speaking of whom.

Mask? In place. Trenchcoat? Looked spiffy as usual. Fingerless gloves? Expensive. What else was left? The Final Countdown (Special Remix Z), by Europe. The fancypants version, as some would say. Hold on, scratch that.

Within seconds of starting, the music was abruptly cut. This had become a trademark of sorts, ever since LEGENDS IV.

Wait for it. Wait forrrrrrrr it. There, we have music again.

Zero, by the Smashing Pumpkins.

My reflection,
dirty mirror.

The Masked Enigma.

The Dastardly Mastermind.

The Caped Crusader.

Z!

Strutting out onto the stage, Z quickly removed his trenchcoat and tossed it aside, ignoring the raucous reception from the fans. Instead, he smiled at SVJ in the ring, glaring back at him. Z shifted his focus to Paige Allen, who just as swiftly looked away. Clearly, Paige was uncomfortable being in the same timezone as the Masked Enigma, much less the same ring.

And once Z rolled into the ring? "Heya, Paige. New haircut? Looks sexy. Your arse is looking firmer, too. Squat thrusts?"

Yeesh. What a despicable lecher. Z laughed at Paige's obvious discomfort, but the Caped Crusader quickly realise he was still being glared at by Jacobs. Cocking his head sideways, Z raised his hands up in the 'what's the matter' kind of way.

Vince's response? He spat at Z's feet. "You're going to make me extinct, huh? Fat chance. I'm a f**king legend."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Z shot back rather casually. "I've heard it all before, old man. Let's get this party started!"

Paige Allen cleared her throat, turned to Tommy Vale and gave the signal.

DING DING DING!

And, we were off. Z and Jacobs quickly took to the traditional 'circling around the ring to build up suspense' thing, before both men charged at each other. A tie-up ensued, and from the get-go, Z's eeked out an advantage, as he forced Jacobs into the corner. The Ring Superstar would have none of it, and kicked Z in the lower abdominals before he got pushed into the corner, following up with a side headlock.

Surprisingly, the enigmatic Caped Crusader used his power to push Jacobs into the ropes, before he too ran forward, aiming for a clothesline. Vince cleverly slid between Z's legs and raised his own legs up in the air, driving them into the lower spinal area of Z! The Masked Enigma stumbled into the ropes, and seconds later, was a victim of a nicely-executed armdrag from the former ACW World Champ. Immediately after, the cover was made.

And hottie Paige Allen was quick to her knees;

ONE!

TWO!

... No THREE, sorry.

TWO was all Jacobs was going to get, with Z powering out of the pin easily. Vince was amazed that Z possessed such authority in his kick-out, and quickly stormed back to his recovering adversary, spinning him around & trying to strike out with a right hook. Z kinda swayed to the left and connected with a forearm shot to the ribs of Vince Jacobs, following up with another forearm shot to the face.

And then, Z chuckled loudly. Interesting. His attempt at a left-legged snap sidekick never materialised, however, as Jacobs caught the leg and took out Red's right leg from under the masked man with a deft back-heel trip. Z collapsed down to the canvas, and with both of Z's legs in Vince's possession, the Ring Superstar took full advantage. How? Glad you asked.

ROLLING CLUTCH PIN!

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Z once more forced his shoulder up, and Jacobs stole a glance at Paige Allen, who re-affirmed her count. Pushing his hair out of his face, Jacobs bounced himself off the ropes and lunged at the Masked Enigma with a flying forearm, but Z -- who was already facing some difficulty in trying to regain his footing -- simply collapsed back down to the mat. Pure brilliance, really.

Especially when you consider how awkwardly Jacobs's face hit the canvas. It was quite hilarious, actually. Z didn't laugh, though. He instead sluggishly scrambled to his feet and pulled Jacobs up by the waistband of his tights, aiming a barrage of downward punches at the kidney area. Vince winced with each punch, and attempted to break free with a reverse elbow shot.

Didn't work. The Masked Enigma lowered his head just in time and actually connected with a snap reverse DDT, drawing a decent amount of applause from the crowd. Of course, seconds later, most of the fans snapped out of their trance and went back to the jeering and the shaking of their fists.

Z scowled at them, got his chest across Vince's and shot Paige a glare as the lovely hottie got to her knees;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Z frowned once more as he retreated from Vince Jacobs. The famous legend was not proving to be a pushover.

"After two back-to-back defeats, Z surely must be a bit desperate to gain the win tonight! Despite his claims that he doesn't really need the victory!" Renaud Cardinal theorised at his Broadcast Booth.

His partner, Jimmy Reid, had a different take on it. "I could beat you over the head with a club now, and nobody would give a damn."

... Okay, back to the action.

Z rose to his feet and carefully watched as Vince Jacobs did the same. The Ring Superstar was breathing heavily, but otherwise appeared to be okay. The two men stared at each other from across the ring, seemingly involved in some sort of telepathic conversation. The fans, already riled by the opening exchanges, were naturally confused at the sudden grind. Until, it came to pass that neither SVJ nor Z could wait to re-start things any longer... annnnnd a tie-up ensued, with Jacobs immediately coming out of it with a side headlock. Classic.

The Masked Enigma grunted as he moved around a bit, and after having managed to grab Jacobs by his hair from behind, dragged himself back into the ropes before shoving the Reason There Is A Show into the parallel set of ropes. Z appeared to be preparing for a suplex of some sort as he quickly charged forwards and awaited for Vince's return, but he greatly underestimated the legend's speed, getting bumped down to the canvas with a shoulder block!

A round of cheers erupted and Vince Jacobs grinned, before running towards his right and shooting himself into the ropes. Obviously anticipating The Caped Crusader's return to his feet.

That wasn't the case, however. Z rolled on his belly and surprised the former ACW World Champion by remaining on the canvas, forcing Jacobs to jump over his opponent's body and let his momentum take him into the opposite set of ropes. Once that was accomplished, Z sprung to his feet, just in time to catch Jacobs and attempt a hiptoss.

Trouble was, the Ring Superstar managed to somehow land on his feet, and countered with a punishing hiptoss of his own!

"Brilliant counter by Jacobs! And he's earning a lot of fans here tonight! Listen to the crowd!" Renaud Cardinal screamed.

Indeed, enermous cheers erupted in the arena while Z grimaced (although that mask of his concealed a lot) and held his spine in agony, slowly getting up and staring a hole through Vince Jacobs. SVJ shrugged his shoulders, motioning for his masked opponent to come and get him.

So, Z did. The two men got into yet another tie-up, and again, Jacobs took a matter of seconds to come out of that situation with a side headlock slapped on his opponent in the middle of the ring. Yet again, Z resorted to reaching back and tugging at Jacobs's hair, before he pushed himself backwards into the ropes and sent Vince hurtling towards the opposite set of ropes with a powerful shove.

This time, Z decided to go with something simple and attempted a clothesline with the left arm, but Vince Jacobs ducked it and amazingly intertwined his right arm with Z's left arm. Following which, SVJ hoisted himself onto Z's shoulders and brought him down, all within a blink of an eye.

CRUCIFIX ROLL-UP PIN! Z cursed, while referee Paige Allen quickly got into position;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO!

Close one there, but Z managed to roll out of the pin, which naturally had a lot of the fans disappointment. But you know what?

Something incredible happened. Wait for it. Can you hear the chants?

"HALL OF FAME!"
"HALL OF FAME!
"HALL OF FAME!"

And on and on it went. Jacobs stood to his feet, somewhat in bewilderment. He had rarely been a fan favourite, despite getting some respect in the initial stages of the Eastern European tour a couple of months ago.

Alas, soaking in the adulation of the fans cost the Ring Superstar. For when he turned around and set his sights on Z again, the Masked Enigma -- on his knees adjusting his jaws -- suddenly leaned forward and grabbed SVJ by the waistband of his tights. An almighty tug saw Vince stagger towards the corner turnbuckle. Needless to say, the impact of SVJ's face against the top turnbuckle made many a fan cringe, and Z chortled. A simple stroke of genius by him, and the tide had been turned.

"Thank you!" Z announced as he jumped up to his feet. "I *do* deserve to be in ACW's Hall Of Fame!"

Ohhhh. Ohhh, no he didn't. Want to know what the Danish fans did in response?

"BOOOOOOO! Z SUCKS! Z SUCKS!" and so on and so forth. The Caped Crusader had a retaliation of his own.

Middle. Finger.

"You tell 'em, Z!" Jimmy Reid proclaimed at the Broadcast Booth. He liked seeing the bad guys flip the fans off.

Z returned his attentions to Jacobs and knocked his adversary further senseless with a running hip attack. Jacobs was basically mincemeat, and he found his bare chest coming under attack as well, with the Caped Crusader brother opting to let loose with a flurry of open-handed chops The fans were completely hating this show of domination by Z. You know, the bigger of two evils and all. Yeah, go figure; Vince Jacobs has been considered a lesser nuisance than the mysterious Z. Hell has frozen over.

Anyways, back to the action:

CHOP!

CHOP!

CHOP!

CHOP!

"Brutal chops there by Z!" Renaud Cardinal chimed in, his eyes widening at the sight of SVJ's chest turning red.

Jimmy Reid took a sip of water and shook his head. "The Masked Enigma and the Ring Superstar. I may be a bigger fan of Z than Jacobs, but this is still a sad day in history. Two of my favourites, beating each other silly. COME ON, GUYS! GET IT TOGETHER AND GO KICK THE SHIT OUT OF KSZ!"

Yeah. Reid was kinda drunk. Was that water or vodka he was sipping? Hmmm.

Back in the ring, Z didn't even bother to take a breather and continued with the chops, until Jacobs -- purely out of desperation -- kicked out at Z's right knee. That got Z to cease his attacks, because... you know, that right knee of his? Has been problematic for him over the past few weeks. A fact which Jacobs knew full well.

But the should-be Hall Of Famer didn't exploit that weakness. Instead, he thumbed Z in the eye (not even a mask could have saved Z there) and followed up with a knee-lift to the ribs. The Masked Enigma doubled over in obvious agony, suddenly finding himself in a vulnerable position.

Jacobs duly took advantage of that, regardless of the searing pain running through his body as a result of Z's early assault. And how did he take advantage? Rising knee-lift to the face of The Caped Crusader, knocking the latter back a couple of feet. The fans in the front rows cheered loudly and held up their 'VINCE JACOBS > EVERY OTHER IDIOT IN THE ACW HALL OF FAME'. I kid you not.

With a devious smirk and the sight of Z reeling, Vince raced out of the corner, aiming to strike the man who won the now-legendary Battle Royale on COURAGE 116 down with a clothesline or something. I don't know; do I look like some sort of psychic detective with cool hair?

Unfortunately, I don't. Yes, that was me going off on a tangent. Yes, Z ducked underneath Vince's attempted whatever and shot himself into the ropes. Yes, Jacobs was puzzled. No, Z didn't stop to say 'Trey Vincent owns your soul'. Yes, he did connect with a running jumping palm heel strike. No, Jacobs had no frigging clue what hit him.

And yes, The Reason There Is A Show did fall to the canvas in a heap. A large majority of the fans stood to their feet and made with the jeering and the hissing.

Z shrugged his shoulders and dropped to his knees, making the quick cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - SHOULDER!

You got it, the Living Legend got the shoulder up.

Z fussed about with his mask, all the while laying his eyes on the broken body of his adversary. Getting back to his vertical base, the Dastardly Mastermind waited for Jacobs to do the same. And once SVJ peeled his torso off the canvas?

Well, that was academic. Z charged at Jacobs and slapped on a rear waistlock. Time for a German Suplex? Perhaps, but the wily ol' Legend had more tricks up his sleeve than David Blaine. SVJ swung his right elbow backwards, catching Z squarely in the kisser, before Jacobs spun on his heels. A kick to the ribs was followed by a front facelock... and what happened next?

STARBUST! A peach of a brainbuster from Jacobs! Z was down, and Vince made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - AH DARN IT~!

Z hadn't kicked out, just to be clear. Instead, hottie referee Paige Allen stopped the count because.

Because. Because that deviant Z had gotten his foot on the ropes. Amazing ring presence by the Caped Crusader, and Jacobs was left to curse his bad luck. Nonetheless, the cheers of the fans told Jacobs that he was definitely very close to victory.

So, SVJ stood to his feet. And waited. And he did a little warming up of the band. Oh yeah, baby. Everybody knew what was coming.

The Living Legend and his vicious superkick had won his many a battle. And with Z slowly rising to his feet, a little woozy and not at all aware of what awaited him, Jacobs knew that another win was in the bag. All that needed to happen was for Z to turn around, and then, the rest would be scripture. Within seconds, the Masked Enigma did indeed turn around.

The smirk on the face of 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs was tremendous. SUPERSTAR KICK!

...

... DENIED!

Wha? It appeared as if Z was more astute to the situation, and just barely managed to evade Vince's superkick, taking to a forward roll. Nice show of agility and improv from the Caped Crusader there. But that wasn't all.

Oh, far from it. Jacobs quickly turned around, furious that he'd been suckered by Z. But Z, being who he was, added insult to injury by catching Vince Jacobs off-guard with a fancypants move from the lore of professional wrestling. That's right.

SMALL PACKAGE ROLL-UP!

Undoubtedly ACW's hottest referee of all time got to her knees and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

(and just a hint of a handful of tights on Z's part)

THREE!

...

Yes, you read it. THREE!

Letting go of Jacobs, Z rolled right out of the ring and raised his arms in the air once his feet touched the ground. Zero by the Smashing Pumpkins blared over the speakers once more, backing up the decision by Paige Allen.

The Caped Crusader had, in fact, managed to beat 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. With a little assist that Paige wasn't aware of.

... but Jacobs sure as hell was.

"F**KER!" Vince shouted as he leaned over the ropes, amid the outpouring of jeers from the fans. Z merely sneered back at Vince and tapped the side of his forehead with the index finger of his right hand.

And with COURAGE 119 speeding towards commercials, Z had one last thing to say:

"I beat you, old man. I beat you at our own game."

Hell of a way end the current proceedings, non?

A Little Bit of Redemption.

   

Greg Miles rubbed his neck as he made a path to his dressing room. He was sore, but overall he was pissed off. He failed to win the Battle Royal for a chance at the Scorpion Title and he blamed himself.

“Z and his little fag pricks…er…” he groaned at the thought of them.

He walked through the narrow halls, punching doors as he passed by each one leaving an indention of his boney knuckles. Greg, for the moment, had forgotten about his endeavor with The OG of Wrestling, Orlando Grant. The thought of Jack Harris and Kesavan tossing him over the top rope replayed over and over in his head like a Britney spears song on repeat.

It was just hideous.

He groaned again, “I’m gonna show those little pricks…”

And suddenly…

SMASH!

Orlando Grant shot out of a dark corner and cracked VGM over the head with a wooden baseball bat that broke in half on immediate contact. Miles fell backwards and blood began to squirt from a massive gash at the peak of his head.

“YOU THINK YOU’RE F’N BAD MILES!!!”

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

“You not shit Miles! I’m the OG of ACW and I own yo ass!” he shouted.

Greg rolled to his side with his eyes still open. He groaned away the pain as he tried inelegantly to get back to his feet. Grant was in shock by Miles effort to get back to his feet, especially after the vicious blow to the head.

“Stay down Miles! Stay tha fuck down!”

Grant reared his right leg back and unleashed a violent kick to the ribs. The sound of a rib or two could be heard but Miles just clinched his teeth together and endured the pain.

VGM spat out a large douse of blood and chuckled as he said, “Fuck you.”

Grant snarled at the outrageous remark and looked around the halls to see what he could use as a weapon. Nearby was a picture of ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs nailing Alias with the Superstar Kick. He grabbed the picture as VGM stood on one knee.

SMASH!

The sound of glass shattering echoed off the walls and VGM went crashing face first to the concrete. He now had a various of cuts and scrapes tattooed to his face with blood spilling out like ink from a pen.

He slowly began to fade away in a puddle of his own blood, but before he lost all consciousness, he had one thing to say.

“You’re a bitch…”

And finally he blacked out.

Grant growled as he looked below at VGM, “FUCK!” he roared and frustration defined the tone of his voice.

“Next week Miles…” Grant doubled over with his hands on his knees,” Imma show you da real badass is…its me and you, one on one. Imma fuck you’re world up again, but this time you will see it comin asshole.”

The Ziploc Boy reared back one more time and smashed his boot across VGM’s limp face and the scene faded as OG walked away, cursing.

C O M M E R C I A L S

'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao vs. Ryan Billows

   

As we returned from commercial, “Zen-Zational” Zhang Tao stood in the ring with his arms raised high in the air. To be fair, he received a few pops from the crowd, but it was nothing in comparison to the decibel level that the boos were about to reach.

The lights went out.

Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump

The massive lights switched on one by one, illuminating the entrance-ramp in a pattern of blue, yellow, and red. The colors by themselves were enough to give the fans their cue, and they were already booing in full-force when the music hit the PA system.

“How could you abandon me, I thought you'd always be,
There for me, standing tall, one and one for all,
My support modeling, rolling as a team
But instead on our own, enemies of old”

BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM

As the chorus hit, a cavalcade of fireworks exploded up from the stage, once again a mix of blue, yellow and red. As the smoke cleared, a spotlight illuminated the intended target of the crowd’s jeers, and thus, the decibel of the boos increased ten-fold.

“Season's change, the fallen rain will wash the pain away,
Make amends to help understand how to live today,”

Billows stood in the entrance-way with his head hung, soaking in the disdain of the fans who once upon a time worshipped him. But how quick had they been to erase him from the fabric of their minds? How quick had they been to forget about him? No, he didn’t care about the boos. Fact is, he kind of reveled in it. It was a new kind of power, a different kind of feeding from the palm of his hand. Billows, Once-Young, had fed them all the makings of exactly what they’d sought, and in time, he’d become their hero. The kids would be crying for him, their mothers doing the same while the fathers chanted his name. Now, he fed them poison, and waited for them to spew it back at him. See, while they may have adored him, they had no idea how much he adored them right back. He put his body on the line for them, he’d broken his back for them, and they’d all but written him out of the books.

never again.

This was the Risen Lion, the Reincarnation.

Billows slowly raised his head, wearing a smile that told the entire story. It spoke volumes about just how much he enjoyed the fans’ hatred. Every single fan in that arena could feel right then and there that Billows held a true grudge against them and their displeasure was his treasure. It was maddening for them.

The Key of Keystone State stalked his way down to the ring, stopping to mockingly join a few fans, throwing his own thumbs down in their face before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. As he reached the top of the ring-steps, the lights returned to the building.

The Salt in Your Wound climbed up onto the turnbuckle and had a seat before crossing his arms. The Watcher stared out at the massive crowd with a chuckle before looking across the ring at Zhang Tao. Billows hopped down to the canvas as referee Roderick Lynch quickly checked Billows for any foreign objects.

Lynch would be on his toes tonight after witnessing Billows shenanigans last week, and you’d best bet that the Zen-zational one would be on his toes as well.

Lynch called for the bell,

Ding

Ding

Ding

And they were off!

Zhang Tao immediately rushed into a feigned a sweeping kick before leaping up and exhibiting his skills with a Spinning Kick. Tao wasn’t trying to connect, he was simply showing Billows what he was in store for.

Billows raised an eyebrow and cocked his head before springing off his back leg…

!!!!

L.O.S.T. KICK

Roderick Lynch leapt into the air in shock.

The crowd erupted with boos, not believing that this one would be over so quickly.

But Billows didn’t go for the pin. No, that would have been much too easy. Instead, he grabbed Zhang Tao by his modeled black hair, and lifted him to his feet before grabbing him by the waistband and tossing him out of the ring!

Roderick Lynch began counting.

1...

2...

Billows locked eyes with a rowdy fan in the front row, a man who hated Billows a bit more passionately and with a bit more volume than the rest of the Skjern, Denmark fans.

3...

4...

Billows walked over to the ropes, and began yelling at the man,

“What are you yelling at you piece of shit? Close your mouth!”

The fan merely drew his head back and released a ball of phlegm at Billows.

5...

6...

“You want to spit at me? YOU WANT TO SPIT AT ME?”

7...

Billows climbed out onto the apron and leapt from the apron to the barrier! The fan immediately fell backwards into his peers behind him.

1...

2...

“You dumb jackass, made ya flinch!”

Billows laughed and hunkered down for a Moonsault onto his downed opponent.

Only Zhang Tao wasn’t exactly ‘downed’ anymore. In fact, he’d hopped up moments ago and now he took upon himself to give Billows a hearty shove from behind, and Billows went falling into a frenzied audience.

3...

4...

Zhang Tao slid into the ring, taking a few deep breaths as he raised his fists. The crowd gave him a brief response, but it was enough to encourage him to put his body on the line.

Billows was working his way to his feet, pulling himself up with the aide of the steel chairs in the front row.

5...

6...

“Zen-Zational” Zhang Tao was going to show the fans how Zen-Zational he really was. Rebounding off the ropes, he sprinted across the ring at full speed before leaping over the top rope headfirst towards the Risen Lion.

Billows whipped around, hurling the disdainful fan into Zhang’s path. Zhang grew wide-eyed, but it was too late, and he came crashing into the man!

1...

2...

The crowd was booing right in Billows ears, God, they needed to shut up. Billows rolled his eyes before bending over and pulling Zhang Tao to his feet, throwing him over the barricade.

3...

4...

Billows turned around, and bent over the fan who’d been so audible only minutes ago.

5...

6...

“Thanks for all your support.”

Billows hopped back over the barricade and slid into the ring.

7...

Billows turned to Roderick Lynch and offered a sigh and shake of his head,

“Man, just give it up”

Billows rebounded off the ropes and came to the other set, grabbing hold with his hands, and using the ropes to catapult himself up into the air, flipping. He came crashing down on Zhang Tao with a Guillotine Legdrop!!!!! It was a move that had at one point been called the Suicide Sensation, Once-Young, he’d been known as A Generation’s Sensation, but he’d washed his hands of that moniker, and so the move was now known as:

Suicide-Salt In Your Wound

The dissenters in the audience cheered just because, god dammit, talent was talent, and that move took fucking talent!

The rest of the crowd booed.

Still, Roderick Lynch did his job and resumed counting.

1...

2...

Billows pulled Zhang Tao to his feet, and decided that it was finally time to take this one back into the ring, he rolled the Zen-Zational China native back into the ring.

Billows slid into the ring, immediately hooking a leg, ready to be finished with this bullshit match for the evening.

1...

2...

3---NO!

The crowd clapped, properly surprised that Zhang Tao had managed to kick out after the abuse his body had just been put through.

“JESUS LYNCH!” Billows hopped to his feet, “1,2,3! NOT ONNNNNE MISSISSIPPI, TWO MISSISSIPPI…”

Billows was about to turn back around when Zhang Tao rolled him up from behind!

1...

2...

The Watcher kicked out in a rage and managed to be the first one to his feet. Billows rushed at Zhang Tao, who had gotten to one wobbly knee.

Billows lifted his knee just enough for it to be level with Zhang Tao’s skull.

CRACK!

“Zen-Zational” Zhang Tao floated to the side and crumpled to the ground, but Billows wouldn’t offer him any time to recover, as the Risen Lion immediately lifted him up, setting him up for a power bomb.

Billows lifted Zhang Tao up onto his shoulders, but instead of slamming him down, Billows lifted him up and over, head-first into the turnbuckle!

As Zhang Tao stumbled backwards, Billows hooked the man’s head, and drove him into the canvas with a Reverse DDT.

The fans recognized the move immediately, and they knew that it spelled the ending for Zhang Tao.

Cause For Concern

Billows made the cover.

1...

2...

3...

Sure enough, that had sealed the deal. And why shouldn’t it? It was a move that Billows had used to garner wins over some the biggest names in the sport. It’s just…after the devastating new move he’d debuted last week on Courage, the one he’d defeated Carrachio Salfuego with…well, the fans didn’t know Billows would still be pulling out this deadly move.

It sucked, okay? It sucked that they couldn’t cheer for him anymore, because he really was an absolute innovator in the ring. You watched Billows and you knew that wrestling was the reason he was put on this planet…

*sigh*

Billows’ music began playing, but Billows was shaking his head and reaching outside of the ring.

Apparently the Risen Lion had something to get off his chest.

Fantastic

A Declaration of Intentions

The Risen Lion was finally handed a microphone as his music continued playing, and Zhang Tao was helped to the back.

Billows looked towards the back, and held his hands to his head in a sign of frustration before bringing the microphone to his lips,

“Okay, idiots in the back, this magic little wand in my hand means I’ve got something to say…” He waited a moment, giving them an honest chance before losing it, “SO FOR FUCK’S SAKE, TURN OFF MY MUSIC YOU MONGOLOIDS!”

The music quickly cut off and Billows was left listening to the sound of thousands of people hating him.

music to his ears

“I know, I know, you don’t like me anymore, but hold on, I’ve got something for you!”

Billows mocked reaching into his trunks, a place many ladies in the audience couldn’t help wanting to reach into themselves. He pulled his hand out, smiling,

“There we are! The world’s smallest violin!” Billows imitates a violinist as the crowd booed, he laughed and brought the microphone back to his mouth, “Now look, I won’t take up too much of your precious time, I know you’re trying to make the most of this evening before you all have to return to your mothers’ basements, but I do have a quick announcement….SO SHUT THOSE HOLES IN YOUR FACE!”

Billows smiled as the crowd poured out more disapproval.

“As much fun as it’s been beating up on nobody’s lately, it’s grown a bit stale as far as I’m concerned. What I mean to say is, it’s only fun for so long for the cat to bat around the mouse. Then the cat kills it,” Billows nodded, “So while it’s been great toying with these no-names the past couple of weeks, I think I’m done batting around mice for awhile. Cause let’s face it, I’m better than that.”

The crowd booed him, even if it was a statement that held a few grains of truth.

“You boo cause you know I’m right. But that’s alright, because as you fickle ignorant sheep have failed to understand so far--as much as your cheers fueled me at one point, your boos mean so much more to me. So, boo away, wither your little lungs over my ass, it’s fantastic. Just know that, sometime soon, ol’ Billows will be giving you all new reasons to boo. Bank on it.”

With that, Billows dropped the microphone and rolled out of the ring, ignoring the crowd as he made his way up the ramp.

All new reasons to boo?

They certainly didn’t enjoy the sound of that…

Black, White and Red All Over... and other one-liners

   

“Who the fuck is this birdman of Alcatraz?”

Oh joy folks, you just might be in for another fifteen minutes of an old reliable codger in Abraham Swift. What was the topic this week? Or did he still have more thoughts on the tag team division? The silver-haired Redd Foxx looking fellow, shifting forward on his chair to get more comfortable, and scratched his knee. He was talking to, or possibly at, William T. Rex.

Rex was listening, but he was too busy to talk at the moment. He was doing chin-ups on a bar that he had set-up across the locker rooms doorframe. Seemed like good enough therapy after their combined failure in the Battle Royale earlier in the evening.

“Carrion?”, huffed the Tyrannosaurus Thrill Billy.

“Yeah, whatever the fuck it is, he looks like Big Bird after a brain hemorrhage. Like a burnt thanksgiving turkey that was given the meaning of life. I mean what the fuck is THAT? He ever look to attack us and I’d take that dirty ol’ title he’s got on him and shove it so far up his ass he’ll have to make a friend so he can get it out. Speaking of that title… the Black title. I’ll tell you what a Black title is something that belongs to the kind of brother who’s walked with MLK, but isn’t such a pussy to believe in non-violence.”

Abe huffed, thinking for a moment.

“So Malcom X is what I’m saying… and even Omega ain’t black enough to give the BLACK title. He can every craaazy title he wants, but if he wants to be Black Champion… ‘Mega needs to do some catching up to MY black ass.” Behind Abe, Bill was still doing chin-ups.

“I ain’t going to be picking fight with Omega though, I’ll leave that up to you Billy T.”

Rex let out a grunt of disagreement. They were caustic, vile men, but they weren’t insane.

“And Fejona Min?”, asked a voice from the doorway. That was when Abe noticed that the King Lizard had stopped doing chin-ups at the doorway. Not on that, but William T. Rex wasn’t even the one asking this question.

No, Billy T didn’t have a thick Russian accent.

“I am to have over heard you talking about Carrion… because I have an offer for you. The possibility of working with the Scorpion Fighting Champion. Courtesy of SlySports.” WAR growled through an ugly snarl.

Abe looked at Billy T and the two men smiled. Work was work.

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - MATCHPLAY 3.3
Buddy Saxon vs. Sepiroth Du Luc
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

This is a story about desperation. Two men who hungered. They’re backs up against the wall; they had nothing left to lose. Neither could afford to give anything else. It was the King of Ages. It was avoiding an 0 for 3 start.

“Two Birds, One Stone” By Drop Dead Gorgeous faded out as Sepiroth Du Luc stood in the ring, still absorbing the hate from the crowd as it radiated into the ring.

The last two matches were weighing heavy on him, visible by the look of unease upon his face. He wanted this over with. He needed to get back on the right track.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“For Your Entertainment” by Adam Lambert blasted and out came Buddy Saxon. The Bournemouth Boy sprinted down to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. Sepiroth Du Luc pounced on him, not giving Saxon the chance to hop onto his feet. Mark Shields just laughed, lighting a cigarette for the match.

The crowd booed, but Sepiroth picked Buddy up to his feet and nailed him with three stiff Knife-Edge chops that had him backed into the ropes. Jabbing him with an elbow to the face, The Red Headed Terror launched Buddy across the ring, catching him as he came back with a Sleeper. The Bournemouth Boy was extremely animated in his refusal to give up, signaling to the referee that he wouldn’t tap. Mark Shields watched him and blew a smoke ring into his face.

The Red Headed Terror kicked his feet back, turning the Sleeper into a Reverse Face Plant and drilled his opponent into the mat. Getting back to his feet, SDL threw down an elbow onto Buddy. Again he got to his feet. Again he threw down his elbow. Each one had the pointed edge dig right into his ribcage, zapping Saxon.

Coming to his feet for a third time, this one a little more slowly, SDL looked down on Buddy and sneered. He badly wanted a win to try and develop momentum for King of Ages, but this just seemed like a bad joke. How could someone like him make it into such an important tournament? It didn’t matter. Sepiroth would take him out of the tournament and save everyone the humiliation.

He dropped his elbow down, looking for the heart. He got the canvas.

Buddy Saxon rolled out of the way just in time; coming up to his feet as SDL came crashing down. Hooking the legs, Saxon flipped forward in an attempt to try and catch his opponent off guard with a pin. Shields rolled his eyes as he got down to make a count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Back upright, Buddy could only look at Shields. He wanted to complain about the time it took for the referee to get into position, but again all he got was a smoke ring in his face. Trying to fan the smoke out of his face, the Bournemouth Boy left himself wide open for a roll up. Much like with Buddy, Shields seemed more annoyed than anything else as he got into position.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Unlike his opponent, Sepiroth had no problem getting in Shields’ face about the count. He kept holding up three fingers, demanding to know why he wasn’t being declared the winner. Shields had to signal for him to turn around. Looking over his shoulder, the Red Headed Terror saw Buddy trying to catch him by surprise with a Roll Up of his own.

Sepiroth dropped his leg onto the arm of Saxon. Grabbing the arm, he bent it over his leg in a modified submission hold. Buddy flailed about wildly, trying to get to the ropes. He found himself adrift in an endless ocean of canvas, no hope for salvation anywhere near.

With no chance of reaching the ropes, Saxon knew he would have to fight his way out of the hold. He couldn’t simply overpower the much larger SDL. He knew he had to calm himself despite the pain. Even if the arm felt like it would break in two, he needed a level head to figure a way to free himself. Reaching with his free arm, he grabbed the far hip of SDL. He wanted to pull him off the arm, but just the sense that Buddy Saxon was up to something caused Sepiroth to release the hold and change tactics.

Back on his feet now, The Red Headed Terror punted Buddy in the face, fearing that he had something planned. The boot nearly knocked a tooth clean out of his mouth, but instead Saxon rolled away with only a busted lip. SDL never even gave him time to check him mouth, lifting him back up and tossing him into a nearby corner.

Placing his forearm across the face of Saxon, Sepiroth stepped back and unloaded a big right onto Buddy. The impact nearly took him off his feet, but the turnbuckles were there to catch him. A second blow left him reeling until SDL lifted him up onto his shoulder and placed the Bournemouth Boy onto the top turnbuckle. Climbing up with him, the two had the arena coming to their feet to see what was about to happen.

Sepiroth had him where he wanted him. He was looking right at his first win in the King of Ages tournament. He had him in a Superplex.

Saxon had him where he wanted him. He was looking right at his first win in the King of Ages tournament. He had him in a Front Suplex.

“They battling up there! This is getting dangerous!”

Cardinal cried out into his microphone but he was drowned out by the crowd as both men came flying off the top rope.

CRASH!

On this night, Buddy Saxon got the upper hand.

The crowd in Denmark roared as the bodies laid helplessly on the mat. Buddy Saxon, the Bournemouth Boy himself, was the first to move. He saw SDL in a daze, staring up at the lightings high above. Crawling inch by inch he worked his way over toward that broken body. The fans were cheering him on, the referee was…well Mark Shields was in the corner finishing his smoke.

He was going to have to hurry though because with one final pull Buddy Saxon was able to drape his arm over his opponent for a pin.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

The Bournemouth Boy rolled over, staring aimlessly as he tried to figure out just what it was going to take to finally pick up that first victory.

Up on his feet, Buddy Saxon lifted Sepiroth off the mat and snuck behind him. Lifting him up, Saxon has him for his version of the Olympic Slam.

SAXON SLAM!

COUNTERED!

Slipping out the back, Sepiroth landed on his feet behind Saxon. When the Bournemouth Boy turned around he was met with a foot to the stomach. All the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him doubled over in pain. SDL pulled him in and flipped him up onto his shoulders. In one smooth motion he brought him down for the Face First Powerbomb he called

PERFECT INSANITY!

With Mark Shields finishing his cigarette and tossing the bud into the crowd, he dropped down to make the cover.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

And like that, a huge weight had been lifted off Sepiroth. It didn’t make him a favorite by any means, but he knew he needed this victory. The Red Headed Terror came through.

For the Bournemouth Boy? He rolled over onto his stomach and slammed his fist into the canvas. Three matches, no victories. All he could do was wonder what went wrong as “Two Birds, One Stone” By Drop Dead Gorgeous played over the announce system. Pulling himself off the mat, his disappointment with himself was clear by the way he carried himself. A few scattered fans tried to cheer for him, but he solemnly made his way to the back. There was always next week Bournemouth Boy. Next week.

ghosts? maybe just one ghost.

   

Backstage. Somewhere utterly random. Ha.

It's not often that Fejona Min found herself frightened by the prospect of a fight, but on this night, the two-time Scorpion Fighting Champion was dreading her next in-ring adventure. Purely because she was not prepared for such an uphill battle. Jeremy Hunt, the man from SlySports, termed it as a way of making things right with Fejona.

Min, on the other hand, saw it as punishment for ruffling Hunt's feathers. And yes, pun intended. You know, Hunt's relationship with Carrion? 'Birdman'? Feathers? Geddit? No? Fuck you.

Anyways. Fejona, with her Scorpion Fighting Title still positioned on her shoulder, walked down the hallway towards her locker-room. There wasn't much time left before her fight against a man presumed dead. 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler, formerly one of Hunt's best prospects under the SlySports banner. After his failure to win at FIGHT NIGHT 2010 and him being bamboozled at COURAGE 116, Jeremy had WAR take care of Weiler behind the scenes.

It appeared as if Mark Weiler survived. Fejona wondered how that was possible. She, with a grimace on her face as she rounded a corner, wondered how Hunt could give Weiler a shot at redemption. Fejona wondered how Hunt could put her in such a position.

Reaching her locker-room, Fejona hastily turned the knob and swung the door open. But out of the corner of her eye, Min spotted something.

Somebody, in fact.

"Hello."

It was Sven Avsbern. Fejona frowned.

She wasn't in the mood for a visitor. "What do you want? I don't have the time."

"Okay, then." Sven responded, before back-pedalling. "We'll do this next week. Best of luck tonight."

And just like that, the Swedish War Machine was gone. Fejona rolled her eyes and stepped into her locker-room.

"I swear, this title belt brings out all the ghosts out of the woodwork."

SLAM!

And now, to the ring! It's time for a match!

Irish Spring versus The SS (#1 Contendership for the Tag Team Titles)

           

After a long closed door discussion with SilverHAWK earlier in the night it seemed as though Cillian O’Callaghan had managed to strike some kind of bargain at getting his hands on the reigning Tag Team Champions. The only thing standing in their way would be the SS; a team that had come to be feared in the tag team division. At least with Arkady within their ranks they were, but nevertheless Vago and Kroenen were still nothing to laugh about.

If Irish Spring could beat the SS tonight they would have their shot at The Entourage and potentially a chance to get their sister back in the future. Cavan shrugged his brother off as he stepped out on the apron letting Cillian begin the match against the smaller, but quicker Kroenen. This was ideal to Cillian as he could only stare at The Hungarian Horror standing on the apron and thanking the sweet Lord that he had drawn his card first.

The two men looked to analyze the situation before jumping head first, but it would be Kroenen that would gain the upper hand first. He leapt toward Cillian driving a knee into his forehead and leveling him to the mats. Back up he would quickly drop an elbow across Cillian’s chest and then up once more shooting toward the ropes he brought down a swift and painful looking leg drop before gaining a quick two count.

Kroenen grabbed Cillian by the hair and pulled him to his feet only to whip him off into a nearby turnbuckle. Anarchy’s Angel attempted a cartwheel back elbow on Cillian, but he had moved out of the way just in time. He leapt across the ring and tagged his brother into the match. Cavan had been assessing the battle within in the ring, and quickly made any entrance. Kroenen looked ready for him as he charged out of the corner.

Cavan ducked under a clothesline, popping up on the other side of Kroenen grabbing him by the back of the neck and dropped him to the mat in an inverted neckbreaker. Kroenen grabbed at his neck in pain and Cavan began driving stiff boots into his midsection before grabbing him by the heading and pulling him back to his feet. Anarchy’s Angel took the only measure he could think of to stop the onslaught by raking his fingers across Cavan’s face.

Barrow roll across the ring and the giant Vago slowly entered the ring. Cavan’s sight finally beginning to come back, he was expecting to great Kroenen when he turned, but instead he ended up nose to chest with the Hungarian Horror. Cavan smiled as Vago attempted a collar and elbow tie-up, but the older O’Callaghan ducked under the move and shot a quick boot into the back of Vago’s knee. The giant didn’t fall; he was merely taken aback for a moment.
Cavan rushed the ropes, but as he came back through Vago quickly turned and slammed him to the mat with a massive sidewalk slam. He pulled Cavan’s leg in for the quick two count, but couldn’t get the victory either. Vago grabbed Cavan by the head and was pulling him back to his feet when all of a sudden Cillian began to enter the ring grabbing the attention referee Roderick Lynch.

The Hungarian Horror’s attention was caught as well, but the one thing that caught his attention the most was when Cavan brought a European uppercut between his legs and connected with his nuts. Cavan quickly made his way over to Cillian, and tagged his brother in. Instead of going to the apron though he rushed Kroenen knocking him off of the apron, and wasn’t that just luck, on the way down his face bounced right off of the steel ring steps.

Cillian quickly entered the ring, with the Hungarian Horror now resting on his knees holding at his junk. Cillian rushed him and The Shin-ing! Cillian quickly rolled back to his corner where Cavan had just climbed back up onto the apron and tagged his brother in. He didn’t enter the ring though, be made his way to the top rope and came crashing down onto Vago with Irish Eyes!

Cavan crawled back around quickly and pulled the behemoth’s leg in for extra leverage. Kroenen tried to quickly crawl back into the ring, but it was too late. Lynch’s hand had fallen for the three count as “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” blasted throughout the arena. Cavan still didn’t look pleased as he bumped shoulders walking past his brother, and the snide remark could be heard from the front rows, “Aye, we’re still only one step closer to getting her back. You best hope we can beat them to get her back boyo.”

Company Men

   

As we returned from the ring, Rud Albion held his head high, as sweat dripped from his brow and hit the floor. He had put himself through one hell of a workout in preparation for his match against The Machine. Kellen Masters. A man more infamous for what he did in the ring, then what he didn’t say while out of it.

And if he could defeat Masters… he’d be the number one seed. At least until the main event, when Keith had the chance to regain his poll position. But still…

The number ONE seed.

But Albion wasn’t alone in his excitement, wondering what might be with a win over the King of Submissions. Instead, a certain red-head was breathing down his sore neck, with a discontent look on his face.

No, that red-head wasn’t Buddy Saxon either.

“Good match out there, aye? I think I got it.” Sepiroth Du Luc seethed with sardonic venom. Albion turned his body towards the Red-Headed Warrior, not impressed in the least by the man who had gone more then one-hundred and ten Courage’s between appearances on the show.

“Got what, my friend?” The Bronze Lion questioned in reply, even though he hated he had only been reason to dislike the man who was now walking in front of him, he was ever the Gentlemen Grappler.

“No, not your friend. I just smeared that kid against the canvas.” SDL sneered, twisting Albion’s polite greeting against him, in return to discuss his win over Buddy Saxon moments ago.

“I got momentum, when it matters most.” SDL seethed, as he looked Albion up and down, “Now I don’t know why a white shirt like you would want anything to do with SlySports and the way they do business, but after my win tonight… you can bet your ass they’re thinking about me more and more, having already forgotten about you.”

“And my ability to STILL become the number one seed?” Albion replied, as he stood to look and get as eye-to-eye with SDL as possible, a look of shock and bewilderment at SDL’s internet message board source of logic and reasoning.

“Keep dreaming, you’re swimming with sharks now.” SDL growled, “See, even in my losses, I fought with the kind of ruthlessness that’ll shows SlySports what I’ve been doing since I got here… with your win, you’ve defied expectations when you should have been creatin’ them.”

“Slapping around the little guy is a reputation you want, aye?” The Kingdom’s Keeper shot back with a grin.

The Red-Headed Terror gritted his teeth. The only other King of Ages participant with a noted interest in SlySport’s offer, as of last week, seethed as he stood over Rud Albion.

“Chavez was an annoyance! But he was an annoyance I dealt with! A small fly that I swatted, slapping aside his sideshow attraction worthy dress-up show along with him. Saxon was a footnote! And whatever happened, I’ve got plans that’re far bigger then this wrestling organization…” The look of utter anger and incredulous rage had twisted into smugness, almost, as he turned his nose up at without a doubt a pure wrestler in Albion.

“So you need SlySports more then they need you.” The former ACW Tag Team Champion spat back at his rival for SlySport’s attention. An attention that he still wasn’t even quite sure he wanted yet… it was more born out of curiosity.

SDL spat out to the side, looking Albion up and down once again.

“I can use ‘em yeah, but when King of Ages is said and done… they’ll want ME, more then they’ll ever want YOU.”

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - MATCHPLAY 3.4
Rud Albion vs. Kellen 'The Machine' Masters
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

Rud Albion was looking to be the first King of Ages participant to gain a perfect record, after first defeating the other half of former ACW Tag Team Champions, England’s Best… before surprising many with a huge upset victory over self-proclaimed ACW Hall of Famer Superstar Vince Jacobs. Albion had lost his second match in ACW, to SVJ. Now he could only hope to defeat the first man he had ever wrestled in ACW, Keith Scott Zimmerman, after he was done worrying about his opponent tonight… because Rud Albion was…

The Bronze Lion...

The Brummie Bulldog...

The Kingdom's Keeper...

The one man Revolution...

England's Own shifted on the inside of the black curtain, his muscles flexed under the spandex suit he wore, as the hooded robe kept him sweating. Rud caught a glimpse out within a space in the curtain, past the SlyTron and out into the crowd and towards the ring. He breathed for the grand competition of these walls.

His good friend and former tag team partner, Buddy Saxon, had lost once again… but it wasn’t something that Rud could be worrying about. Neither could he worry about the King of Submissions… no… he couldn’t hear any of it… he didn’t here any of it, save for one sound…

That of a single violin. As it reached a peak and then hit the crescendo, Rud stepped out to greet the crowd. His head was lowered under his hood, and the lights where dimmed. The crowd gave quite a nice reaction, though it wasn't the biggest of the night so far, they still knew this man, knew what he was capable of in that ring.

All of a sudden lights started to flicker in cue with the sound of the violin warping into an electric guitar riff.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Shot shot by both sides
on the run to the outside of everything
shot shot by both sides
they must have come to a secret understanding!

As "Shot By Both Sides" by Magazine kicked into high gear, Rud flung back his hood and roared upward, his arms at his sides and his fists clenched as his robe fell to the stage. Blue sparks rained from the ceiling as red and white pyros crossed in front of the SlyTron. The Kingdom's Keeper knelt down, for a moment, flash bursts and flood lights bursting alongside the entrance, just as The Bronze Lion burst forward himself. He dove and rolled into the ring, popping up to his feet. As the fans gave him a nice applause, he applauded back to them at all four sides, before turning to the entrance way.

Where Kellen Masters walked out to music, no lights… only fan fair.

The King of Submissions had redebuted in ACW, for the first time in an All-Star ring in more then a year, to the sounds of “Sympathy for the Devil”. Not tonight. Not since. SilverHAWK had asked if he had known if Alias was still alive, Joe Bishop had done the same… but all that Masters had given them was silence.

Kellen Masters wasn’t hear to discuss a thing.

He was hear to explain for anyone.

The King of Submissions was given a chance to wrestle, so he had taken it.

As for how long he would stick around, as he was done? That was another question.

Masters entered the ring, eyeing Albion with a knowing glance before turning to survey the crowd. Within this moment, he shared his first words with an ACW crowd, since returning. Simply he grabbed Tommy Vale’s announcing mic and spoke.

“I don’t speak much, but I wrestle an awful lot. What I need to say, is what I say in the ring.

There are those in this organization, in my short time back, that have proven they want to wrest control for there own, away from those that know the wrestling world.

These people know I am talking to them, when I say… if Alias is still somewhere out there, you should be afraid.

You should worry about your future, not the future of ACW. The future of ACW is already in good hands.”

Rud Albion, though taken as surprise by Masters’ statement as many others where, could only wonder if the statement was at least a vague threat to him. Albion had taken an interest in the recent promises of Hunt, on behalf of SlySports. Masters let go of the mic, and returned his glance to Rud Albion, as the bell was rung to start the match.

A match for either of these two men to gain a perfect record in the King of Ages Matchplay!

DING DING DING

Kellen turned around just in time to receive a Union Jack’d wrestling boot to the gut and then a facelock, which would turn itself into a snap suplex. The two men really sold the force, as Masters instantly grabbed for his back and flopped around on his back.

It was little wonder Albion was winning this one off the get go, as the Danish crowd was squarely behind the Kingdom’s Keeper and his much more fan friendly approach. Albion was back onto his feet and lifted Kellen back to the standing position. The two were close to the ropes, so Rud sent a forearm strike to the head of Masters, forced him into the ropes, and then Irish whipped him. Upon his return, the King of Submissions was treated to some drop toe hold onto the bottom rope via the resourceful Rud Albion. Now, it might have been out of the man’s nature to look this mean, him being the Gentlemen Grappler, but he knew the second Kellen Masters got his offense in, he would pay for it either way.

Kellen grabbed at his throat, rolling around the ring and trying to roll onto the floor, but there would be no such luck as Albion grabbed him by his foot and dragged him back into the center of the ring. Masters was onto his knees, and tried to send some strikes Rud’s way, but he wasn’t having it. Albion picked up Masters and was quick to lock on a side headlock, but the Machine pushed Rud into the ropes and bent down for a back body drop on the rebound. However, Rud grabbed him by the arm and swung to nail a seamless neckbreaker.

The Machine had enough of that, and was quick to roll out of the ring with his neck on fire. He wasn’t expecting this, not from Rud Albion. Albion had gained an evident edge. And as he stood on the outside, rubbing his neck and trying to plot his next move, the Brummie Bulldog was in that ring waiting patiently. Kellen looked over at Trent Savage, and TS simply shrugged. Masters seemed finally collected, and reentered the ring. The two fought with a tie up before Masters quickly threw Rud into the corner and sent some scintillating chops his way.

Albion grabbed at his chest as he sat in the corner, his back resting against the turnbuckle. Masters was quick to start ramming his right knee into the face of Albion, trying to slowly pummel his skull like a soft melon. Kellen then took his knee and simply forced Albion’s face to the side as he exerted his weight into his pull. TS again tried to maintain order, but Masters stopped before he could get ahead of himself.

Masters was quick to lift his opponent up and Irish whip him, going for a German suplex on the rebound. However, Albion fought it off and reversed, grabbing Kellen Masters and going for a German of his own.

Masters was quick to reverse out of the German upon landing his feet to the mat, and went with the go behind and sent Rud Albion into the mat with a waistlock takedown with a float over into the headlock. But it was early into the hold, so Albion instead pushed and scissored his legs around Masters’ neck for the reversal. The Machine made the quick escape with a push off and the two were once again on their feet.

The two grabbed each other in another tie up, but it would be Masters who won as he aggressively grabbed at Albion’s leg and went to his knees, hitting a sniff fireman’s carry. Masters was quick to go for the bow and arrow back breaker hold, locking it in and forcing his power over Albion.

The stress put on because of the calculating hold was enormous as Rud Albion struggled to get free, knowing that even though he was a former ACW Tag Team Champion he was dealing with the man who had defeated Max Danger in an infamous Ultimate Submissions match, finally got his arms out and around the bottom rope to break off the hold. Masters made sure to hold on until the four and nine-tenths count.

Upon letting go, Kellen stood up and began sending kicks into the back of Rud Albion before bouncing off the ropes and dropping a Harley Race like knee right into the back. To say that Kellen was now in firm control was a slight understatement. Brandon stayed there, continuing to grind the knee into the back of his opponent.

After getting up, Albion rolled on his back a few times, trying to dull the pain that was growing in his back. Kellen was not playing around. Bringing Albion to his feet, he cuffed him across the face with an open-palm slap.

SMACK!

Have you ever seen the Terry Funk/Ric Flair I Quit match, where Funk had slapped Flair only for Flair to just grab at Funk’s throat in a very sick fashion? Well, rewind that, and think of Rud Albion doing the same thing, but instead having it be a trachea choke.

THUD!

Trent Savage would have gotten right into the thick of things, but Albion was too busy dropping the King of Submissions like a bad habit with his trachea hold STO move. That would be the One Man Revolution, his nod to own favorite wrestler in Rook Black, and that would also be Kellen’s sure fire victory and King of Ages supremacy being thrown into a brick wall like a piece of Jell-O out of Roy Halladay’s throwing arm.

Rud Albion was quick to pop up, then frantically dive to make the cover.

One!

TWO!

THR-KICK OUT~!

KICK-FUCKIN’-OUT! At the absolute last second. And now, Rook was visibly angry and in shock. There was no way some man of few words but maaany punches who was no talk and all walk could survive that unknown piece from his weapon’s chest. The fans booed heavily as TS held up the two fingers to signify the count. Kellen was slow to roll out of the ring and fall from the apron right onto the floor without putting a leg out or anything. On the floor on the outside, The Machine just rolled there, the pain in his back and neck reaching the most intense levels he had not felt since Legends III. But he was still in the game, and was still ready to do business.

If only he could lay around for a couple more hours.

Albion pulled himself up, his entire system just thrown out of wack. He’d thrown everything he could and it still didn’t get it done. Against Buddy Saxon, in a tag team match, or even against Vince Jacobs, he’d have been declared victory and supreme ruler. But tonight, he had come head first into a tough and rough son of a bitch.

Masters got up with aid of the guardrail, and rolled back into the ring, where he grabbed Albion with a facelock and suplexed The One, The Only, making sure to get that knee up.

Kellen spun his legs and was once again back onto his feet. He went for another suplex, but his sore back just wasn’t going to go with him. He slapped at it and nailed a snap suplex.

Another spin and Masters was back up, this time making sure to compensate for his sore back and nailed what could have been the final nail in the coffin, with a third snap suplex.

Masters grabbed the leg and hooked it.

One!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Kellen Masters didn’t argue, he was minutes away from being the new number one seed, with a definite possibility of staying as such depending on what KSZ would accomplish in the main event against Khristain Keller, instead going to the turnbuckles and climbing onto the second rope, waiting for Albion to stand up. When he finally did, Masters aimed his arm and leapt with his left leg. Flying lariat time.

But before Kellen Masters knew his flying lariat had missed and now he could only gulp as Rud Albion got in position and finally put the capper to this match.

THUDCRUNCH~!

Red Coat, boy.

Rud Albion made the lazy cover, praying for the best.

One!

TWO!

THREE~!

Ding Ding Ding!

RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH~!!

When "Shot By Both Sides" by Magazine kicked up onto the speakers, the arena exploded in cheers. In one night, Rud Albion went from being mid card fodder and a former tag team specialist who got lucky against a man that had already beat him to proving to every single person in attendance and in TV Land just exactly who he was.

He was Rud Albion, an underrated talent who was stuck being played by the sport. So he’d show the suits in the back, and the doubters on the roster just how damn valuable he was.

I've Got A Bone To Pick With The Number One Seed

       

Victorious and on his knees, the sweet taste of glory coursed through his body.

Kellen Masters slid out of the ring and allowed Albion his moment; England’s Own was 3-0 in his Matchplay quest. Unprecedented. As it stood with just one Matchplay bout to go, Rud Albion was THE number one seed.

A huge grin on his face.

That was until, out of nowhere…

SUPERSTAR KICK~!!

From over the barrier came “Superstar” Vince Jacobs and the adoration being shown by the crowd for the Englishman’s achievement turned to jeering and anger within a moment.

“Pull the wool over my eyes? Ch’yeah.” Jacobs snarled as he stood over Albion.

Last week, Jacobs’ own campaign in the King of Ages Matchplay rounds hadn’t gone so well, couple that with his loss to Z tonight and that made for one very unhappy Superstar and Hall of Fame candidate.

He began to pace around the ring, cursing and berating everyone and their mother for his misfortune, before he turned his anger again on the tired and beaten Rud Albion who was beginning to stir.

Jacobs shoved a boot mockingly into Albion’s face, and shoved him away.

And that’s when he slid out of the ring. Mercy at last.

Well, for a moment there that’s what Denmark thought, until Jacobs shoved the ring announcer aside and folded up his steel chair.

A savage grin sealed his stoney look. We’d seen this in recent weeks when he’d gone medieval on Jade Argent, and this was no different.

Wildly, Jacobs crunched the steel chair into the lower back of Rud Albion repeatedly until the Englishman was flat on his chest, then the Superstar came off the ropes and stamped on the chair which had been left prone on Albion’s back.

YOU SUCK~!

YOU SUCK~!

Jacobs pulled the dreary legless Albion to his feet once more and stood in front of him, steel chair poised in hand, winding up to swing… when JADE ARGENT flew over the top rope with a SPRINGBOARD LEG LARIAT~!!

And the crowd went WILD!

Argent ferociously laid into Jacobs with rights and lefts and more rights until Jacobs managed to collect himself enough to get the HELL out of that ring!

But the Australian Opportunist wasn’t done… He sprinted for Jacobs, leapt over the top rope and landed on his feet on the outside.

Initially it looked like he would be going for his trademark plancha suicida, but seeing Jacobs scale the security railings and make his run into the crowd rendered that decision pointless.

Argent was satisfied, though. A broad smile crossed his lips as he watched the replay on the SlyTron, and a groggy Rud Albion gave him a nod from his knees in the middle of the squared circle.

C O M M E R C I A L S

STANDING 15-COUNT - ACW SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE
'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler vs. Fejona Min ©
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

Usually, the Champion comes out after the Challenger for a title defense. But this wasn't a usual title defense. Fejona Min stormed out from the back with a ton of vim and vigour, but there was concern written all over her face. Despite two very potent weapons in her grasp (Scorpion Fighting Title and 'Barb'), the fans were thinkin' Fejona days as Champion were numbered. And once A Perfect Circle's Pet blared over the speakers, it was confirmed: Jeremy Hunt was bluffing about 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler. And while he did look extremely beaten up and rather scruffy -- a departure from how composed he used to look -- Mark Weiler still commanded a ton of shock and awe from everyone in the arena. This was his opportunity to make amends with SlySports and Jeremy Hunt.

As for Fejona Min? This represented her toughest challenge yet. Weiler appeared to be just a big of a threat to her as Omega, and everybody knew how many tries it took the Rogue Slayer to finally get one over Omega. With everything to lose, Fejona took the fight to Weiler, drilling him with the Scorpion Fighting Title (leaving 'Barb' in the corner of the ring) as soon as the Scourge of the Squared Circle stepped into the ring! But just as shockingly, Weiler got right back up and roared at Min. Clearly, Fejona was supremely under-prepared for what was panning out to be the fight of her life.

Mark Weiler took over from there, smacking the Rogue Slayer around like she was nothing. And for Min to look completely out of her element? Hell, even Omega couldn't do that. The Alpha Dog underlined his intention to claim the Scorpion Fighting Title with a bursting shoulder tackle that sent Fejona flying through the ropes and out of the ring! ACW's Original Femme Fatale found herself narrowly escaping contact with the steel steps, and instead busted out a desperation dropkick when Weiler approached her on the outside. A kip-up onto Weiler's shoulders was followed up with a hurricarana that had Mark tasting the steel steps seconds later, and Fejona went for what she hoped would be the killing blow with her famed hurricane kick, which thoroughly rattled the Alpha Dog.

Would that be enough to keep Weiler down for the standing 15-count? The answer, unfortunately for Fejona, was no. Min, who actually worked together with Weiler and Jack Harris at FIGHT NIGHT 2010 in a plot to pry the Scorpion Fighting Title out of Omega's heads, was completely aghast when Mark answered the count at 8. She ducked underneath the ring to find weapons, but found herself being dragged out by Weiler! Mark went on to pummel Fejona into a near comatose state, and followed up with a cracking spinebuster with a difference; Fejona's back connected with Weiler's re-inforced (with a metal brace) knee. Min managed to answer the count at 8, but was immediately knocked back down courtesy of a flying lariat from the ring apron! This time 'round, Fejona stayed down until 12, and Mark Weiler felt he was close.

After that? Well, all hell broke loose. Weiler turned up the heat, bringing a chair into the mix. Fejona played the role of the scared mouse, running for her life and safety. The Alpha Dog was surprisingly mobile for his size, and maimed Min as best as he could. In the space of four minutes, the ringside area resembled something out of a plane crash wreckage site. And that was before Mark Weiler, coming close on two subsequent occasions in keeping Fejona down for the count, brought a table into the mix. The Rogue Slayer was not about to go quietly into the good night though, and stole something from Renaud Cardinal at the Broadcast Booth. Within moments, everybody saw Fejona Min drag herself onto the ring apron and try to spike a PENCIL through Weiler's right eye!

Only problem was, Mark wasn't stupid. He sidestepped out of the way and guided Fejona Min into the security barricade. Seconds later, Fejona found herself being POWERBOMBED through the table that the Scourge of the Squared Circle had set up! Weiler was far from a fan favourite, but he basked in the adulation of the fans while bastard referee Mark Shields counted him to victory. Or at least, that was supposed to be the plan. Supposed being the keyword.

Somehow, Fejona answered the count at 14. And a half. Maybe it was three-quarters. Mark Weiler couldn't quite fathom how Fejona did it, but the story was developing -- Fejona was not going to give up. That prompted Mark Weiler to rummage under the ring, and once he produced a steel chain, most fans thought the end was nigh. A chain-assisted Dog's Bite was what Weiler had planned, but Fejona Min and her pesky pencil put a stop to that. Running purely on fumes, Fejona stabbed Weiler in his right tricep with the pencil and drove her knee into the side of Mark's face. That was enough to sent Weiler down, but only to his knees.

That wasn't a problem for Min. She retrieved 'Barb' from the ring, and went on to bludgeon the Alpha Dog with the acursed weapon. 13 times. Yes, indeed. 13 strikes to the head with 'Barb'. Each one more terrifying than the last. Once it was over, Fejona watched and counted along with everybody else in the arena. At the count of 12, Weiler began to stir... but that was the last he would do. The bell rang seconds later, and Min dropped to her knees. Fejona had survived one of the most brutal fights of the year thus far against a behemoth of a monster, and she walked away with the knowledge that she had perhaps condemned Mark Weiler to banishment.

dig deep

Bleeding 'ell, I can't believe I lost again.

Buddy Saxon, ladies and gentlemen. The poor Bournemouth Boy stumbled down the hallway en route to the washroom, and he looked like a very sad panda. Even the saddest panda in the world would look at Buddy with a healthy dose of pity.

Running a hand through his ginger hair, Buddy stopped in his tracks and slowly dropped to his knees. Another week, another defeat. 0-3 was his record, and it was looking increasingly likely that his challenge to become the 2010 King Of Ages was becoming an afterthought.

And as Saxon continued to ruminate over what went wrong, the massive frame of Joe Bishop came into view.

"You okay, Buddy?" Bishop asked, noticing that the Bournemouth Boy looked more pale than usual.

Saxon managed a half-smile. "A-Aye, I'm alright as can be. Just wondering how I lost to Sepiroth, that's all. I don't suppose you'd know how the quarter-finals for the tournament shape out? Because I could use some advance notice to do some scouting and whatnot."

Bishop grinned back at Buddy, though not convinced of the young man's frame of mind. Even if the right-hand man to the GM knew what the fixtures for the quarter-finals of the tournament were, he couldn't in good conscience reveal them so casually. For one, SilverHAWK would probably have a fit.

"Unfortunately not, Buddy. But don't worry about it, man!" Joe reasoned, trying to lift Buddy's spirits. "You just gotta have confidence and believe that the win is around the corner. Dig deep, man. I know you've got it in you."

Bishop liked Buddy Saxon. He'd become a fan of the Bournemouth Boy right when the latter and Rud Albion began their remarkable run as ACW Tag Team Champs. So it was disheartening to see Buddy so down in the dumps. A wider smile from Saxon made Joe feel a little better about the situation. Joe gave Buddy one last thumbs-up for the road, before taking off the hallway.

Yet, once Joe Bishop was out of sight, Buddy Saxon resumed looking completely crestfallen. Until.

Until.

Until he closed his eyes and thought about what a wise man said to him.

"Z was right." Buddy concluded. "I have to stop moping around. I just have to pull up my socks and try harder.

I CAN DO IT~!"

Standing up, The Bournemouth Boy beamed and continued on towards his locker-room. He had reached into his memory bank and recalled what his mentor, the nefarious Z, said to him last week. And Buddy resolved to take action.

Once Saxon disappeared around the corner, though, somebody else stepped into plain view. A giant.

Better known as Kesavan, Z's Mongolian bodyguard.

"Oh, the Boss will love this."

Hmmm. Curious. What did Kesavan mean, exactly? Hmmmmmmm.

Malk Al-Haq Vs. Midnight Cowboy - Spirit of ACW Championship

   

Malk Al Haq brooded as he walked down the ramp, looking a little more sweaty than usual. The stakes for this match were big, but mainly were a byproduct of his own doing. He relentlessly attacked Cowboy and harangued him to Jenna when not in his presence -- soon, talking was not enough and he found himself attacking stars like John Sarsgaard just to send a message to the towering Texan. Would he be up to the task to derail Midnight Cowboy's freight train of success? His bland and shaky entrance was not the most convincing display of confidence.

The arena collapsed into complete darkness. The sound of galloping horse hooves rumbled out of the speakers. The bass tones shook the chairs and bodies within the Skjern Bank Arena. Spurs clanked as a tall figure emerged amidst the smoke wafting up from the metal stage grating. The text "Midnight Cowboy" slithered onto the big screen, rendered in smoky letters. The crowd surged to their feet, erupting into a fury of cheers! The shadowy figure on the stage bent over before leaning back and thrusting his arms into the air; The house lights popped on in unison with the jangly, boisterous guitar of "Electric Rodeo" by Shooter Jennings!

It’s been sixteen weeks since I’ve been back home
I make a lot of money I don’t know where it goes
All I know is the guitar and the bottle...

Midnight Cowboy kept his black cowboy hat-wearing head down, the lights casting a deep, long shadow across his face, save for the pearly-white sneer that fought through. He enthusiastically slapped a few high fives before shoving his hands in his blue jeans, his muscles rippling beneath a sleeveless "Midnight Cowboy" t-shirt.

My daddy was a loaded gun
He said: "It ain’t no fun livin’ on the run, son"
But everywhere I go trouble seems to follow...

Midnight Cowboy stopped ringside, and in one swift motion took off his hat off and flung it into the crowd. He promptly stomped and wiped his boots on the matting, as if he was stepping into a sacred place, like church services back home. He grabbed onto the middle rope and pulled himself up onto the lip, turning to the crowd and grinning like a mischievous child who got away with something. He nodded his head in acknowledgment of their support before entering the ring. He took a few steps in the ring with a menacing stagger before heading to a corner and leaning casually against it, arms folded, adjusting a toothpick in his teeth.

"Traditional rules?" Malk grunted, "How creative."

Midnight Cowboy chuckled, gritting the toothpick between his straight rows of white teeth.

"It ain't gon' take no smoke an' mirrors t' re'rrange that turban of yours."

The bell didn't finish vibrating from its commencing toll before Malk Al-Haq pulled some dastardly, dubious shit, spitting in the champions face and raking his eyes! Bunson burner heat radiated through the crowd into one collective boo. Malk whipped Cowboy off the ropes and his elbow connected sharply against Cowboy's jaw. A trailing clothesline downed the 6'7 Texan.

Malk's face relaxed and he nodded to himself in assurance that he was being effective against the Spirit of ACW Champion. He flopped Cowboy on his belly and straddled his back, yanking back in a convincing Camel Clutch! Midnight Cowboy was now on the receiving end of a move he used countless times to break wild horses. He shook his head wildly, breaking free, but his momentum driving his face downward, bouncing off the mat. He shrugged aside the impact and slid out of the hold, diving onto Malk with a sharp flurry of fists!

Referee Leon Hurst broke Cowboy's onslaught out of fear that the Champion would beat Al-Haq into a defenseless sack of pulp. The champion was not pleased, standing up and arguing with the ACW referee. In the meantime, Malk rose to a crouch and attempted a low blow.

But there was no one home!

Now that's not to say testicles are people that leave the hourse from time to time, or that Midnight Cowboy didn't have testicles. No, Malk Al Haq's GPS coordinates were woefully wrong and instead of thrusting between MC's thighs, he rose a bulky arm alongside Cowboy's leg, ending at his hip. MC instinctively locked his arm and kneed him flush on the face, knocking him backwards. Leon Hurst flashed him a look.

"I'ma roughneck!" Midnight Cowboy panted, "Read mah damn bio!"

The crowd blurted its approval as Midnight Cowboy motioned Malk Al Haq to get up. He put Al Haq in a grapple, stuffing his head in his armpit before twisting and falling into a seated position with an effective neckbreaker! Midnight Cowboy brought down the hard soles of his boots down on Malk Al Haq, who was scurrying towards the rope, pawing for safety. Midnight Cowboy quit his attack and spun on his heels, blasting his own chest with his palms. His adrenaline was contagious among the capacity crowd, which grew in their enthusiasm as he hoisted Malk Al Haq into the air and brought him down with a side body drop. He stayed put with a loose pin.

1

2

Malk brought up his shoulder limply, taking a deep breath and trying to convince himself of his adequacy against the confident veteran. Midnight Cowboy put his hands on his knees and sneered his pearly white sneer before climbing to his feet to regroup. Malk Al Haq's face was dotted with sweat, flushed like a Roasting pig, while Midnight Cowboy appeared tranquil and in control. He stood and circled the ring, nodding at the crowd, his eyes vague. Maybe he was thinking about the new kid on the block Ryan Billows, trouncin' 'round like he th' cock of the walk. Or the countless others who had been sniping at him. But then he drifted back to Malk, th' cowardly good fer nothin' Arab who done attacked mah person... and Sarsgaard. That was the focus: ending this once and for all.

Malk Al Haq's mind was in the right place and he rushed up and kneed Cowboy in the kidney. Cowboy craned his back backwards, to which Malk Al Haq dropped and sweeped his legs, causing him to fall back! Stealth pin!

1

2

NO! Cowboy broke out of the pin and was spittin' mad, trying to get up but Malk Al Haq trying to maintain control with several blows to Cowboy's face. He grappled with Cowboy and after some back and forth leaning, squeezed the champs neck and dove forward with a bulldog! MC sold the move perfectly, arching his body forward so that his weight and momentum would cause him to bounce off the mat. He bounced and spun onto his back, drawing a forearm over his eyes to block the light.

Malk Al Haq turned around and bellowed at the audience, which booed lustily and flashed him their thumbs down. Several spectators were distracted, their hate turning to cheers as they saw John Sarsgaard let in through a ringside gate. He hopped forward on crutches and looked up at Malk Al Haq, locking eyes. Sarsgaard folded his arms, an insurance policy for the champ. Gimpy or not, the Hands of Steel would be flying if the Texan couldn't get the job done!

Malk Al Haq closed his eyes and chuckled at the boos before turning serious and doing a cutthroat taunt as he lifted the shaky Midnight Cowboy. He quickly departed to a corner, which he climbed and turned towards Cowboy. MC had not been thoroughly subdued, and he pursued. Before the 295lb challenger could take flight, Cowboy banged on the top rope! This time, the testicles were home, and smashed against the rigid corner pad. Malk leaned forward as if to fall, but MC stopped him and got a bright idea. He slowly climbed the rope, grappling with Malk. The two climbed up a few ropes and Midnight Cowboy hoisted him backwards with a fisherman DDT into the ring! The loud, horrible impact made some spectators shudder, others relishing the violent landing. Midnight Cowboy immediately sat up and pumped his fist.

But the work was not done. The Midnight Cowboy popped to his feet and lifted Al Haq, who was caught taking a big gulp, as if a final recognition of being overmatched. He even flashed a clueless, questioning glance at Cowboy, who could have won moments before with a pin. But tonight wasn't about wins, and losses. It was about sending a message, and nothing said "leave me the fuck alone" more than one particular move in the Texan's arsenal.

VOICES AFTER MIDNIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

1

2

3!

Hurst handed him his belt and MC slung it over his shoulder took a few steps back, eyes locked on Malk Al-Haq's motionless body. Satisfied, Sarsgaard clapped his hands politely and and slowly exited on his crutches through a side gate.

"'pology accepted. G'night Irene." Midnight Cowboy said to his fallen foe.

But suddenly, the arena gasped in unison as the lights went out!

"April Suits" by Taproot serenaded the audience, which rose to a fever pitch of venom!

The lights snapped on, and there he was, the Jack of All Trades standing at the top of the ramp.

Ryan Billows.

Billows bucked towards an unruly fan.

"I'll kill you," he snapped, and for a brief moment, the fan believed him. His eyes narrowed to slits and his face turned towards the Spirit of ACW Champion leaning over the top rope, unimpressed.

No words were said, only glares and gamely smiles. Midnight Cowboy motioned out into the ring politely like someone hosting a party, inviting the upstart Superstar inside. Billows made the universal "I'm wearing an imaginary title belt on my waist" gesture, flexing his neck. He wasn't going to waste his talents tonight on a worn out old man.

But next week?

Next week seemed like the perfect time to stake his claim on Cowboy's silver!

Something Rotten, etc.

   

"Just meet me at the bottom of this fuckin' hole, of this Smerkin-whatever Arena, so we can make sure no one is watching. If this place has a boiler room, or somewhere with a door that we can lock, well all the fuckin' better."

The words from Keller hadn't entirely given Carrion reason to be calm about where he now was. Water could be heard dripping in the corner of the large, dark room underneath the Skjern Bank Arena. Large machines hummed within the arena's foundation. Air conditioning, water cooling, the usual machines you would find in a basement... just with the power to supply upwards of twenty-five hundred people with the necessary amenities. Then again, this was a man who looked like a vulture, this was Koschei the Deathless. He didn't need to be calm, fore it was never something he brought to others. He held the Black Title and with that Black Title, he brought chaos and destruction along for the ride with him.

As Carrion crouched in anticipation for Keller's arrival, he could almost hear a rumble... the water of the mighty Skjern river whip through this old railway town.

Well... it was either the river, or a coming flood of violence.

Shuffling could be heard in the dark corners, across from the doors, but Carrion chose to ignore it for ow.

The sound... a rumble... if it where a train coming down the tracks, it was running away on itself.

The door cracked, letting light in from the stairway outside of it, and then swung itself fully open.

Khristain Keller wasn't going to be meeting Carrion here tonight. No, instead... it was WAR.

There was something rotten here, and it wasn't the previously fowl smelling Carrion.

The large Russian behemouth did not smile, no instead he was all business. He cracked his knuckles as he entered the room. Standing just inside the doorway. Not yet acclimating this eyes to the darkness of the room, he spoke in a broken and heavy accent.

"Carrion. Who and where ever you might be at. Keller will not be with us tonight. You see, Mr. Hunt and the fuck," shorthand for Keller, naturally, "They have a deal. That deal is centered around the Black Title. The Black Title belongs to us."

Son of a bitch, Keller was one of Hunt's Cunts?

Carrion didn't have to worry about Keller working with SlySports now, he didn't have time to worry about Keller evidently being one of Hunt's Cunts. No, all Carrion the Deathless had to do right now, was act on instinct because US did not simply pertain to the perspective of WAR and Jeremey Hunt on this current situation.

No, it meant that WAR had brought company to this little meet-up, and they appeared as WAR walked further into the room towards Carrion.

Namely, Abraham Swift and William T. Rex... Abilities. Not just the black and white duo though, as they walked into the room behind WAR, rustling for a fight as sadistic sneers adorned their faces.

"You a bird with broken wings and we need to put you out of your misery."

And then she arrived, the final player in our execution scene. ACW's Lady MacBeth (I know that it's the Scottish Play, but you aren't going to see me caller her Gertrude... just keeping with the general theme). She might have agreed to do this after making further deals with Hunt, but Fejona Min had ulterior motives for wanting to rid ACW of Carrion and his Black Title.

"Remember what I said after I gave Omega quite the shock last week... that I'd deal with you later? Now, is the time."

The Scorpion Fighting Champion, still looking like she'd been in a train crash following her dance with Mark Weiler earlier, flexed her taped fingers as she procured the cattle prod once again and flipped the switch. An electrical burst filled the room, bringing light to all those who would be involved in this impromptu fight.

Including the one man who the Carrion knew would want to be here. A man who, brought to light by the electric sparks of the cattle prod, brought a halt to the man known as WAR and the two men known as Abilities who stood by his side. See, of all those in ACW, he was without a doubt the easiest to motivate to get into a fight.

He didn't need a reason to be here.

Though hell, he had a of a lot of those.

Almost as many reasons as he had scars.

He was OMEGA.

Even though he and Carrion had battled one of the more brutal and pure fights in ACW, in the weeks since the second Fight Night, the way that it had gone down didn't engender hate among the two. No, one was just too damn crazy and the other seemed to be completely insane.

Omega roared forward at the four imposing figures in front of him, not thinking twice about the consequences... just thinking of the violence that he would be able to inflict. Carrion was soon to follow him, the Black Title dragging behind in his left hand. Fejona Min roared as she whipped her electrified baton forward... and before the blood could spill...

Before SlySports could get into too much trouble due to excessive violence not suitable for anything but pay-per-view... COURAGE 119 cut away to the last set of commercials for the evening.

C O M M E R C I A L S

verdict

   

"Hh. Malk Al-Haq. Come, take a seat."

Z looked up and saw the Babylonian Overlord, still drenched in sweat, standing in the doorway of his locker-room. With a visible gulp, Malk Al-Haq stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Tentatively, Malk approached Z and took a seat on the vacant chair across from him. Z, despite the mask which disguised most of his face, didn't look overly happy to see Malk, seeing how as the latter was UNABLE to unseat Midnight Cowboy as the Spirit Of ACW Champion.

Al-Haq took a deep breath and opened his mouth, surely to explain himself. But the Masked Enigma raised up his right hand. "Now, now. Let me do the talking here, Malk. See, I'm a reasonable person.

I recognise effort. I don't look at a singular failure and dwell on the fact that it is indeed a failure. I take into consideration what happened leading up to the failure. And as far as you are concerned, Malk, I understand that you did the best that you could. Perhaps you WERE a bit rattled by Cowboy's mind games, as much as you will staunchly deny it.

At the end of the day, Malk, you fought a good fight. Not perfect. Good. Ehhh, a step above satisfactory. What I've come to gather about you, Malk, is that you have potential. More than even you know. And you might think that you know what to do to get better... but you need a guiding hand.

Which is why, Malk, I've happy to announce -- you're hereby included in the cabal."

Malk blinked. He was sure that he'd be reamed out by Z, and perhaps even been ordered to commit suicide or something. The Babylonian Overlord and current king of the All-Star Academy knew through heresy about the perils of doing business with Z. Hence, this was a surprising twist.

Judging by the smirk that began to form on Z's minimally-exposed face, though, Al-Haq felt there was more to come.

"However, there will be a slight change in plans as far as your role is concerned. Are you ready to hear me out?"

Malk used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead and nodded. The current US Champ was cautious, wondering what Z had to say.

The Caped Crusader dragged himself -- and his chair by token -- closer to Malk. "Okay, so, I am aware that this might not seem fair or even astute, but I will give my reasoning. After we're done here, I want you to take the rest of the night off.

And on your way back to the States for the next All-Star Academy event, I want you to alter your mindset to get used to being in the Academy for the long haul. Meaning, as far as actual ACW business is concerned, you won't have to worry about it for at least the next couple of months."

Malk leaned back in his chair. That was... not good.

"Can I ask why?" Al-Haq finally spoke, trying to keep himself composed. "Why did you arrive at this decision?"

Z chuckled. "Glad you asked. I half-expected you to fly off the handle.

Now, see, the All-Star Academy is going to become very crucial in the upcoming war and as the United States Champion... you are considered the top dog in the Academy. I need you to hold on to your United States Title and maintain your status as the top dog there.

You won't be alone, I'm sure you know. And with the ghosts of the United States Title's past suddenly coming out of the woodwork to get a piece of you, I'm certain you will relish the opportunity to cement yourself as one of the best that's ever held on to that title belt."

With narrowed eyes, Malk scanned over Z's masked face. The former couldn't quite read the latter; but Al-Haq went on instinct, and decided he could trust the Caped Crusader. Z's words seemed genuine, or as close to genuine as possible.

"You understand your mission now?" Z spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. Malk nodded, so Z pressed on. "Good. To re-iterate -- rule over the Academy with your iron fists, do whatever it takes to hold on to that United States Title... and in due time, you WILL be rewarded accordingly.

Like this bag of money I have here for you, for that little quest you embarked on in exchange for a possible shot at glory at COURAGE COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER. Go ahead, take a peek."

Z produced a black duffel bag from out of nowhere. Magic! Actually, no, it was tied to the legs of his chairs and nicely hidden under the seat. Malk found the bag landing on his lap with the zipper already open.

Money. The Masked Enigma wasn't bluffing. And, Christ, there was a lot of it. Malk's eyes bulged.

"That's... a lot of money!" was all Al-Haq could say. He was entranced. Enchanted. Z's tongue ran over his bottom lip.

"Yes, it's a lot of money. And it's all yours. And more will come if you do what you need to do. Comprende?" the Caped Crusader queried, seconds later receiving an affirmative response in the form of another nod of the head from Malk. "Excellent. I'm glad we are on the same wavelength, Malk.

Welcome aboard to the cabal. Big things will be expected of you, and in return, the rewards will be beyond your wildest dreams.

... Go on and have the night off, eh?"

Malk clutched his bag tightly and stood to his feet. There was relief and happiness painted on his face.

"I will. Thank you."

And with that, Malk turned on his heels and marched right out of the locker-room. Once the door closed behind him, Z leaned back in his seat. It had been a long evening, yet he wasn't quite done. Z peered over his left shoulder, at the shadow standing in the corner of the room.

"Shade."

Out from the shadows stepped a man shrouded in black. His face was hidden by a robe. This was Z's lieutenant, that had been dispatched to the All-Star Academy to run riot.

"Keep an eye on him during the Academy events." Z ordered firmly. "If you need to step in to ensure he hangs on to the United States Title, do it. His failures will be your failures. And you're well aware how much I don't like failures, yes?"

There was only silence. Z smiled. Silence meant his message had been received and understood.

"... Good. That'll be all for now."

Back into the shadows Shade went, and Z stood to his feet. Hands on his hips, and intent burning in his eyes.

Events had been set in motion. Now, all the Caped Crusader could do was go along for the ride.

And what a ride it'll be.

ACW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - MATCHPLAY 3.5
Khristain Keller vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman ©
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

"The following is your main event for the evening and is a scheduled KING OF AGES MATCH!"

The buzz in the crowd was palpable, and the fans in Denmark began to get on their feet. A noise would soon match it for the second time tonight over the PA. One of the men already stood in the ring, Khristain Keller. The man who earlier had shown the World that he was in fact WORKING WITH HUNT! To what extent wasn't clear... but still. The bastard.

He looked as if he wanted this over as soon as it could possibly be and going one on one with the current ACW and former (somewhat -- long story -- kinda) fWo World Champion isn't something that would allow anyone to have a breather.

Speaking of the Champion...

A little drum warm-up, a lotta guitar starting to play. Then a man of Swedish decent began to vocalize to the audience.

YEAH!
(YEAH! YEAH!)
I was right all along...

And out with enough swagger to power a windmill was the lovely Allison Lindum-Zimmerman, who stopped at the stage and smiled out at the ACW fan base, many of whom were already either getting to their feet or already there. She turned to watch the curtains part for the second time on the show.

YEAH!
(YEAH! YEAH!)
You come taggin' along...

ROAR!

Out came the young man himself, standing next to his paramour and looking out over the crowd. The smile was evident on his face, and he rubbed his hands together and nodded before Team Zimmerman marched to ringside. It took a little longer than usual, because Keith insisted on pointing out the myriad of signs in his support littered throughout the crowd and in the front rows: FORGET TV, WE GOT KSZ -- THANK YOU, KEITH! -- WELCOME TO THE ZIMMERMAN ERA, and so forth. Purple and white confetti fell all around the arena from the ceiling as Zimmerman kept his new title affixed to his shoulder, crowd watching him let Allison into the ring, one of his favorite bands (the Hives) providing the soundtrack to ACW's new #1.

'Cause I have done it before and I can do it some more
I got my eye on the score
I'm gonna cut to the core
It's too late it's too soon or is it?
TickticktickticktickticktickBOOM!

KSZ stood in the middle of the ring, Allison doing a lap around him before attaching herself to his hip and leaning back as he thrusted 15 pounds of gold towards Heaven itself, unleashing hell in pyro.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOM! from all four turnbuckles; POPPOPPOPPOPOPPOPPOPPOPHISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS in white falling from the overhead rig, and Allison smiled deviously as flashbulbs and eyeballs worldwide exploded like the fireworks.

And through it all, Keith Scott Zimmerman kept his eyes on the prize and his mouth in a ™ SMIRK~! When the pyro finally died down some time later, the lights came back on...

and it was go time.

They walked towards the center of the ring to get the Kodak moment over and done with. They extended hands and collar-and-elbowed it up. K2 began to get an advantage leverage wise but then Keith fought back, regaining the ground he'd lost. They began to move around the ring, looking for an advantage. Keith began to back up towards a corner, before quickly reversing and sending K2 into it. The referee called for a clean break, his count getting up to five, annnnnnnndd...

...Keith broke clean.

But he sure as hell didn't want to.

KSZ stood waiting, and such was the tension from the King Shit he burst forward... and came for a SLAP.

Keller was completely stunned by the impact and was there for the taking and left the World Champion ready to try and take advantage as he drove Keller into a ground with a quick sharp DDT and quickly flipped Keller over onto his back.

Two count.

K2 slowly got to his feet and attempted a sluggish right hand but Zimmerman was up to the dodge.

KSZ shook his head as if to say he was a little dissapointed in what Keller was offering here. So he decided to charge at the King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

Ru-Ro.

Inverted atomic drop from the baldy Bastard of Ages who quickly followed that up with a swinging neckbreaker, laying the World Champion back first on the mat. K2 stood over Keith and took his own take on where it would be best to crush Zimmermans neck and dropped a leg right across the throat of KSZ. He pulled the Champion to his feet and whipped him towards the ropes.

Keith came off, ducking a clothesline, then coming off the second set of ropes kicked Keller right in the stomach, doubling the former champion over. Zimmerman reached for a collar-and-elbow tieup only to have his wind suddenly taken from him when that bastard smashed him in the midsection with a fist. He followed it up with another quick knee to the sternum before taking KSZ over and down in a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Zimmerman shoulder up and he was pissed. Reacting quickly he snapped K2 over with a fireman's carry takedown before locking in an armbar. Keller was sluggish to say the least and that small flurry seemed to sap him of all his energy. KSZ modified the hold to torque the elbow but he has not got the distance correct as Keller used the ropes to get out of the hold as both men got to their feet.

Keith then hit with the biggest of all moves. A slap to the chest! He pushed Keller back into the corner of the ring and opened up with the flurry of right hands into the jaw of the ACW anti hero... as KSZ smashed him with another slap it seemed to anger Keller even more as he swapped positions with Zimmerman and began smashing him with right hands in the face before taking a few steps back.

With a chuckle, K2 looked down over at Zimmerman and then ran for the ropes and tried to knock Keiths head off with a clothesline next to the ropes.

MISSED.

Zimmerman had dodged it and left Keller sprawling over to the top rope and onto the outside.

The K2 fans, if there were any, looked on at a struggling Keller who tried to get to his feet, but KSZ was already on the outside. With the side of the ring acting as KSZ tag team partner, Keith had supplied the clothesline and the legsweep to turn the match in his favor. The referee counted but Keith didn't care, all he cared about was using the ring fencing to inflict more pain to Kellers wrecked body.

At the count of six, Keith rolled Keller back into the ring, sneer on his face as he slid in underneath the bottom ropes. Quickly continuing the attack, he stepped on K2's face before boot scraping it, then covered.

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout.

KSZ was in mission mode as he quickly got K2 to his feet. Not content to stop it there, he smashed Keller with a forearm, before another right-armed shot, followed by a knee to Kellers belly.

Picking up K2 as he sat haunched over, he slammed him down with authority before running for the ropes. Zimmerman left the mat and skied through the air before crashing down with a hard elbowdrop, then hung on for another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

ANOTHER KICKOUT!

Keith picked K2 up by the rim of his trousers and shoved him into the ropes, and as K2 staggered back towards him, Keith gave him the hardest possible punch in the back he could. The force of the blow sent the former World Champion to his knees struggling, but Zimmerman was far from done with this little exchange: into the ropes K2 went and this time Keith slammed his forearm into the lower back of K2. Pushing K2 into the ropes with both hands, Keith slammed his forearm into--

No.

It was the crux of K2's elbow that drove itself into Keith's face. Zimmerman took a couple steps backwards, staggered by the blow, and K2 shot himself into the ropes.

Dropkick, but Keith pulled him by the leg in mid-move and sent him crashing unceremoniously to the mat, snuffing out any sense of a rally. With a pitying shake of the head, Keith whipped K2 into the ropes, only to hoist him over his shoulder and dump him in four revolutions with a nasty tornado backbreaker.

This cover, Keith hooked a leg... he meant fucking business.

But Keller once again kicked out of it... but as Keller got to his feet it seemed that KSZ wanted a chat.

"It's good you could come out here, Keller... but a challenge would have been nice."

Keller shook clear the cobwebs.

“Being out here with you, is safer then being back there with them my friend."

Both men exchanged right hands as this matchup was coming to a close... you could just feel it. Keith once again had the upper hand and pushed Keller further and further into his own self as right hands connected with K2s face.

Keller was slobbering in the corner as suddenly a large bang took everyones attention over to the big screen.

Wait... them?

*CRACKLE*

*CRACKLE*

*CRACKLE*

Suddenly the image on the screen was that of pure violence. The right hand side of the camera lens was covered in a red liquid which one could only assume was blood as a shriek of pain could be heard from another area.

The basement in the arena was dark and dindgy and not a lot could be seen but what could be seen was Carrion and Omega fighting off the legion of Hunt's Cunts, as well as a certain Scorpion Champion, in the back.

Both men held weapons with them and both men looked some what broken, but they kept fighting... until the stream was cut short with a bright electric blast and stopped.

Everyone was now tuning back into the ring.

KELLER HAD A FUCKING CHAIR!

Zimmerman turned around and like Neo out of the Matrix bent down like a madman and ducked the swing. Such was the effort that Keller put into it he staggered to the left hand side of the ring and dropped the chair.

The Only Wrestler That Matters then had his chance.

H
I
T

M
Y

M
U
S
I
C

M
O
T
H
E
R
F
U
C
K
E
R
!

And with that, it was done.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Zimmerman was heading towards King of Ages looking for that crown on his head, he had just solidified his spot as the number one seed. Though Keith had been unsuccessful in the qualifying battle royale, he did what champions do... and took the hard way to the top.

A crown on KSZ's head and one around his waist would suit him just fine and as he collected his gold and left the ring, the image that Zimmerman left was now of a totally broken Khristain Keller.

Blood left his mouth as he slowly got to his feet and staggered back into the ropes as the tron lit up once again. The scene was now of a fire in the middle of the basement and nothing else could be seen.

The smarks of the audience would have been able to see Omega sitting in the corner, covered in blood but victorious in his battle and had beaten back the mob, as the camera turned ninety degrees to the right and suddently the figure of the Carrion filled the screen.

He held a bloody pipe in his hands and slapped it against his skin before peering into the camera and tilting his head to the right, peering into the ring it seemed before letting out the loudest and most chilling message to the man who stood inside the ring.

"KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The Destruction of Khristain Keller was now 90% complete.

Next week? 10% takes a life.