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KING OF AGES 2010 ¤ 26 AUGUST 2010
ERICSSON GLOBE, STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN

King of Good Intentions - Oleander

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - SEMI-FINAL 1
Buddy Saxon vs. Z
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

Fireworks. Explosions galore. It's time, ladies and gentlemen.

Welcome to Stockholm. Welcome to KING OF AGES 2010. We promise you a night of awesomeness.

The sea of humanity packed into the Ericsson Globe went berserk, for ACW's KING OF AGES 2010 pay-per-view had just begun. A night of immense wrestling action and drama had been promised. Each and every single fan were looking forward to watching everything unfold. Sure, it was going to be a long night. Saxonbe four hours or so. After all, the card was jam-packed with matches of all sorts. But hey, that's ACW for you. Your own personal 'everything for everyone all the time'.

With that, the cameras panned over to the Broadcast Booth. Renaud Cardinal and 'The One' Jimmy Reid welcomed everyone in the arena and thanked everyone watching at home for purchasing the pay-per-view, before heading right into a rundown of what would be expected later on in the pay-per-view.

Not only would the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament culminate in glorious fashion, there would be a ton of resolution of some very personal feuds. 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs and Jade Argent would duel one final time. Fejona Min, Omega, Khristain Keller and Carrion (with whoever under that mask still a mystery) would attempt to somewhat unify the Black Title of theAsylum infamy and the ACW Scorpion Fighting Title. John Sarsgaard and Midnight Cowboy would throw down for the Spirit Of ACW Championship. And so much more.

But before they could really delve into detailed analysis and what-have-you, the lights in the arena dimmed. It seemed as if the first match of the evening was about to kick off.

Thankfully, it was Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment that blared over the arena speakers first. What a crowd-pleasing tune. Instantly, the fans stood to their feet and cheered loudly, for none other than BUDDY SAXON came bursting out from behind the curtains! The Bournemouth Boy -- still looking a little battered thanks to the sneak attack he'd suffered two weeks prior at COURAGE 120 -- had a massive smile on his face. This was the biggest match of his young career thus far.

Waving to the crowd that cheered for him, Buddy carefully tred down the ramp en route to the ring, and made time to trade high-fives with several of the young fans. Passing by him was the designated in-ring official for the match; the hottest referee in ACW history in Paige Allen. The redhead looked extremely composed and even ignored the catcalls that were thrown her way. This would be the first pay-per-view that Paige, in her capacity as acting senior referee, would have control of. And this first match? It was extremely crucial for more than one reason.

Without long, Saxon found himself climbing into the ring, albeit a bit gingerly. Once in the middle of the squared circle, Buddy raised his arms up above his head for the fans. And they responded positively, going nuts for the Bournemouth Boy. Buddy turned to look at Paige, and the two shared an acknowledging nod. They both knew what was coming next. One didn't like it, the other was more than ready for it.

Mask? In place. Trenchcoat? Looked spiffy as usual. Fingerless gloves? Expensive. What else was left? The Final Countdown (Special Remix Z), by Europe. Fancypants version, as some might 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!

Paige Allen shuddered. Buddy Saxon jogged on the spot and psyched himself up. The fans? They let loose with a barrage of jeers at Z, who removed his trenchcoat on the stage and briskly made his way down the ramp. Having won his place in the semi-final phase by winning the Battle Royale on COURAGE 116, Z went ahead and spent the weeks following that competing just for the fun of it against Jade Argent (who beat Z), Keith Scott Zimmerman (who prevailed via DQ) and 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs (who lost to Z and his cheatin' ways).

At the same time, Buddy Saxon found himself with a 0-3 at the end of the Matchplay phase, and nobody thought Saxon had a chance against Rud Albion when the two former team-mates met in their quarter-final clash at COURAGE 120. Yet, Buddy -- who had been taking to heart the advice of his mentor Z -- managed to triumph and pull out the victory. Argent and Jacobs fighting to a draw meant that Saxon and Z would go one-to-one in their semi-final battle. A fact which Z informed Buddy about, seconds before the Masked Enigma beat the hell out of Saxon.

Z, having reached the bottom of the ramp, smacked his lips at the sight of Paige Allen. Ever since COURAGE 111, Z had seemingly had something over the lovely redhead, and the two had been involved in a very strange relationship ever since. Paige nonetheless was a professional and was determined to make sure that she wouldn't be rattled by Z on this night. The stakes were too high.

Once he'd finished circling the ring, Z entered the squared circle and set his eyes on Buddy Saxon. The man that Z had brought into ACW on COURAGE 102. Z had been revealed as Saxon's mentor, and after initial tests to get Buddy familiar with life in ACW, the Caped Crusader had left Buddy alone to his own devices. Along the way, the Bournemouth Boy had become a Tag Team Champion while Z had been creating of sorts of mayhem. Tonight, they were brought back together by the luck of the draw.

Both men, glaring at each other from their respective corners, had their own agenda. Both men wanted to win and advance to the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament Finale, where the King's Choice lay in wait. Both men had their own ideas for the King's Choice.

But first, both men would have to battle each other. Teacher versus student. It doesn't get more personal than this.

Once lovely Paige Allen checked over both competitors and endured Z's perverse stare at her arse, the redhead turned to Tommy Vale at ringside and got the festivities under way. Finally, the pay-per-view would begin in earnest.

At KING OF AGES 2003, newcomer Elijah Arson upset Khristain Keller in the opening contest of the pay-per-view, but Keller would go on to beat Vince Jacobs later that night to become the 2003 King Of Ages; the first of his kind. At KING OF AGES 2004, Quinton May triumphed over Fejona Min and her lackey Natalie Quinston in a Handicapped Match, but Quinton would go on to lose to God's Forgotten Son who become the 2004 King Of Ages. What impact then would the result of this opening match have later on in the evening?

Let's find out together, shall we?

DING DING DING!

It was on, folks. I hope you're comfortable.

Funnily enough, Z chose that exact moment to smugly turn around and jaw with the fans. Maybe he had enough of the insults being thrown his way? Probably.

"You know, I could have your mother anally raped right now and you wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about it!" Z threatened, pointing to a young child who looked no older than five years old and innocently sitting in his father's lap. Well, that about opened the floodgates, with the child's father glaring back menacingly at Z, as if to ask 'what the hell'.

Z laughed. The fans jeered. Then, they cheered? Whuzzah?

See, Buddy Saxon was annoyed. Z had turned his back on him to instead insult a precocious young lad? That wasn't right. Growling, Buddy dashed across the ring and lunged at Z, knocking him right out of the ring with a double axe-handle smash to the side of the head! Ooooh, that got the crowd even more riled up, and they cheered like they bloodthirsty marks they undeniably are. What a start to the match, eh? Eh?

Hopping out of the ring himself, Saxon leapt down to the floor and pushed esteemed ring announcer Tommy Vale -- who was trying to get between Saxon and Z at Paige's frantic behest -- aside. By that time, Z had already pulled himself up, but as he turned around, Buddy Saxon was waiting and duly clotheslined the ever-living crap out of him!

In the ring, Paige shook her head and cursed under her breath, while she noticed the carnage that was developing on the outside, in the form of Saxon pulling Z up and socking him in the face of a giant right hook. While the Masked Enigma careened over the security barricade and fell into the laps of the fans in the front row, Paige Allen pondered over whether she should let the Saxonhem on the outside run its course. Although, judging by how personal this battle was, Paige figured that wouldn't be wise.

So, the lovely redhead decided to be a hero, and she slid out of the ring to try and correct the situation. HA, fat chance. Not with the usually joyful Bournemouth Boy hell-bent on walloping his mentor that had betrayed him.

Speaking of those two kids; Buddy was currently slugging away at Z amid the sea of humanity that had paid good money to be here tonight. Surely, they didn't expect to see a match up close and personal, huh? Zs, who'd been owned from the second he'd been knocked out of the ring, continued to find himself on the receiving end of Saxon's rabid punching, before Buddy poked him in the eyes and whipped him right back into the security barricade. Z's spine made unprotected contact with the barricade and the Dastardly Mastermind howled in pain.

At the same time, Paige Allen's efforts to exert her authority were not going too well. She'd climbed over the barricade and opted to talk some sense into the Bournemouth Boy, but Saxon wasn't listening. Instead, he gently pushed Paige aside (while throwing in a mumbled apology somewhere in there) and charged at Z with an almighty roar.

Unfortunately for Buddy, Z had the presence of mind to lower his head, and Saxon was hurled back into the ringside area via a back body drop. Buddy's head bounced off the thinly-protected concrete, and the fans in the front row pouted like sick puppies. Because they were solidly behind Buddy, that's why. Having caught his breath, Z climbed over the barricade and laughed at Saxon trying to use the apron to get back up to his feet. Why did he laugh?

What am I, all-knowing? I'm just a lowly narrotor. Anyways, with Buddy at his complete mercy, The Caped Crusader shuffled his feet and viciously lashed out with a jumping knee smash to Buddy's rather not-so-handsome face. OUCH!

"Christ, that was murder!" Renaud Cardinal screamed, while Jimmy Reid cheered loudly. Jerk. In the meantime, Z had dragged the dazed Buddy up and tossed him into the ring, before the Masked Enigma himself rolled into the squared circle. Paige Allen was not far behind, relieved that Z and Buddy were back in the ring. Now, the match could progress as per planned. That was a good thing, right?

Sure. But I'm fairly certain the fans didn't expect Z to slap on his favourite standing ankle lock with Saxon trapped in the middle of the ring, aye? Good, I'm glad we're on the same page.

In other news, this just in: Buddy Saxon is in a world of pain, ya'all! The Bournemouth Boy's agonising groans were heard by all, who watched as Z just cranked that ankle for all it was worth. To his credit, Buddy started to drag himself towards the ropes, but he was truly in no man's land.

Shockingly, though, Z let go of Buddy's ankle just when everybody thought Buddy was going to tap. Hell, even referee Paige Allen was perplexed. Z? He just grinned and tapped the side of his head with the index finger of his right hand. Oh, he had a plan, did he? Interesting. Turning his attention back to Buddy, the Caped Crusader readied himself as Saxon used the ropes to pull himself up.

And once he was vertical? Z sprung into action, charging at Saxon from behind and slapping on a rear waistlock. Z's proven to be extremely adept at busting out killer moves from the rear waistlock position. WHAM! On that occassion, however, Buddy Saxon was ready and retaliated with a backwards swing of his right arm, catching Z in the face with his elbow! Z staggered back and Buddy -- despite his right knee hurting to high heaven -- used the ropes to bust out an oldie but a goodie!

Cross body block, natch! Into the pin! Paige was down to her knees (heh) in an instant, and the fans watched on;

ONE!

TWO!

T - NO!

It wasn't close, but for a moment there, everybody figured Buddy had Z. Not quite.

Both men raced to their feet, Saxon being the quicker of the two. A swing of the right hand from Buddy was blocked by Z in the nick of time, and the Masked Enigma responded by driving his knee up into Buddy's ribs. Way to halt Buddy's momentum there, Z. Sheesh. Z afforded himself the tiniest of smirks, and repeated his knee-strike into Saxon's ribs, getting an overwhelming round of jeers dumped on him as a result. The Caped Crusader didn't care.

And the middle finger to the fans summed that up. Oh, no he didn't. Yes, he did. Feeling cocky again, Z grabbed Buddy by the hair and knocked him silly with a Regal-esque uppercut, sending the Bournemouth Boy staggering back a few steps. The Caped Crusader followed up by wringing Saxon's left arm and yanking Saxon toward him. Boot to gut came thereafter, and then... SLAP!

Oh, ho. Hoooo. Z placed his hands on hips and beamed, while Buddy Saxon just stood there, bamboozled. Did he just get slapped in the face? Yes, that was indeed the case. Paige Allen watched on wide-eyed as Saxon continued to remain rooted to the spot, confused. Until the daft bloke retaliated with a scatching knife-edged chop to Z's chest. The Masked Enigma did not see that coming (he had been busy checking out Paige's arse), and gasped due to the force of the chop. But hey, Z himself could chop the skin off your chest.

Want proof? Okay then, let's watch as Chop-Fest 2010 fest ensued. What? You asked for it.

CHOP! WHOOOO~!

CHOP! WHOOOO~!

CHOP! WHOOOO~!

CHOP! WHOOOO~!

Just so you know, that went like this: Z, Buddy, Z, Buddy... and then, the Bournemouth Boy followed up with another especially savage one (WHOOOO~!). Z was not going to let himself be outdone in a war of chops, though, so he clumsily thumbed Saxon in the right eye (much to Paige's chagrin but she let it slide), and hit back with two chops of his own, since Saxon was ripe for the picking and all. CHOP! CHOP! What happened next?

Snapmare takedown, which led right into a rolling and crushing neck-snap. Maaaan.

Saxon was down, and Z gleefully and quickly made his first cover of the match. Paige? Do your stuff;

ONE!

TWO!

T - NO!

Z shrugged his shoulders. He thought he had it.

Standing to his feet, Z watched as Buddy struggled to his, and chuckled. He would pay for that, for when Z grabbed himself a handful of Buddy's hair, Saxon very nicely responded with a thumb in Z's eye! Turnabout's fair play, and all that. Z stumbled backwards, cursing loudly much to the amusement of Paige Allen and the fans. Buddy bounced his neck from one shoulder to the other, and advanced on the Masked Enigma, going for a spinning heel kick.

Z was a wily bugger, though, and ducked underneath Saxon's spinning heel kick. Immediately after, Z spun around and rolled Buddy up, not even waiting for his so-called protege to turn around and face him. Just as Paige was about to get to her knees to count, however, Buddy Saxon rolled out of the school-boy pin and sprung to his feet, with Z still on the canvas. Which, of course, was not a position the Dastardly Mastermind wanted to be in.

Saxon didn't fuss, and quickly caught Z in a modified rolling clutch pin. But yet again, just as Paige Allen's hand was about to hit the mat, the Caped Crusader exhibited immense power to lift his entire body off the canvas. Twisting around, and thereby spinning the befuddled Buddy around as well, Z swiftly scored with another knee-lift to the ribs (the third of the night).

That was merely the prelude to lifting Saxon up above his head. Crucifix powerbomb? Looked pretty likely, but somehow Buddy slipped out of Z's gloved grasp and landed nicely his feet. Almost instantly, the Bournemouth Boy brought Z down by way of a snazzy backslide pin, and this time, Z wasn't going anywhere;

ONE!

TWO!

T - NOT LIKELY!

The Masked Enigma squirmed out of the pinning predicament he found himself in, and upon returning to his feet via a backward roll, Z shot himself into the ropes. Saxon took to a forward roll and tried to catch his supposed mentor with a springing short-range clothesline... but SOMEHOW, Z somersaulted himself over Buddy Saxon.

Amazing, wasn't it? Even more outstanding was Z landing perfectly on his feet (10.0 from all the judges), and flooring the puzzled Buddy Saxon with a discus clothesline two seconds later! That elicited a massive outpouring of cheers from the fans. Oh, sorry, I meant jeers.

Z merely flipped 'em all the bird once more, and dropped to his knees to cover Saxon;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NEIN!

The Bournemouth Boy got the shoulder up once more. This battle meant too much to Buddy, and he wasn't going to lose to Zs. Not after he'd worked so hard to beat Rud Albion at COURAGE 120 and thereby earn the right to take his place in the semi-final phase of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament. Z? Oh, he was most unpleased, and was a tiny bit incensed that Saxon had the gall and the audacity to remain alive in this most engrossing contest.

Dragging a limp Buddy Saxon up, Z struck with a couple of forearm smashes to the side of Saxon's face, before taking control of the Bournemouth Boy's left arm and wringing it tightly. Saxon howled out in pain and even dropped down to his right knee, the pain overwhelming him. Little did he know that there would be more in store; Z was in a comfortable-enough postion to execute a swinging crescent kick, his foot once again redecorating Saxon's face.

With a trickle of blood dribbling out of Buddy's nose, the latter found himself staggering back, having been absolutely dominated over the last minuted and a half. Z loved the sight of Buddy wobbling on his feet, and decided to add further insult to injury. So, he (rather lazily) charged at Buddy, with the fans defiant in the face of the Caped Crusader's current dominating role in the match.

Would they get a reprieve? Let's watch: despite his state, Buddy Saxon managed to rouse himself out of the stupor he had been forced into and lowered his head as Z neared him, thereby dumping the Dastardly Mastermind over the ropes in a back body drop! Yes, the second one of the match. No, I'm not running out of ideas.

I'll prove it to you; despite being flung over Buddy's body, Z managed to grab hold of the top rope, and was now trying to skin the cat, and pull himself back into the ring. Buddy, who'd staggered forward and wiped his brow clean in relief, looked over his shoulder and frowned. Then, he smiled and shot himself into the ropes, coming off of 'em with a great deal of velocity. Which didn't bode well for Z.

Because, well, he was having a bit of a tricky time trying to skin the cat, and Saxon's extreme quickness only compounded the impending misery for him... what with the sliding baseball dropkick to Z's face, and all.

Z tumbled down to the floor, and Buddy breathed heavily as he rolled out of the ring, once again massaging his left arm while the fans went wild and cheered for hm. This match had already taken its toll on him, but he was still as determined as ever to ride it out and triumph over the nefarious Z. Problem for him was, Z was currently boiling over with murderous rage.

Alas, when the Caped Crusader got up and turned around, he found himself being the victim of a double-leg takedown from the Bournemouth Boy, who then quickly followed up with catapaulting Z over his head and directly into the steel ring-post! In the ring, Paige Allen glared just a little bit. She didn't like how this match was slowly degenerating, but she was inclined to let the rough-housing on the outside ride for a little while more, in the interest of giving the fans their money's worth and whatnot.

Back to the action: Z staggered backwards, his bell having been comprehensively rung over the last two minutes or so. Buddy -- doing something he'd never done by removing the protective paddings at ringside -- was aiming to build on this spell of advantage, and promptly spun Z around, chopping him across the chest once. Prior to trapping Z in a front facelock.

Doesn't take a genius to figure out what was going to happen next, eh? SUPLEX ONTO THE CONCRETE -- DENIED! Z squirmed out of Saxon's grip and landed directly behind him. With catlike quickness, Z swiftly caught Buddy in a rear waistlock (uh oh), and without any regard for his adversary's safety... threw him into the security barricade with a snap low-angled back suplex! Ooooh, that HAD TO HURT LIKE HELL!

Z coughed, rolled back into the ring and walked right up to a shocked Paige Allen. "Uh, sweetcheeks? I think you can proceed with counting him out now. It's the fair thing to do."

Paige grinded her teeth and glared at Z, who simply smiled back devilishly at her. Darn that Caped Crusader.

And so, with much regret, the hottest referee in ACW history began with the ring-out count. She didn't want to, but rules were rules. And considering that Saxon looked completely comatose on the outside, it appeared as if Z was about to win the match, and inch ever closer to attaining the King's Choice.

Unfortunately for Z, as Paige's count reached 5, Buddy Saxon started to stir. The fans cheered loudly. Like, really loudly. By 8, Saxon had dragged himself over to the ring and was using the apron to pull himself up. Silently wishing that he'd be able to get back into the ring in time, Paige continued to count. The fans waited with bated breath. Z watched, unimpressed.

Especially when Buddy rolled under the ropes, just a hair before Paige could reach 10. Whew. That was a close one, innit?

The Bournemouth Boy, with the lower part of his face covered in blood thanks to his busted nose, used the ropes and dragged himself up, determined to carry on fighting. Z placed his hands on his hips once more and watched as his so-called protege staggered towards him, fists clenched and primed to unleash hell upon the Caped Crusader.

For some reason, Z was not worried. He didn't appear pissed that Saxon had got back into the ring. Most astonishing of all, the Caped Crusader had a deviant grin on his face. The fans continued to make noise, sure that the action was about to pick back up in a second.

Instead, they watched as Z turned his head and set his eyes on Paige Allen.

Paige gulped. She had a bad feeling about this. Z's eyes lit up. "Hey, Paige. It's just about that time.

-- Ego sum foramen in res."

Buddy Saxon dropped to his knees and pressed his hands against the side of his temples. It was as if he was suddenly experiencing the most intense headache of his life. Paige Allen? She covered her mouth with her right hand, and tears started to stream out of her eye sockets. The crowd was stunned. Just WHAT in the world was going on?

Z chortled, prior to turning and launching the sole of his right boot right into Saxon's face! Buddy dropped down to the canvas and started to thrash about on the mat uncontrollably. Paige shook her head and also dropped to her knees, still crying. Nobody knew what was going on. Except for Z, who had hopped out of the ring and retrieved a CROWBAR from under the ring. At the Broadcast Booth, Renaud Cardinal was livid and for the first time in a long time, Jimmy Reid was speechless. He was a fan of Z, sure, but this was becoming a little crazy.

The Caped Crusader ignored both of 'em and whistled as he got back into the ring. He took a moment to watch Paige Allen crying, before advancing on Buddy Saxon, who had thankfully stopped thrashing about like a fish fresh out of water. Now, however, there was a greater threat to consider; Z and that crowbar.

"Buddy, Buddy, Buddy. You were never meant to be at this place at this time!" Z shouted, as a hushed silence enveloped the crowd.

And then, it happened.

SMACK!

"No!" Paige yelled out adamantly. Z didn't hear her.

SMACK!

"Stop it, Z!" Paige cried out again, dragging herself towards the Masked Enigma.

SMACK!

The fans wondered if there was going to be a disqualification. There should be, right?

SMACK!

So why was referee Paige Allen not signalling for the bell? Z didn't give a shit.

SMACK!

"For the love of God, stop it! Y-You... FREAK!" Paige tried one last time.

Z, with the crowbar reared back and ready to strike, turned to Paige. "What did you say?"

Paige gulped once more. She opened her mouth, but Z suddenly reached down and grabbed her by the throat. "You listen to me, Paige! You will shut up for the next sixty seconds as I bludgeon the living shit out of Buddy, and then, I will pin him. And you will count the pin. You will do exactly as I've said, OR ELSE.

Do you understand me, you little harlot? Do you?!"

Jesus Christ Almighty. The fans started jeering again, but at this juncture, it was something of a surreal experience.

Paige nodded her head twice, prompting Z to let go of her throat. The Caped Crusader turned back to Buddy, who looked absolutely out of it. Was he dead? Sure looked like it. His face was mangled. There was blood everywhere.

Yet, Z was not done. "Hh. Now, back to business."

SMACK!

Z and the crowbar. Against a defenseless Buddy Saxon.

SMACK!

Sickening.

SMACK!

Despicable.

SMACK!

Absolutely heinous.

SMACK!

But there was nothing Paige Allen -- nor anybody else -- could do. Except watch. In despair.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Finally, mercifully, Z stood up and tossed the bent out-of-shape crowbar out of the ring.

EMTs had already rushed down to ringside with a stretcher. Z spotted them and laughed. Yes, he laughed.

Like a madman. And he continued to laugh, while placing a foot atop of Buddy Saxon's chest. The Caped Crusader peered over his shoulder and set his eyes on Paige. It was time for her to do her job.

Fighting back tears, Paige wiped the specks of blood from her face and went ahead with it;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Right after, Paige Allen rolled out of the ring and ran away, having burst into tears once more. Tommy Vale, the ring announcer, started off after Paige but stopped and decided to retrieve Buddy Saxon from within the ring. Smart choice, considering that Paige had disappeared backstage in a flash.

In the ring, Z climbed to the top of a corner turnbuckle and raised his arms up above his head. All he got back in return?

A torrent of jeers and hissing, with mandy others screaming frenziedly. Garbage of all shapes and forms descended upon the ring. They despised Z. Even the EMTs loading Buddy Saxon onto the stretcher had nothing but hate for the Masked Enigma. It was clear that this was all one big game of sorts for Z. So far, he was winning. Z adjusted his mask and dropped back down to the canvas, basking in the glory of the moment.

And suddenly, scarily enough, the realisation set in for everybody. It sent chills down everybody's spines.

... Z was one match away from the King's Choice.

Is there anybody out there that can stop me? Anybody?

Hh. Thought so.

the force

   

Time for a short detour? Sure.

--

In his locker-room, John Sarsgaard shook his head. He was watching highlights of the whole Z/Buddy incident that had just transpired. Needless to say, Sarsgaard -- who had a history with the Caped Crusader -- was furious. His blood was boiling. Yet, all he could do was clench his fists and indugle in a little shadow boxin'.

Why? Well, because he had to retain his focus. Eyes on the prize.

Later tonight, the Hands Of Steel would have his opportunity to claim his first singles title in ACW in the form of the Spirit Of ACW Championship. And John was doing everything in his power to keep his attention on his impending showdown with Midnight Cowboy.

"Knockity knock!" quipped one Orlando Grant as he swung open the door to John's locker-room and swaggered in. Sarsgaard peered over his shoulder and smiled.

The Hands Of Steel and the OG of ACW. Bestest of friends. "You know, most people would actually knock first and wait for a response before strutting into a room like the cock of the walk."

"Ah, come on, playa!" Orlando shot back cheekily. "Ain't as if you had a girl back 'ere. Although, if you did, you would holla at me, wouldn't cha? Tell me you would holla at me, John. It's important that I know!"

Sarsgaard shook his head as he lowered his hands and grabbed the remote to switch off the monitor. "Yes, I'd holla at you. Just to let you know the scoop. I am in no way advocating us sharing a girl. That's just creepy, and plus, there's a camera here. My mother's probably watching us right now via satellite, and I don't want to give her a heart attack."

Laughter from the fans watching on the SlyTron. Back in the States, Sarsgaard's mother fumed. Sex jokes?

Orlando waved his hands about in a dismissive manner. "Aight, aight. Listen, playa. How's your shoulder holdin' up, man? You good to go for tonight? I reckon if it's still sore, you should think about pushing back your title shot until you're good, you feel me? I don't wanta see ya risk your health like that."

"Heh, don't worry, Orlando!" was John's quick reply as he walked over to his duffel bag on the bench. "I spent the last few days getting treatments and massages, and I found this Swedish pharmacist that recommended some elephant-grade painkillers. Legitimate, too. I took two yesterday, and I feel incredible! It's quite amazing.

I feel absolutely no pain whatsoever. I'm sure I'll feel the strain during the match later, and I'll definitely be hurting tomorrow... but as far as whether I'm good to go is concerned? You damned right I'm good to go!

I wouldn't miss out this chance for the world, Orlando. Tonight's my night. I just know it!

I'm in the best shape of my life, and tonight's my night!"

Orlando looked at his pal Sarsgaard and nodded, grinning widely. The two of them had been drafted into the All-Star Academy's developmental programme a little over a year ago, and became fast friends. Their friendship grew once the concept of the Academy was retooled and it began to operate as its own independent wrestling company, acting as a feeder for the main ACW roster. And they were one year later. Living large, and doing moderately well.

"Aight, man, that's good to hear! Listen, I gotta go and get oiled up for my fight with Greg Miles! That punk's supposedly made a full recovery and all, and I haffa feeling he's gonna bring the thunder tonight! Need to go over my game-plan and whatnot. We good for happy hour later, man? I reckon tonight's gonna be a night we're both gonna remember!" the OG of ACW remarked, eyes twinkling with possibility.

All the Hands Of Steel had to do was extend his fist out to OG. Grant bumped his fist with Sarsgaard, and the two friends chuckled at each other. An understanding had been reached. There was no need for John to give a specific answer; Orlando already had it.

Orlando turned and began to walk out of Sarsgaard's locker-room, humming to himself. John had one last thing to say, however.

"Hey, Orlando?"

The Ziploc Boy turned, eyebrow raised in curiousity.

Sarsgaard beamed. "May the force be with you tonight. Playa."

--

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

A Message Sent

       

"How's he faring, doc?"

Rud Albion winced as the EMTs loaded the stretcher that Buddy Saxon was strapped to into the ambulance. Doctor Kazarian, looking stressed while whispering instructions to the rest of his crew, motioned for Rud to hang on a second. Within moments, the back doors of the ambulance were shut tightly, and the ambulance sirens began blaring.

"Well, Rud, he's unconscious and suffering from major blood-loss. His vitals aren't so hot, either, but I've already made arrangements with a nearby hospital. The next 24 hours will be extremely crucial for Buddy but I believe he'll pull through!" Doctor Kazarian explained as he glanced at Buddy's medical chart.

Albion bit down on his lip and mumbled a 'thank you' to the good doctor, just as the ambulance pulled away and began its journey to the nearby hospital. The Brummie Bulldog was more than incensed at what had happened, but the doctor's words had helped to calm him down. Just a bit.

Nostrils flared, Rud spun on his heels and charged down the hallway. No doubt in the pursuit of the monster that inflicted such heinous damage to Buddy Saxon. None other than the despicable Z. Clenching his fists, Rud turned a corner and marched with a purpose. While silently praying for Buddy's well-being, Albion began to have murderous thoughts.

Turning another corner, Rud's eyes widened in surprise and he halted in his tracks. There were people in his way.

Abraham Swift. William T. Rex. Abilities, for you not in the know. Pssh.

"Rud." Abe spoke up as his partner Billy cracked his knuckles. "Jeremy Hunt is looking for you and would like to meet you like right about now. You can either make your way there yourself... or we can BRING you there."

Albion narrowed his eyes, sizing up Swift and William. "Hunt wants to see me? For what?"

"He didn't say." Billy responded quickly.

Albion suddenly lashed out, slamming his knee into the larger Thrillbilly, before slamming him head first into the wall. Swift was then quick to retaliate, but his hard looping right hook was seized by Albion, who twisted Abe’s arm into a tight hammerlock.

With Z on his mind, Rud Albion was NOT fucking around.

“If Hunt didn’t say anything then you better make something up quickly, or you’re going to feel the front of your elbow against your forehead before Hunt sees me!” Albion growled, as Abe started to howl in pain.

Finally Abe squeaked out: “It’s about Z--”

“--Don’t patronize me, old man!” growled the former #3 seed for the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament, the man known to many as the Gentlemen Grappler.

“Son is trying to take territory from Hunt, that Hunt has already taken from SilverHAWK. Of course he wants to talk to you about Z! Aaagh!” Abe screamed as his arm was wrenched even further by Albion, and yet Abe continued to state what he knew to be the case: “Before he can gain any kind of real power, Hunt wants to take action and he knows no matter who you think you are, regardless if you’re a damned Gentleman or not, you’ll be the perfect man…

...to DESTROY Z.

‘Specially now that your red-headed friend’s as white as the dead.”

Albion let go of Abe Swift and walked past the pained and disoriented clutter of Abilities, resolute in the fact that he knew two things. A) Jeremy Hunt and SlySports could help him, as long as they weren’t going to hinder him because B) why not we allow allow the Bronze Lion roar that to the heavens.

“Zed’s DEAD.”

TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - SEMI-FINAL 2
Kellen 'Machine' Masters vs. Jesse Ramey
vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman
REFEREE: LEON HURST

       

And now, we were back to ringside, with the fans going wild.

Why? Because, it was time for a big match. Ooooh yeah, you know it.

Inside the ring stood the innovator of submissions, and the master of the Achilles’ ankle lock. Kellen 'Machine' Masters looked bulked, hulked, and ready to get the second semi-final match-up of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament underway. Tommy Vale quickly stepped to the center of the ring.

“The following contest is the second and final match of the semi-final phase in the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament.” Vale paused for a moment as the fans in attendance yelled with excitement and then slowly died down enough for him to continue, “Introducing first weighing in at two hundred and sixty-five pounds and hailing from College Station, Texas… HE IS KELLEN 'MACHINE' MASTERS!”

As Vale finished the uproar from the fans was sent throughout the arena once more. Master tossed his arms into the air giving his recognition to the fans as he slowly turned and nodded his head. The mood throughout the arena quickly shifted though as the lights dimmed and small spotlight hit the entrance ramp.

The increasing sound of drum beating began playing over the PA system quickly followed by a heavy guitar as “Gallows” by Atreyu began to blast throughout the arena. The heavy cheering for Master quickly turned up five decibels as the fans’ new messiah of darkness, their prince of madness, and the one true anti-star of All-Star Championship Wrestling quickly emerged through the entrance curtain.

Jesse Ramey stood at the top of the entrance way staring down at the ring below and Kellen Masters waiting in the ring. Jesse turned his attention to the adoring fans a smirk shot across his face as he darted toward the ring, and the resonating voice of Tommy Vale rang throughout the arena once more.

“Making his way to the ring, the second combatant in this contest, weighing in at two hundred and five pounds and hailing from Harts, West Virginia… HE IS THE 'ANTI-STAR', JESSE RAMEY!”

As Vale finished his introduction Ramey came sliding into the ring under the bottom rope, he barely perched himself on the palms of his hands and the tips of his toes. He shot his eyes upward still smiling as he looked around the edge of the ring at the fans still cheering for him in the front row.

Jesse pushed his way back up to his feet as his music slowly died down and shot that quickly glancing smile in the direction of Kellen Masters before making his way to his corner. Jesse wiped the hair from his face with a quick snap of his neck in both directions and looked ready for the match to begin; the only problem one final man needed to make his entrance.

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; she turned to watch the curtains part.

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

ROAR!

“Making his way to the ring, the final participant in this historic match; weighing in at two hundred and thirteen pounds and hailing from Berkeley, California; HE IS THE CURRENT ACW WORLD CHAMPION… KEITH SCOTT ZIMMERMAN!” Tommy Vale once again tried to announce over the blaring sounds of music and fans going completely crazy. It was now time for Vale to finally exit the ring though.

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. 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. Allison quickly exited the ring seeing two sets of eyes peering down on the reigning ACW World Champion. Keith merely scoffed as he handed off his championship to referee Leon Hurst and then The Only Champion That Matters made his way to his corner.

The three massive figures in All-Star Championship Wrestling looked at each other, who would be the first man to make a move? Leon Hurst handed the shiny gold belt outside of the ring to a tech member and quickly turned around signaling for the bell, then finding his place to watch and call the match.

DING! DING! DING!

Master stood in his corner with his arms folded, as both Ramey and KSZ looked at each other. Jesse was the first to break the silence with a quick smile and a nod of his head, “Get him big fella.”

Neither KSZ nor Ramey had ever faced the towering Kellen Masters in singles competition before, and given both of their sizes this seemed to be insurmountable challenge for the time being. Keith shot a nod back at Ramey, “After you.”

Masters could only chuckle as he lowered his arms and watched the two men before him bickering which one would give him a go first. It was quite amusing to him, until Jesse’s smile dissipated, and with an, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Jesse has rushed from his corner catching Masters completely off guard as his eyes had been closed from the laughter when a basement dropkick caught him directly in the right shin. He dropped to one knee and Ramey back to his feet spring boarded from the ropes dropping Masters to his face when the bridge of his boot caught him square in the back of the head.

Jesse quickly popped back up to his feet when he noticed Zimmerman rushing at him, with an awesome back bridge matrix like move Jesse avoided the clothesline attempt. Arching his back up to a standing position Keith has bounced off of the ropes coming back through Jesse leaped into the air pushing down on Zimmerman’s head in the process and sending him off into the ropes once more.

KSZ didn’t let the momentum stop though as off to the ropes he went once again, and another attempt at a clothesline. Only to be avoided as Jesse front rolled to the side of Zimmerman. The Only Champion that Matters put on the breaks and as he was turning around Ramey came spring boarding off of the ropes once more latching hold of Zimmerman’s head attempting to take him down with a tornado DDT.

Keith, however, had other plans as he managed to plant his feet and pushed his hands into Ramey’s chest shoving him off of the attempt spinning. Jesse twisted in air and managed to land on his feet, knelt down, with one hand pressed out in front of him. Jesse looked almost like Spider-Man for a brief moment, but KSZ wasn’t about to give him the time of day to mount a full standing stance.

A boot rushed toward Ramey’s head, but he managed to drop into a split and fall face first into the mat to avoid the move. Kellen Masters, on the other hand, who had just been shaking the cobwebs out on his knees wouldn’t be so lucky. As the boot whizzed overtop of Ramey’s body it did find a target, in the side of Master’s face.

The extra force from the boot and the distance traveled sent Master reeling backward into the ropes and falling to the outside of the ring. Zimmerman turned to see exactly where Ramey could be, and charging at him was his previous target. Once again Keith managed shove the palm of his hands into Ramey’s chest send him flying over top of his head to avoid whatever move Ramey was going to attempt.

The bad thing about the extra leverage was the fact that they were so close to the turnbuckles. Jesse planted his feet on the top pad, and grabbed hold of the ropes for balance. Keith turned and just as quickly as Ramey had made his way onto the top rope he came flying back off and over Keith’s head once more, only this time he grabbed hold of Keith’s waste rolling him up with a sunset flip pin attempt. Leon Hurst dropped to the mat for the count.

One…

Two…

KICKOUT!

It was obvious to everyone in the arena that Ramey wouldn’t have been able to pin Keith this soon into the match, especially with neither man taking any damage at this point. The only person that was reeling from this match so far was Kellen Masters, who and just slipped back into the ring undetected by either Ramey or Zimmerman.

The fans were going crazy over the exchange of move, counter, move, counter, move, counter by the Anti-Star and the Only Champion that Matters. The sadistic smirk crossed Ramey’s face for a brief moment as he climbed back to his feet, only to be sent right back down to the mat by a resurgent Masters with a massive clothesline that turned Ramey completely inside out.

The reigning World Champion had finally made his way back to his feet as well, only to be rushed into the ropes by Masters as well. Kellen locked his arm around Keith’s and sent him flying across the ring; KSZ noticed Ramey’s convulsing body lying on the mat face down as he jumped across it and went into the ropes. Hitting the ropes and springing back toward Masters who was waiting, Keith leaped over Ramey’s downed body once more, and into the waiting arms of the Machine.

Masters latched his arms around Keith and looked to plant him on the mat with a snap overhead belly-to-belly suplex. KSZ managed to position his weight differently though as he just went up and came back down behind Masters landing on his feet. Zimmerman grabbed hold of Master’s shoulder and turned him around face to face with him and quickly delivered a forearm shot into the behemoth’s face.

Another forearm shot rocked Masters backward a few more steps, as he planted his feet and brought a closed right fist back staggering the champion. Keith sent an open palmed chop across the chest of Maters, and he retaliated with another closed fist to the side of Zimmerman’s face. KSZ sent another open palmed chop to the chest of Master and then quickly following up by sending his thigh into the midsection of Kellen.

Keith grabbed hold of Master’s arm just before he had the chance to wrench at the pain from the shot to his midsection and sent him flying into the turnbuckles. Masters bounced off of turnbuckle padding chest first and staggered backwards, only to be met by Zimmerman who had rushed the ropes just across from him and took him down with a massive clothesline of his own.

The follow through on the clothesline only caused that much more devastation from the move and upon hitting the mats Keith grabbed hold of Kellen’s head and twisted his body around into a better position for the headlock attempt. Zimmerman planted the heels of his boots into the mat and grinded his bicep into the side of Master’s head holding tightly to the submission lock. Masters, however, still had the wherewithal to begin trying to make his way back to his feet. Masters shot his arms out to the side and began shaking them trying to send some kind of invigoration of adrenaline through his body.

The fans in arena weren’t making the slightest sign of showing dislike for anyone within the All-Star Championship Wrestling ring. Tonight, this match more than anything, was more of a treat to them than any other match on the King of Ages show would be. There was no malice held toward any of the men standing within this ring, though they may have cheered louder for one competitor than the other there was no ill feelings toward any of them.

Kellen slowly made his way back to his feet, Zimmerman’s arm still wrapped around his head holding him at a hunkered position. Masters pushed Keith’s back into the ropes and tried to sling him across the ring, but a quick spin around, and the latching of Masters’ arm saw him taking the full effect of the attempt. Kellen was sent flying across the ring, and amazingly to the sight of everyone within the arena Ramey had finally made his way back to his feet.

The Anti-Star planted his feet and lowered his body; he caught Masters directly in the midsection with a shoulder and quickly raised back up. A massive back body drop saw Kellen Masters go flying over the top rope and without being able to catch onto the ropes or the apron the Machine came crashing down onto the mats below landing directly on his neck.

EWWWWW!!! AHHHHH!!!!

The sight of the botched landing caused everyone within the arena to cringe and turn their heads. Parents grabbed hold of their children’s eyes and tried to shield them from seeing the damage that Masters had taken as he flopped around on the mat for a brief moment like a fish out of water. He screamed in pain as some of the ring crew rushed to his aid, but he only pushed them off yelling that he was fine. But it was evident from the sight of the landing, and the crackling of bone, that Masters was not fine.

Back in the ring Jesse hadn’t had a moment to see what was going on outside of the ring, despite hearing the rumbling within the arena and the scurrying going on Zimmerman had quickly rushed him. Jesse dropped to his back sliding out onto the apron avoiding a running forearm shot from the Only Champion that Mattered. Jesse quickly twisted his way back to his feet and drove a forearm into Keith’s waiting face.

Zimmerman staggered backward and then rushed the ropes once again, but Jesse dropped and drove a shoulder between the top and middle rope. The blow was sent driving right into Keith’s midsection causing him to bend over as the wind was knocked from him. He turned wobbly legged and took a few steps toward the center of the ring, and then turned.

Ramey had grabbed hold of the top rope and brought himself up onto it spring boarding off and coming directly at Keith knocking him down to the mat with a rolling wheel kick. Ramey’s left boot catching him square in the center of the face. Ramey’s body also bounced off of the mat, but he quickly rolled around finding Zimmerman’s body as he scampered to grab hold of Keith’s leg and pull it in for the pin attempt.

One…

Two…

SHOULDER UP!

KSZ shooting his shoulder from the mat causing Ramey to sit up and grab hold strands of his hair pulling them from his scalp. It seemed a little over the top considering there wasn’t enough significant damage from to the World Champion to sustain a three count; but still in the back of Ramey’s twisted mind he knew anyone one of the men involved in this match needed to end it soon. Or else they would be the one at a disadvantage in the finale against the Caped Crusader, Z.

Outside of the ring, the medical staff and trainers had made their way out from the backstage area for the second time in the night. They were begging and pleading with Kellen Masters to let them putting him in a neck brace and take him to the back for medical attention. Masters grabbed hold of the neck brace and slung it into the crowd, then powered his way through the medical staff and sliding back into the ring under the bottom rope.

The Anti-Star had just begun making his way back to his when he saw the massive frame of Kellen Masters charging at him. Jesse had to think quickly on this toes; he dropped wrapping his arms around Kellen’s legs. The momentum of Master’s speed caused him to topple over into a flip landing on the back of his neck. Jesse held tight to his legs and to the amazement of the fans in attendance Ramey wrapped his arm around Kellen’s foot and locked in the mammoth man’s own finishing move, the Achilles’ ankle lock.

Ramey leaned back putting all of the pressure he could on the already wounded Kellen Masters. Then shockingly to everyone in the arena as well, instead of trying to break the submission hold that Jesse held on Masters the reigning World Champion flipped Masters head and shoulders from the mat and snapped him up in a dragon sleeper hold. Keith dropped to a knee and began pulling back on the hold.

Leon Hurst looked frantic, what in the fuck was he supposed to do? Moments after KSZ had locked in the dragon sleeper Masters’ arm began slapping against the side of KSZ’s tights. The tapping continued for around ten seconds until Masters’ arm went completely limp from the pain sustained by both of the submissions holds locked in simultaneously. Not only that, because of referee Leon Hurst’s inability to act and make a decision for this match.

Leon seeing Masters’ body go limp began signaling for the bell, which caused both Ramey and KSZ to release their holds and leave Kellen Masters lying in the middle of the ring motionless. The paramedics and trainers were still waiting on the outside of the ring, and as soon as the bell sounded they sprung into action crawling in under the bottom rope dragging a backboard and neck brace along with them.

While the paramedics and trainers began prepping Masters to get him out of the ring the attention was once again turned back to that of none other than Leon Hurst. He was backed into the turnbuckle post by both Jesse Ramey and Keith Scott Zimmerman. Hurst still looked very confused as to what exactly he was going to do; there was no clear defined winner of this match. Who was going to be moving on to the finale of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament?

“Leon, come on! I am the only reason you have a fucking job in this company and you saw with your own fucking eyes that I locked in that Achilles’ ankle lock before this twat even thought about taking advantage of the situation!” Ramey yelled at Hurst.

Keith’s attention snapped toward Ramey, but then back to Hurst, “He may have put locked in his submission first Hurst, but you know the only reason he tapped was because I took advantage of the damaged part of his body! I don’t care how well you two know each other, you know the only reason he tapped out was because of me!”

Hurst brought his arms up to the sides of his head to try and get both Ramey and KSZ away from him, and began shaking his head. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

So now the question was: what next?

the answer to the question of the ages

       

The answer was about to be revealed. In 5, 4, 3... annnnd, now.

"Well, well, well! What a shocking turn of events!"

Every single fan in the arena, together with Keith Scott Zimmerman and Jesse Ramey, craned their necks towards the stage to identify the source of that proclaimation. And instantly, a generous helping of jeers descended upon the man that had decided to stick his big nose into the business.

Considering what Z had already accomplished earlier in the night, it was no surprise that there were a number of fans threatening to jump over the security barricade and get them a piece of the Caped Crusader. As it were, Z merely laughed at the fans giving him grief. It never failed to amuse him.

Clearing his throat, Z decided to resume speaking: "In a match so important and vital, what we have here is a dilemma. Kellen Masters, used and abused and made to pass out by both Keith Scott Zimmerman and Jesse Ramey. That either means both men won, or both men didn't win. Whatever the case may be, the end result is the same. There is NO decisive winner. Pity about that.

Logically speaking -- and I do realise the irony of preaching irony to you idiot Swedes -- this means only one thing. And it's good news for me, by the by.

Jesse, Keith? Your singular inability to win this match on your own means that there is no clear victor for this match, which means I have no clear opponent to face in the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament Finale. Whiiiich means, I win.

I. WIN! I AM THE 2010 KING OF AGES, BAYBEH!

WHOOOOOOO~! Hand me that scepter, Tommy Vale! It's time to partyyyy!"

Oh fuck no. That couldn't be right, could it? The fans, while still jeering, were now in a state of shock. Did Z just exploit a loophole and announce himself the winner of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament? Zimmerman wasn't having any of that, as he turned to referee Leon Hurst and blew a veritable gasket. Jesse Ramey, meanwhile, dropped to his knees and massaged his left wrist; not once taking his eyes off of Z.

At ringside, there was chaos. What with ring announcer Tommy Vale arguing with Jimmy Reid and Renaud Cardinal over at the Broadcast Booth over the validity of Z's claims. Leon Hurst jumped out of the ring to escape the torrent of verbal abuse from the World Champ, only to find Vale asking him what was the next step. Did Z have a point?

The Caped Crusader sure as hell thought so. In fact, he was already celebrating.

"OOOOOOOOOOH HAPPY DAY! I DID IT, YOU HACKS! The Summer of Z comes to a brilliant end as I accomplish what I promised I would do! And now, I have the King's Choice! Ahahaha yay!" Z ranted, doing a little jig down the ramp and trying to avoid being hit by the piles of garbage being chucked at him by the fans.

Surely, there HAD to be an official ruling from someone in authority, right? Right?!

Well, ask and ye shall receive. "Hold on there, Z. You must be out of your mind if you think you're just going to have your way and appoint yourself this year's King Of Ages. Not on my watch, Z! Not after that you did earlier tonight!"

Oh yeah, bitches. SilverHAWK was in the hizhouse, and the General Manager was about to set things right.

The fans cheered like gangbusters, and Z stopped midway down the ramp, turning to smirk at SilverHAWK. Who in turn just scowled right back at Z, and at the mess of bodies that lay in the ring. Keith Scott Zimmerman simmered down now, knowing that HAWK was going to make sure that he passed a fair ruling.

Ignoring the triumphant cheers of the fans, HAWK went ahead and made it official: "Seeing how as both Keith and Jesse have been accorded the victory over Kellen Masters by the referee, there's only one easy way to resolve this situation. It's not a perfect solution, but shit happens. Tonight, in the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament Finale, there will be a slight change of plans.

Instead of a singles contest to determine the winner, we'll mix things up a bit.

... Z versus Jesse Ramey versus Keith Scott Zimmerman. Triple Threat Elimination Match.. That is all!"

Can you say, whoa? Because I can. W-h-o-a. What a game-changer from SilverHAWK, who swiftly turned on his heels and marched back to his office. The situation had been resolved, and the fans were kinda liking what the General Manager had just laid down. In the ring, Keith and Jesse shared a glance. Their night was far from over, and that was a good thing.

At ringside, referee Leon Hurst sighed. Problem solved. He could go to the back and chill out now.

And what of Z? Well, he wasn't looking so cocky anymore. He was still grinning, however. Hmm. Odd. With one last look at Jesse Ramey and Keith Scott Zimmerman in the ring, the Masked Enigma reached a conclusion.

One that had many a fan worried: "It ain't ideal, but it'll do."

f'in night

   

"Paige!"

Joe Bishop grunted as he raced down the hallway, chasing after the one and only Paige Allen. Joe was attempting to get a moment alone with the redhead, and find out what happened out there during the match-up involving Z and Buddy Saxon.

As it was, Paige Allen was too traumatised over what transpired. Considering that Buddy Saxon's visit to the hospital was her fault and therefore weighed heavily on her conscience, Paige had decided to pack up her things and flee the Ericsson Globe post-haste. She needed to be by herself.

She needed to get away from it all, and cry herself to sleep.

Joe cursed silently as he lost sight of the redhead. Nobody told him he'd be doing much running on that night.

Still, considering that SilverHAWK had his hands full with other business, Bishop -- the right-hand man to the General Manager -- figured he'd tackle this problem. Alas, by the time Bishop rounded a corner, he found that Paige Allen was nowhere to be seen.

The kicker? Heh.

Bishop was staring at the exit doors out of the arena.

Squinting, Joe could see beyond the doors; the sight of Paige hastily entering a cab and said cab speeding away escalated the formation of a lump at the bottom of his throat.

"Oh boy. HAWK's not going to like this!" Bishop sighed.

What a night. And there were still many matches to go. Joe turned on his heels and shoved his hands into the side-pockets of his pants. What exactly would he tell the Boss?

More importantly, what would SilverHAWK decide to do about Paige Allen... and Z?

What a f'in night.

TAG TEAM GRUDGE MATCH - STANDARD RULES
The Supernatural SWAT vs. Arkady & ???
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

           

An explosion of jeers engulfed the arena, as Hollywood Undead's "Undead" started up. Through the curtain and a burst of fire, walked the duo of Kroenen and Vago, the remaining two members of the Supernatural SWAT. Decked out in his best uniform, the German led his Hungarian accomplice down to the ring and marched up the steel steps while the massive Vago slid into the ring. Once removing the hat of his Nazi-esque attire and slipping it under his arm, Kroenen looked over the crowd with utter contempt for the people he saw. Vago, on the other hand, just glared up at the entrance ramp. He was itching to do battle and he wasn't going to have to wait long.

The skies along with the arena darkened and the lights flickered like lightning. Rain fell down across the entrance ramp and racing through it came a hooded figure who almost made it to the ring before the guitars started playing in AC/DC's "Hell's Bells". Under the bottom rope, slid the fighter and he was up on his feet in a flash. The hood of his jacket was launched back, revealing the painted face of Arkady Rasputin.

Vago stepped in front of Kroenen, making sure Arkady couldn't just pounce on the German at the first chance he got. The Russian wolf made sure to never take his eyes off of the duo, as he walked to the far side of the ring.

"Give me a mic," Arkady ordered the ring announcer and he got one. He stepped out to meet the two men who used to be his teammates and brought the mic up to his lips. "I'm not going to have this mess drag out forever in one of those lame feuds like everyone else does around this place. Tonight, it ends. You beat me and I'll leave ACW. I win and you two go back to Germany and that shithole indy fed your father runs."

The crowd erupted with approval with that idea, as they wanted the SS gone, as much as Arkady did.

"Now, you know damn well, that I am too proud to ask for anyone's help and I have no qualms with fighting you both. However, the fact of the matter is this: Vago is nothing more than a pawn who cannot compare to me. That's why I was the top soldier in the SS. So, you put his ass on the outside and prove why you were the leader by manning up and doing the job YOURSELF!"

Kroenen was not pleased by Arkady's words, as he insinuated that Kroenen was the weakest of the three. The Russian wolf stepped right into Vago's face.

"Remove yourself from my path or I will remove your head from your neck."

Vago just glared down at his former teammate and was about to try an hit him, when Kroenen pushed him aside. The German's ego would not let him be punked out before the massive amount of people watching in the arena and at home.

"Your answer?"

"Zhere vould be nothing greather zhan watching you run off vith your tail between your legs, lycan..."

The terms were agreed to and Arkady tossed the microphone aside. While he removed his jacket, Kroenen gave direction to Vago who was not pleased that he had to sit this battle out. However, all of their attention was grabbed by someone quite a bit more fun to look at. At the top of the entrance ramp, Aria Murphy appeared with a microphone of her own in hand. Even her significant other wasn't sure what was going on, which was made obvious by the puzzled look on Arkady's face.

"Beloved, I know you didn't want me to get involved," Aria addressed the Russian wolf, as she walked along the edge of the entrance ramp. "I will never go against your wishes, as I know how important the combat is to you. However, it is no secret that two of the most wretched human beings to ever walk god's green Earth are standing in that ring with you. They cannot be trusted and I am not going to let your thirst for combat put you in a bad situation. So, I made a call and someone very important to me agreed to stand in your corner. He knows you, Kroenen... and he's not happy. You perverted his teachings and he will not let your ways continue any longer. You will once again fear the darkness, as it brings the Ryuujin. My sensai has come..."

No one was sure of who or what she was talking about when the lights cut out. "Mein Herz Brennt" took over the airwaves and a silver and red dragon logo began throbbing on the tron.

The lights burst back on and perched in the corner like Spider-man behind Arkady was the former fWo cruiserweight champion, X3!!! Xiong spit green mist high into the air and hopped off the turnbuckle. Kroenen just about crapped himself, as he saw his former sensai standing before him. X3 pointed at Kroenen and the German raced out of the ring as fast as his legs could carry him. Arkady couldn't help but smile upon seeing the fear in Kroenen's eyes and he winked at Aria, who blew him a kiss before skipping off happily to the backstage area.

"Send his anarchist soul to hell where it belongs," X3 instructed Arkady and the two men bowed to each other.

On the outside of the ring, Kroenen was blowing up. The timekeeper's chair was launched across the floor and the timekeeper found himself shoved over the guardrail into the crowd. A nearby camera didn't fair any better as the German clocked him with a right hand. If Kroenen should win, he has a bunch of fines coming his way. That's for sure.

"Zhis is ridiculous," Kroenen screamed while stomping around the ring and slamming his trenchcoat down to the floor.

The referee ordered the German into the ring and Kroenen slowly made his way in. With the bell ringing in the background, Arkady and Kroenen began to circle, but it was cut short, as Kroenen's attention turned to his former teacher.

"You should've stayed in Japan, Xiong," the German growled and pointed down at him. "I vill deal vith you next!"

X3 couldn't care less about the threats and crossed his arms, while watching Kroenen turn back to his opponent. The fans roared, scintillated by what had unfolded so far.

Little did they know what would happen next.

SINGLES GRUDGE MATCH - STANDARD RULES
Kroenen vs. Arkady
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

DING DING DING!

After a short circling, Arkady and Kroenen met in the middle of the ring. Each were cautious and lowered their center of gravity, crouching while leaning over slightly. They extended hands towards one another, looking to lace fingers in a test of strength, but they couldn't find a position that they both agreed on. Kroenen reached out once more and Arkady looked like he was going to lace up, but instead pulled his hand back and slapped Kroenen in the side of the head.

The shot wasn't much, but it was enough for Kroenen to sigh and stand up straight. He took a deep breath and once again matched his opponent's position, so they could try once again. When it seemed like they would never lock up, they finally locked one set of hands in a test of strength and instantly began tugging at one another. Arkady dropped to one knee to break the grip and slipped behind Kroenen, hooking in a waistlock. Just as soon as he hooked it on, the German broke free and locked on one of his own. Arkady dropped to one knee to escape and went for another. The duo traded waistlocks with Kroenen finally spiraling free and falling on his stomach, allowing him to slither backwards on his gut away from his focused opponent.

Kroenen took a moment to think over things while on one knee. His eyes locked on the Russian wolf with Arkady standing strong in his Muay Thai ready stance. Once adjusting his mask, Kroenen climbed up to his feet and started to the middle of the ring. Once there, the duo locked horns in a collar and elbow tie-up. Kroenen instantly locked on a side headlock.

The duo were no strangers to each other and the German dropped to one knee, making Arkady do the same. He knew how dangerous his enemy's suplexes were and he wasn't about to be dumped on his head this early in the match. Arkady wasn't an easy one to keep down and he started forcing Kroenen up to a vertical base. Reacting fast, Kroenen took him over and down to the mat with the headlock still intact. The referee was quick to admonish Arkady as he instinctively grabbed Kroenen by the hair, so the Russian wolf pushed his enemy's head back by driving his forearm into Kroenen's face. In a flash, he rolled up the German, but didn't get a one-count before Kroenen kicked out. The pin attempt was less a try to win and more along the lines of Arkady using his foe's own energy against him, as when Kroenen kicked out, Arkady went with the motion and it allowed him to roll up to one knee.

Forcing the pair back up to a vertical base, Arkady struck with a pair of forearms and ran the duo into the ropes. Kroenen was sent racing across the ring and Arkady hurdled him with a leap frog. The German went for a baseball slide dropkick, as Arkady dropped to his stomach. It narrowly missed and Arkady hit the near ropes, with Kroenen rolling to his stomach. Once his foe hopped over him, Kroenen looked to go for a leap frog of his own and was taken out of midair by a Farooq-like spinebuster.

Arkady waited for just the right moment and darted to the ropes. The timing was perfect and Arkady looked to decapitate Kroenen just as he sat up with a sliding knee and he would have if it weren't for the German's great speed. Kroenen was just able to fall to his back to avoid the strike and he hurried to once again slither away from his foe.

It was more than apparent that Kroenen was concerned, as he was breathing heavy and looked up to the ravenous Arkady with wide eyes. He backed into the nearest corner, trying to regain his focus. On the other hand, the Russian wolf stood in the center of the ring and quietly motioned for Kroenen to come fight. A single deep breath and Kroenen did just that. After just a second of circling, the pair once again engaged in a collar and elbow tie-up. Kroenen's speed once again allowed him to get the advantage, this time with a waistlock.

Not interested in trading waistlocks for nothing again, Arkady captured his foe's left arm and turned it into a standing reverse form of a fujiwara armbar. Once positioned where he wanted, the Russian transitioned into a top wristlock. Kroenen was unable to force his way out of Arkady's grip, so he went to what he knew would work. That being a good old-fashioned kick to the gut. The simple strike allowed the German to take control and turn the tables on his opponent with a top wristlock of his own. While he might have been able to overpower his foe, Arkady turned to what would be the fastest way to escape. He smacked Kroenen twice in the thigh with a roundhouse and quickly reapplied his own top wristlock.

Knowing he had to take a different approach than trading strikes with his foe, Kroenen did a forward roll to relieve the pressure and took Arkady down with a single leg trip. Just as soon as the Russian wolf hit the mat, Kroenen scissored his leg and pushed his body down across Arkady's thigh, making the leg bend awkwardly. By squeezing his legs together, Kroenen was able to apply more pressure and it forced Arkady to sit up. The Russian looked to combat the hold by delivering some pain of his own by locking in an armbar. However, a quick application of pressure by the German broke the hold and sent Arkady back down to the mat.

One could see Arkady trying to formulate an escape from the basic but painful hold, but his concentration was broken by Kroenen adding a little more pain by driving his elbow into the Russian Wolf's thigh. Arkady growled and leaned forward so he could drive the point of his elbow into the side of Kroenen's head. The German's head was rocked back and it was just the opening Arkady needed. He instantly captured Kroenen's arm by the wrist and displayed great flexability by slipping his free leg over Kroenen's head to lock in a cross arm breaker.

As fast as Arkady moved to lock in the submission, Kroenen was just as fast in locking his arms, stopping the Russian wolf from applying the hold fully. Arkady started punching away at the German's hands, forcing him to react. Kroenen was able to roll Arkady up, while he tried to keep the submission intact, which now positioned Kroenen standing up with Arkady nearly upside down with his shoulders on the mat. The referee slid in to count, but before a one-count, Arkady twisted slightly getting his right shoulder off the mat. His rotation might have saved him from defeat, yet it left him open for Kroenen to stomp him in the chest. The strike broke the hold and allowed Kroenen to capture the Russian wolf's ankle and spin to the ground with a hamstring stretch.

The duo lay side by side on their backs with Arkady's leg being pulled towards his head. Kroenen had the leg scissored and was pulling with all of his might, trying to hyperextend the knee and hamstring. Like a pitbull, the German would not let go and in this position, Arkady couldn't reach his foe to strike him with an elbow or kick. Thus, Arkady looked to his strength advantage. Pulling his opponent with him, Arkady made it to the ropes, which made the referee call for the break. Though, the break didn't come until the count of four.

Once the hold was released the duo rolled in opposite directions and looked to each other from a three-point stance. Kroenen adjusted his leather gloves while Arkady stretched out his knee, as they both stood back up. Despite wearing a mask, Arkady could tell that Kroenen was smirking, as he knew Arkady hated using the ropes to escape a hold.

"You vill submit, lycan," Kroenen announced and stepped to the center of the ring. "Zhen, you and your whore vill be gone from ACW forever."

That was poor choice of words by the masked man and he instantly had Arkady in his face with a fire ignited. Arkady unloaded with a stiff right hand and Kroenen fired right back. Neither man would back down and the crowd watched in horror as right hand after right hand found facial features. This was the true start of the war and the proof of it was the huge cut above Kroenen's left eye and the Russian Wolf's busted lip.

Each had landed twenty three punches before Arkady started to gain the upper hand by landing three in a row. Kroenen struck back out of desperation with a solebutt to the lower abdomen that stunned the Russian wolf just enough for Kroenen to spin in the opposite direction and connect with a step-up enziguiri.

While his foe held his head in agony, Kroenen examined his wound best he could and found his hand covered in blood after just a split second of touching it. The referee tried to check on him, but the German shoved him aside and forced the dazed Arkady back into the corner. An Irish whip attempt was reversed and Kroenen slammed into the corner. Arkady tried to immediately rip his head of with a Yakuza kick, but Kroenen avoided it and used Arkady's awkward position to shove him backwards. The shove forced the Russian wolf to roll backwards, ending up on one knee and in perfect position for the German to split his lip open even more with a shining wizard.

Instincts took over for Arkady and he rolled out to the apron to safety. Blood flowed down his chin, as he stood back up. As soon as he was standing, Kroenen struck him in the gut with a roundhouse between the top and middle ropes. Using the ropes as a slingshot, the masked man launched himself over the top and caught Arkady with a codebreaker on the apron, which sent the Russian wolf flying to the floor.

Kroenen slipped back into the ring and took the opening to regain lost energy. On the other hand, Arkady was holding his mouth in pain with blood flowing between his fingers. While normally safe on the outside, the Russian wolf was in danger. Vago had made his way over to him and was chomping at the bits to get his hands on the former SS member. Luckily for Arkady, X3 was standing guard with a bokken in hand and pointed right at the Hungarian Horror.

"Walk away, Kaibutsu," Xiong commanded only getting a growl in return, but Vago did keep his distance, allowing Arkady to slip back into the ring.

Not wasting a single moment, Kroenen grabbed Arkady by the legs and drove his boot deep into the Russian's gut. Three more stomps in rapid fire succession followed and in a flash, he was ricocheting off the middle rope and connecting with a corkscrew elbow.

Making sure to hook the leg, the German went for his first pin attempt of the match.

1...

2...

No.

Despite what one would thing by looking at his blood-covered face, Arkady wasn't close to being done and shoved his adversary off. Arkady immediately sat up to stop any further tries for a pin and Kroenen used the positioning to lock on a rear chinlock. The Russian wolf snarled in pain, as Kroenen tried to pop his head like a pimple. Unable to keep his foe grounded for very long, Kroenen drove his elbow into the back of his enemy's head once the two were standing. A kneelift to the face dropped Arkady to one knee, but he immediately shot right up to a vertical base and clocked Kroenen in the jaw with a Muay Thai style elbow right to Kroenen's wound above the eye.

Kroenen retaliated with right hand.

Arkady came right back with another elbow.

Not looking for another striking battle with his former ally, Kroenen stunned him with a thumb to the eye. A roundhouse to the outside of Arkady's knee forced it to buckle and dropped him right to where Kroenen wanted him. A vicious knee blasted the Russian wolf in the mouth and put him back down on the mat.

Kroenen wiped the blood away from his eye, as his wound had gotten larger from the elbows, and used his boot to push his adversary out to the floor. Once out of the ring, the German sent Arkady crashing into the security barrier with an Irish whip. Kroenen was not looking to make a mistake, so he took his time approaching his foe and struck him in the chest with a huge kick.

The German's training by the man in his opponent's corner was obvious, as very few could deliver a kick like that let alone three of them that put Arkady on his ass against the barrier. Right after the third kick connected, Kroenen darted to the ring, hopped up to the apron with no hands, and launched himself back at Arkady connecting with a flying gamengiri to the face or a flash kick if you are a fan of John Morrison or don't watch Japanese wrestling.

His head had no place to go with the impact of the kick and Arkady fell lifelessly to the floor. He was seeing stars, as Kroenen broke the count and then, draped his upper torso over the barricade. One leaping onto the barrier, Kroenen jumped once more and came down with a brutal double stomp to the back side of his foe's traps.

Immediately rolling to his feet after the impact, Kroenen ran through the crowd and hurdled the barricade, catching the now-standing Arkady in the back with a sidekick that sent him crashing face first into the steel post.

Hoping that his foe would be too dazed from the barrage of attacks focused on his head, Kroenen rolled Arkady back into the ring and slithered in after him. A cover followed...

1...

2...

No.

A right shoulder exploded off the mat and Kroenen looked to the referee with anger in his eyes. He pounced on his foe and locked in a cobra clutch, looking to make Arkady work while he rested. Leg strength was something that the Russian wolf was not lacking and he used it to stand the pair back up in no time. Hoping to keep his foe guessing, Kroenen spun Arkady out of the hold while keeping a firm grip on the Russian's wrist. A short-arm pull led to a forearm to Arlady's mouth, which allowed Kroenen to slip behind him and lock on a tazmission.

The German made sure Arkady wasn't standing for long, as he drove his boot into the back of Arkady's knee, causing it to buckle. With each passing moment, Kroenen squeezed tighter and tighter, looking to choke the very life out of his foe. The Russian wolf would not just go down and he started to growl, as he rose up from one knee and started to march towards the ropes. Even with his rival pulling back on him, Arkady stepped closer and closer to the ropes. His fingertips were grazing the top rope when Kroenen leapt backwards and scissored Arkady's body, forcing him down to the mat.

"Ask him," Kroenen demanded.

"Do you want to give it up?"

"Nyet," Arkady growled in reply, with X3 pounding on the mat in hopes of rallying his ally.

There was no way he would submit to anyone, least of all Kroenen, and he began to thrash about until he had rolled the duo over. With only one arm and his foe clung to him like a tick, Arkady crawled to the ropes and was able to snag the bottom rope. Once again, the referee had to count until four before Kroenen would release the hold, but he didn't give the Russian a second to breathe. Arkady was pulled up and shoved into the corner where he could barely stand upright. Not many people can give Arkady a taste of his own medicine, but Kroenen was one of them. A huge roundhouse struck the Russian wolf in the chest, causing the crowd to wince in pain along with Arkady.

A second kick sounded like a rifle blast going off.

The strike caused Arkady to crouch down in the corner, but that didn't stop Kroenen from delivering another kick that left a massive red mark on the Russian's chest.

Despite his lack of ring time in ACW before coming into this match, Kroenen was showing that he wasn't afraid of the man he claimed was his top soldier. Right hands replaced the kicks and the German just fired them off until Arkady was seated in the corner and seeing stars.

"You're nozhing," Kroenen berated his foe and slapped him across the face.

The last thing you want to do is light the fuse on Arkady's temper and Kroenen's confidence had done just that. The slap sent a shockwave through the Russian wolf and he started to pull himself up to his feet, even with Kroenen flat out potato'ing him with right hands. Once standing, Arkady took a right to the jaw and just roared at his opponent. Before Kroenen could fire off another punch, Arkady had rocked his head back with an elbow. The duel had begin again and Kroenen couldn't believe that Arkady just kept coming. Every time he struck Arkady, Kroenen found himself getting himself getting walloped with an elbow and they seemed to be getting stronger and stronger with each passing moment. He spun around, looking for another solebutt, but Arkady caught the kick and shoved Kroenen's foor to the ground, so he could show him how to throw kick.

And what a kick it was.

Kroenen tried to shrug it off, but it was too much and he fell to the ground. The German clutched at his chest, as the air that was in his lungs was gone and he swore his chest had a fracture or two. Arkady took the opening to spew a mouthful of blood to the mat and wipe the traces of blood from his face. He was still woozy, but it only took a couple shakes of his head to eliminate it. His focus was back on his adversary and the Russian wolf was anything but joyous. Snarling the entire time, he pulled Kroenen back up and the German exploded out of Arkady's grip. However, he wasn't able to capitalize. With a roar, Arkady drove a boot into his chest in the form of a straight kick.

The shot sent Kroenen stumbling backwards and down to his ass, where he promptly feel to the side. Not using any energy that didn't involve his walking or growling, Arkady marched over to his opponent and when Kroenen instinctively sat up, Arkady struck him with a roundhouse to the chest that horrified the crowd.

Kroenen's kicks may have sounded like a rifle going off, but Arkady's were like a cannon firing.

After once again taking a second to spit out blood, the Russian wolf pulled his enemy up and whipped him across the ring. The fire was raging in Arkady and he took Kroenen high into the air with a gorilla press, much to the delight of the crowd. After several seconds of the power display, Arkady released his foe and drove a knee square into his chest on the way down.

While Kroenen fell lifelessly to his rear, the Russian wolf exploded off the ropes and connected with a baseball slide style knee to Kroenen's chest.

Arkady tried for a pin, only his second of the match...

1...

2...

No!

Kroenen had to use all of his might to get his larger rival off of him and as soon as he got an opening, he rolled to the outside. He hoped to catch his breath, but his foe was not going to let that happen.

"Get the f*ck out of my face," Arkady commanded the referee and shoved him aside, when he tried to stop him from going to the outside.

Not able to even given the chance to stand up, Kroenen found Arkady standing over him and a boot coming down into his chest. The Russian wolf assisted his rival in getting back up only to drive him chest first into the security barrier.

Arkady rolled Kroenen over, so his back was against the barricade, and electrified the crowd with a kick that sent the German flipping backwards over said barricade.

Instead of following his foe, Arkady took off into the ring. The count was broken and Arkady was using the time to regain his energy. Yet, his eyes never left his foe and when he saw him starting to stir, Arkady dashed to the far ropes. Looking like he could have easily leapt over the top rope, the Russian wolf used no hands in springboarding off the top rope. Through the air he soared, clearing the security barrier before driving his knee into the dead center of his adversary's chest.

The crowd erupted at the sight of the Russian wolf flying like he was a cruiserweight and the move sent a burst of adrenaline through Arkady that fuelled him while he exploded back up to his feet and howled, to which the crowd and X3 did the same. Arkady made his way back to the ring, even slapping a fan five on the way. Once back in the ring, he nodded to X3 and paced back and forth. He wasn't going to help Kroenen back in. He was going to make him work for it.

It took several moments and Arkady having to break the referee's count a few times before Kroenen finally dragged himself onto the apron, where he was met by his opponent who just marched right through the referee. Kroenen was dragged back up and put right back down with a northern lights suplex. Arkady went with the motion, executing a back handspring, so he wound up on his feet with his foe sitting up. Only one thing happens when your in this position with Arkady in control. You get kicked... HARD.

A roundhouse kick sent a splatter of crimson across the mat, as Arkady smacked Kroenen right in the cut above his left eye.

The referee slid into position, as Arkady went for a pin with his forearm pressed firmly against Kroenen's blood soaked mask.

1...

2...

No!

Kroenen would not stay down and he was able to get his right shoulder up in time. Arkady kept control immediately with a rear naked choke. Knowing he was in a real bad spot due to the wear and tear on his chest and the blood flowing out of his face, Kroenen had to react fast. He started rocking back and forth until he was able to roll the duo closer to the ropes. With Arkady pinned beneath him on his back, the masked man reached for the ropes, but before he could grab it, Arkady changed submissions. With just a repositioning of his left arm, Arkady transitioned into a tazmission, which locked the extended arm. Thus, blocking the German's attempt to get a rope break.

Plan A was a failure, so Kroenen went to his back up plan. He had to fight off the effects of submission, which was making it harder and harder to stay conscious. While doing so, he used his legs to rotate the pair, so he could finally break the hold by draping his foot across the bottom rope.

The hold was broken before the referee could even think of counting and Kroenen immediately rolled away from his foe. He was still feeling the effects and had only gotten to one knee when Arkady mockingly shoved his face with the bottom of his boot.

"Who is nothing now, motherf*cker?" Arkady questioned his foe while striking him in the face with jab like kicks to the face. Their hatred for one another more than apparent.

Whether it was his ego not letting him get punked out by such a hated rival or just his survival instincts kicking in, Kroenen absorbed a roundhouse to the chest and fired back with one of his own. The two warriors traded another pair of kicks before Arkady unloaded with a high powered kick that put Kroenen on his ass fast enough that the Russian wolf missed the second kick of the combination he was attempting.

Kroenen held his torso in pain and couldn't even stand up straight, as Arkady pushed him back against the ropes. The German was at his foe's mercy, as Arkady blasted him with a trio of kicks with the ropes keeping him from falling out of the ring.

Arkady disrupted his enemy's stay in the fetal position by rolling him onto his back. The change in position was so Arkady could slingshot himself out to the apron and take to the air once again with a springboard elbow that had hang time that would make Michael Jordan jealous.

Wasting no time, the Russian wolf hooked the far leg for a cover.

1...

2...

NO!

Kroenen escaped defeat with just a moment to spare and tried to crawl away. Before he could get anywehere, Arkady had scissored his body and locked in the rear naked choke once more. Seeing that he was too close too close to the ropes, Arkady broke the hold and pulled his opponent back up. A front chancery was clamped on and the Russian wolf looked to suplex his rival over the top rope. The block for such a move is possibly one of the most well-known in wrestling and Kroenen quickly wrapped his leg around Arkady's to stop the lift. A second attempt by Arkady was blocked as well and the German fired off a flurry of punches to Arkady's torso. Before he could respond to the attack, Arkady found himself hoisted into the air. Luckily for him, he was able to float over and land safely on the apron. Kroenen was able to react fast and sock his foe in the mouth with a flash kick.

The kick sent Arkady flying off the apron and tumbling down the entrance way. Knowing he had to keep the pressure on, Kroenen launched himself over the top in an attempt at a slingshot crossbody. While he landed safely on his feet outside of the ring with his foe rolling away to safety, that was the only positive thing for him. As soon as his feet hit the floor, Arkady whacked him in the chest with a trio of roundhouses that sent him stumbling back into the barrier.

Slightly dazed, Kroenen looked to be easy pickings for the Russian wolf, so Arkady tried for a leaping knee strike. The German slipped out of the way, which caused the Russian wolf to crotch himself on the security barrier. With only a split second to take advantage, Kroenen tried to take Arkady's jaw off with a picture perfect superkick that sent his foe tumbling into the crowd.

Momentum was starting to swing in his favor and Kroenen was not going to let it go in the other direction. He raced back into the ring, breaking the count, and lined up his foe. Once Arkady was standing, Kroenen took to the skies with a one hundred and eighty-degree springboard moonsault that took him a good four rows deep into the crowd.

Both men were motionless on the floor with the sea of humanity that was the capacity crowd surrounding them. Neither was showing any signs of life, as pools of blood began to grow around each of their heads. The referee ran out to check on them, forgoing the count for the sake of checking on their health. Several moments passed and Kroenen was the first to move and stumbled back to his feet, obviously off-balance. He somehow made his way back into the ring, as Arkady finally started to move on the outside. The referee had to fend off Kroenen from going after the Russian wolf several times which allowed Arkady to reach the ring and roll back in without the worry of being counted out.

As soon as he cleared the bottom rope, Arkady was grabbed by the hair and pulled up to his feet. Kroenen gripped him by the waist and a back flip allowed Arkady to escape a belly-to-back suplex. After ducking a wild backhand from his foe, the Russian wolf darted to the ropes and Kroenen took his head off with a forward roll into a lariat that caught him more in the mouth than it did the throat.

A streak of crimson extended up the German's arm after he wiped the blood from the exposed portion of his masked face and he fired his battle-worn foe into the corner. Before Arkady reached the corner, Kroenen was already sprinting towards the adjacent corner. The Russian wolf wasn't in the corner for fifteen seconds before Kroenen ran along the top rope like a high wire and smashed him in the face with a front dropkick.

While his foe fell face first to the mat, Kroenen took a moment to glare at his former teacher. Kroenen breaking out parts of X3's offense was more of a slap in the face than an homage and Xiong showed that he knew that it was by returning the hate-filled stare. The respect between the two was long since gone and the German flicked some of his blood at X3, drawing the ninja's ire, before turning back to his adversary.

He positioned Arkady near the corner and quickly ascended the corner. However, when he reached the top, he found Arkady exploding off the mat and running up the corner to meet him. A trio of elbows struck Kroenen in the jaw and Arkady hooked him for what looked to be a uranage. Knowing this was a bad position to be in, Kroenen broke free with elbows of his own. The dazed Arkady was doubled over on the top and Kroenen did a back somersault over him, landing on his feet in the ring. In the blink of an eye, Kroenen dropkicked his foe in the rear, sending Arkady head first into the steel post.

Draped over the corner like a wet towel being left out to dry, Arkady could do nothing as Kroenen pulled him off the ropes with a German suplex.

Feeling as if things were well in hand, the German's confidence started to rear its ugly head.

"You're next, Xiong," Kroenen informed the ninja and motioned for his opponent to get up.

Arkady staggered back to his feet and had to think fast, as his rival tried to catch him with another superkick. He barely escaped contact and found himself crashing back down to the mat courtesy of a martial arts style leg sweep, as he tried for a roundhouse. Kroenen took off to the ropes and Arkady sat up to avoid a baseball slide dropkick. Before Kroenen could react, Arkady connected with a wicked knee to the side of his face.

Too weak to capitalize, the Russian wolf stumbled to the corner, which was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Kroenen rolled to the opposite corner, hoping the distance would give him time to recover. Arkady looked to take advantage of the positioning by charging at his foe and was met with a boot to the face. He dropped to one knee, as Kroenen ricocheted off the middle rope to the top. Arkady ran up the rope behind him and it looked like he would connect with a belly-to-back suplex, but in midair Arkady turned it into a Rock Bottom, spiking Kroenen into the mat.

Blood flowing down his face and his body aching, the Russian wolf battled back to his feet, though he was a little off-balance. Arkady blocked it all out and looked to Irish whip Kroenen. It was reversed and Kroenen leapt into the air for a dropkick. Wrong move. Arkady took to the air and simultaneously, rotated around the dropkick and drove his knee into Kroenen's chest.

Adrenaline was starting to find its way into Arkady's blood stream. He pounded the mat and looked to the heavens with a roar. He spewed a cloud of crimson towards Vago, as he felt the fire began to burn within him. Out of on his feet, Kroenen stood back up and he wished he would've rather stayed on the mat. Arkady whacked him twice in the chest with left-footed roundhouses, the back of the leg with his right foot, and then, with a solebutt to the gut with the right foot. He raced to the ropes and leapt up to the top rope once again with no hands. Using the momentum of rotating one hundred and eighty degrees, Arkady sent Kroenen spiraling to the mat with a knee to the face.

The ring looked like a war zone with lifeless bodies and blood splatter covering it and the referee checked on Kroenen, who's small cut above his eye had become a huge gaping wound. Arkady was not looking much better, as his mouth was in dire need of stitches, but he still would not stay down, even forcing his enemy to do the same with a hand full of hair. A front kick to the chest sent the German stumbling back into the corner. Arkady fell to a three-point stance, but exploded out of and delivered a step-up knee strike.

As Kroenen fell to his rear, the Russian wolf hit the ropes and did more damage to the German's wound with a bootwash.

Arkady fell next to his foe with only an arm on top of his opponent.

1...

2...

Thr-NO!!!

An arm was not enough, even at this point and the battle continued on. After a moment to regain his focus, Arkady pulled his foe up and locked on his trademark Muay Thai style clinch. Knees pounded Kroenen's face again and again until he was out on his feet or so it seemed. The Russian wolf took off to the ropes, but before he could attack, the German put him down with a rolling koppu kick.

Unable to see straight, Arkady found himself in the corner and using it to pull himself up. Kroenen had been doing the same thing with the ropes across the ring and saw that his foe was looking out of the ring. So, the German charged and struck with a tiger spin kick or 619, not between the ropes, but above the top rope.

The kick caught Arkady in the mouth and sent him rolling back towards the center of the ring. Kroenen scurried up to the top rope from the apron and took to the skies with a mad splash.

Hooking the near leg, the German went for the pin...

1...

2...

Thr-NO!

Kroenen looked to the referee in disbelief and climbed up to one knee. He couldn't help but stop and take a moment to try and regain his wits and lost energy. After executing a forward somersault to his feet, Kroenen watched on, as Arkady struggled to get to a vertical base. A roaring elbow almost took Arkady back down and Kroenen took off to the corner. He ran up the corner and was about to jump, when Arkady shoved him off the top and all the way to the floor.

The injured wolf tried to stay vertical, but his legs gave out on him and he was forced to rest while Kroenen was out cold on the floor. Soon enough, he rolled out of the ring and made his way over to his fallen opponent. Arkady rolled Kroenen up onto the apron and climbed up to join him. It looked like a vertical suplex on or even off the apron was coming, but Kroenen blocked. He tried for one of his own, But Arkady floated over and landed behind him. A forearm crashed into the back of his head and Kroenen was launched off the apron with a German suplex. Showing his amazing agility, Kroenen was able to do a back flip with the move and land on his feet on the floor. Arkady rolled to the floor and turned right into a yakuza kick.

It was more of a grazing strike and it stunned the Russian wolf long enough for Kroenen to lock on a three-quarter nelson. An attempt at a sliced bread number two using the apron by Kroenen was blocked by Arkady forcing the German to back flip and land gut first on the security barrier.

Both were exhausted. Arkady sat against the ring, as Kroenen fell off the barrier to the floor. The referee began the count...

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

Arkady slipped under the bottom rope to break the count, but his rival snagged him by the ankle and pulled him out to the apron. The apron had become a main arena for battle between the two and they gave all they had to clocking the other with brutally stiff forearms. The crowd erupted, as even after the vicious battle thus far, the two were going all out on the apron. They had just gotten into double digits with strikes when Arkady roared and landed three straight followed by a kick to the gut. In a flash, Arkady had Kroenen up on his shoulders and took him to the floor with a sit-out powerbomb.

Knowing he had to break the count or at least make it in before the count was at ten, Arkady rolled back into the ring and lay in the middle of the ring. Kroenen may have been out cold at this point, as his eyes were shut and his breathing was the only movement coming from him. Feeling as if he had regained enough energy, the Russian wolf went to the corner and climbed to the top rope. The referee pleaded with him to get down and stay in the ring, even waving his arms wildly, but he had other more deadly ideas. After a deep breath, Arkady jumped as high as tired body would launch him and came down on his adversary with a five-star frog splash.

That move blew the roof off the arena and the crowd began chanting for Arkady. Kroenen gripped his ribs in pain, as his damaged torso just kept getting attacked, with each attack more devastating than the one before. He just couldn't fill his lungs with air and what air he could capture, he used to cry out in agony. With help of the bottom rope, Arkady pulled himself into the ring, leaving his foe to suffer on the outside alone. The referee rushed over to him and admonished him for doing that, which allowed Vago to march over to his fallen leader and launch him back into the ring, as the monster believed he may not have made it by himself. Warned previously not to interfere, Vago found himself being attacked by X3 who rushed him and sent him to the floor with a hesitation dropkick to the chest.

Xiong pounced on the fallen monster and began socking him with right hands. This easily caught the attention of referee and he began yelling at both men, demanding they stop immediately. However, the two men had other ideas. Vago's amazing strength shoved off the smaller Xiong with one hand and relative ease. X3 did a backwards roll to his feet and was met by a huge Vader attack from the big man that sent X3 flying back like he was hit by a freight train.

The Hungarian horror pulled Xiong up and looked to deliver a right hand, but got a blast of green mist spewed into his eyes.

A flurry of strikes backed the monster up the ramp and the duo battled all the way to the backstage area.

Back in the ring, the duo met in the center of the ring and Kroenen whipped Arkady into the corner. He tried to follow him in with a handspring elbow, ala the Great Muta. Kroenen got only air and crashed harshly into the corner, as Arkady raced across the ring. After hitting the ropes, Arkady connected with a clothesline that sat the Russian wolf on the middle rope. Still sitting on the middle rope, he turned his foe around and kicked him in the face by falling backwards, but holding the top rope, so he didn't fall to the mat. The odd attack allowed Arkady to slip out to the apron between the ropes, as Kroenen stepped backwards on spaghetti legs. The combination of moves was capped off with a springboard knee strike.

Feeling that it could be time to end it, Arkady hurried Kroenen back up and planted him with a straightjacket suplex with a bridge.

1...

2...

Thre-NO!!!

Kroenen was running on pure instinct and was able to somehow kick out with only a moment to spare. Arkady growled with rage, as he wanted to end this now, and brought his adversary up to a vertical base. A pair of elbows to the jaw, a body shot, and a spinning backfist all with the right hand found their mark and were followed by a roundhouse from the same side of the body. This barrage of strikes allowed Arkady to explode off the ropes with a sick kick that turned his foe inside out.

Another pin try by the Russian wolf...

1...

2...

Three-NO!

Even the super-focused Arkady had to shake his head at the fact that Kroenen had escaped defeat once again. Not many people are conscious after the sick kick let alone kick out. However, he couldn't dwell on the fact, so he pulled his opponent back up. From out of nowhere, Kroenen slapped Arkady's hands away and burst into a flurry of lefts and rights. A roundhouse to the thigh dropped Arkady to one knee and Kroenen obliterated him with the step-up roundhouse heel kick known as the Crimson Dynamo.

When it came to the teachings of Xiong, no kick was more respected, as it was passed down to him by his grandfather. It was only taught to the best of X3's students. The rotation of the kick assisted Kroenen in rolling out to the apron where he put all he had into climbing to the top. Arkady hobbled over to him and got a kick to mouth for his trouble. The German was caught by Arkady, as he was he went for a crossbody block, and was tossed into fireman's carry position. Knowing that a Go2Sleep would be the next step, he elbowed until Arkady's grip was broken and he slipped behind his foe. A belly-to-back suplex dumped Arkady on his head.

Arkady snarled and shrugged off the impact, returning the favor with a belly-to-back suplex of his own.

Kroenen was not going to let himself be seen as weaker than his foe, so he did just the same. This time he went with a German suplex...

And Arkady responded with one of his own.

Kroenen spiked him with a second one...

And Arkady responded with one of his own.

Trading of suplexes was taking its toll, despite neither man wanting to admit it. Kroenen tried for a third but Arkady broke the waistlock. Both had the same thing in mind, as Arkady spun around. The pair simultaneously unleashed roundhouse kick that struck the other in the jaw and they both plummeted to the mat.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

The duo got back to their feet at nearly the same moment and Kroenen surprised his adversary with a superkick that sent Arkady falling down across the middle rope.

Barely able to stand, the masked German pulled Arkady up and smacked him in the jaw with another vicious Crimson Dynamo.

Kroenen draped his body over his fallen foe and the referee slid into position...

1...

2...

Three-NO!!!

Arkady's training was top notch and like his foe, his instincts saved him defeat. Kroenen was too exhausted to even try fighting with the referee about the count, as he stood up. A dual-handed thumb across the throat was the sign that Kroenen was going to bring out the big guns. He stepped out to the apron and lined Arkady up. Showing his amazing agility once again, Kroenen executed a one-eighty springboard and got uncanny height with his three hundred and sixty degree moonsault. It was his move. It was the Todesengel.

However, he got nothing but mat.

Focused solely on his injured midsection, the masked man was on his feet in a flash, but doubled over while clutching at his torso. He was ripe for the picking and Arkady didn't miss his chance. Kroenen had no idea what was coming when the Russian wolf captured him. Arkady wasted no time in spiking him on his head with the now highly-debated best brainbuster in the business.

Arkady floated over...

1...

2...

THREE-NO!!!

No one could believe that Kroenen got his shoulder up and stopped Arkady from gaining his victory. Barely able to keep himself upright, Arkady watched as Kroenen fought up to his knees. A roundhouse to left side of the German's face was followed by one to the right side and a second to the left side. Kroenen crumbled to the mat in a heap. He just couldn't take any more shots to the head. Arkady was going to make him though and pulled him up. He was going to make sure he drove his knee through Kroenen, not just into him. Arkady hit the near ropes and then, the far. He bounced off the near ropes again and Kroenen did the same just a second later. After hitting the far ropes, Arkady was forced to duck under a clothesline. However, he couldn't avoid the standing sidekick that followed.

The kick was on the mark and forced Arkady back into the ropes, but he immediately darted out of them with a roaring elbow.

Kroenen's head was rocked back and the duo fell to the mat.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

Neither were going to give up and they used all they had to get back up with only a split second to spare. Dead center of the ring, the two gladiators met. Even with the exhaustion that has engulfed their bodies, the hatred between them was obvious in their eyes. The two began trading right hands. They socked each other at the same time which made both take a step back. Kroenen unloaded with all he had left in the tank with a roundhouse to the side of Arkady's head.

Arkady let loose one of his own, sending a burst of red across the ring.

One with the opposite leg struck Kroenen on the other side of his face.

A third kick missed and the German connected with a step-up enziguiri.

Kroenen landed on his feet after connecting with the kick, while Arkady fell to one knee. After hitting the ropes, Kroenen connected with a shining wizard.

However, he wasn't done there. He raced to the ropes and blasted his foe with a baseball slide dropkick square to the face.

Kroenen hurried to the outside. He had only one thing in mind... The Todesengel. Arkady was lifeless on the mat and there was nothing stopping Kroenen. The fans were once again treated to the dazzling move that Kroenen had perfected, as he came crashing down on his enemy.

A hook of the leg and Kroenen looked to get the win...

1...

2...

3!

NO!!!

Arkady's shoulder shot off the mat and his hand remained in the air. His will to win would not let his rival obtain the win. Kroenen had run out of ideas and pounded the mat out of rage and frustration. He took off to the corner and slipped out to the apron. He took a deep breath and started up the corner. Worn out, he slowly climbed to the top. Just as he got a foot on the top, Arkady met him in the corner and busted him in the jaw with an uppercut. The Russian wolf started making his way up, using Kroenen to steady himself. The pair eventually made it to the top where they traded elbows, with the crowd cheering them on. Arkady saw a strike coming in, and ducked it, locking the masked man in a head and arm capture. No one was sure what Arkady had planned, but they didn't have to wait long, as he drove his foe into the mat with a Spanish Fly.

As soon as they hit the mat, Arkady rolled the pair over with the capture still intact and locked in his rendition of the Koji Clutch called The Lament Configuration.

The crowd erupted, as the submission was applied in the center of the ring. At one hundred percent, Kroenen would have issues escaping due to Arkady's size and strength advantage, but with the war he has been through, there was very little hope. The German battled with all he had. He tried rolling the pair over, spinning closer to the ropes, and any other idea he could come up with, but there was nothing he could do. Seconds seemed like years in the hold and despite his screaming, Kroenen tapped out.

With the ringing of the bell, Arkady released his fallen foe and rose up to his feet. His legs were weak, blood flowed from his mouth, and he could barely keep himself balanced, but Arkady stood tall with his arm raised high with the crowd chanting his name. Two gladiators had gone through hell and one came out the victor. All doubt was gone. There was no guessing or wondering. There was only one alpha male of the SS and it was Arkady Rasputin.

TRIPLE THREAT MATCH - STANDARD RULES
Carrachio Salfuego vs. JP Boudreau vs. Chris Storm
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

       

It was supposed to be a one day contract. That’s what everyone was told. One day, then he would be gone. But he was back the next week. And now again at the KING OF AGES pay-per-view. Who could have possibly been responsible for this? Whoever it was didn’t make any friends with JP Boudreau or Carrachio Salfuego. Chris Storm cheated both of them out of a fair match, and neither was going to let him do it again. It would certainly be a lot harder in a Triple Threat Match.

Once the ring had been cleared and touched up after that epic encounter between Arkady and Kroenen (bye Kroenen and Vago!), the sweet sounds of 'En Ontro Mundo' by Hombres G greeted the fans over the speakers, and out came Carrachio Salfuego. He slapped hands with the fans, saluted them for their warm reception, and ran around the ring once before sliding in and raising his left arm up to acknowledge the crowd. Jogging on the spot, he waited his opponent with a determined look on his face.

He wouldn’t have to wait long. The man who requested this match was up next. The curtains parted and out came the Montreal Frog. Then he promptly fell flat on his face. Carrachio stopped what he was doing in the ring and walked over toward the ropes.

The question was answered before it even got asked. Stepping out from the curtain was Chris Storm, stepping right over JP Boudreau. Correcting the protective mask as he walked, he nailed him in the head with a right to put him flat on his back before pulling him up by his hair. Carelessly he threw him down the ramp and watched as the body tumbled down and hit the ring apron. Dusting his hands off, as if it was same great insult that he had to soil his hands himself, Chris started down the ramp toward the ring.

Carrachio looked at the referee, asking if that was legal. Mark Shields just shrugged his shoulders, “I haven’t signaled for the bell yet, anything is fine.”

JP tried to get back to his feet but the boot of Chris Storm prevented that from becoming a reality. Grabbing the protective mat around the ring, Chris pulled it back to expose the cold concrete below. (HAHAHA, I’m fucking with you, there is no protective mat)

Dropping him on his ass with a Snapmare, Chris made him pay with a Spinal Tap. Boudreau writhed in pain, but the Rock Superstar just slapped on a Headlock. The crowd in Stockholm were letting Storm know how much they hated seeing him again use underhanded tactics. The match hadn’t even started yet and he was already going after Boudreau.

Still in the ring, Salfuego looked for Shields to do anything. The bastard referee of ACW wasn’t even paying attention, instead electing to light up his smoke. Seeing that the law of the match was anything but, Carrachio decided to take matters into his own hands. Taking to the skies, Carrachio launches himself over the top rope and comes crashing down on top of Storm and Boudreau.

Despite the fact that the Headlock was broken up, it was hardly the way Boudreau would have wanted. None the less, all three of them rolled on the floor in pain as Mark Shields actually bothered to walk over and check on them. Salfuego rolled over, trying to use the apron to get back to his feet.

“Ah fuck, I was hoping he killed himself” Shields muttered to himself, “ I wanted to hit the caterer’s table before Spike demolished it.”

“That’s a real shame” Reid noted, “it looks like Mark won’t be getting out early. I hear Spike Saunders just destroyed the caterer’s table too.”

“Ah fucking damnit.”

No Swedish meatballs for you, Mr. Shields. Back to the match!

On his feet first was Carrachio Salfuego. He went right for Chris Storm, picking him up and nailing a Knife Edge Chop. Even in Sweden the crowd knew what to do.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Hearing the crowd, Carrachio reared back for another one.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And another.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He was really starting to enjoy this.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Smiling ear to ear, Carrachio reached back real far on this one.

SMACK!

Back on his feet now, JP Boudreau entered the fray and nailed Salfuego in the back of the head before nailing a Pendulum Backbreaker. Having heard the crowd earlier, Boudreau picked Carrachio up and threw him against the apron. He reached back and unloaded his own Knife Edge Chop.

wooo

JP looked around, trying to figure out what happened. With his eyes off the prize, Carrachio pushed him back and nailed a chop.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Not to be outdone, the Montreal Frog came right back at him.

wooo

Then Carrachio.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And Boudreau.

wooo

Clearly upset, Boudreau reached back to punch his lights out. The only problem was Salfuego easily ducked it and nailed a Reverse Neckbreaker. Picking him back up, Salfuego rolled him in the ring under the bottom rope.

Ready to slide in himself, Carrachio got blindsided by Storm, who had been waiting and watching while the Salfuego and Boudreau had been exchanging chops. Chris nailed the Spanish Boy from behind with a Clothesline and followed it up with a Belly to Back Suplex. Floating over, he slapped on a Side Headlock while Carrachio was still on the ground.

Getting back to his feet was JP Boudreau. Mark Shields looked at him, exhaling from the cigarette.

“You going to jump over the rope too?”

The Montreal Frog shook his head. He didn’t fly. He didn’t need to resort to tricks like that. He was as fine a technical wrestler as there was. Sliding out of the ring, he grabbed Storm and pulled him to his feet. He was promptly smacked right in the mouth with a right and slid back into the ring. Rolling right back to his feet he found Mark Shields there waiting. The Bastard Referee of ACW blew smoke ring in his face.

“You should have jumped over the rope.”

Boudreau swiped at the smoke, trying to clear the air. He stared at the two outside the ring. Once Chris had Carrachio upright, JP rushed them. The crowd waited with baited breath, but the Montreal Frog never took to the sky. Instead he slid under the bottom rope, nailing them both with a textbook Baseball Slide. Exiting the ring, JP Boudreau admired his handy work.

Grabbing Salfuego, Boudreau made sure he remembered to pay him back. A Swinging Neckbreaker puts Carrachio on the concrete and gives JP enough time to pick up Chris Storm. He tries to lift the Technical Punisher with a standard Vertical Suplex.

The Montreal Frog should have recalled what happened during their match when he tried to suplex Chris Storm. It didn’t end well then and it sure as hell wasn’t going to end well here. Chris was easily able to throw his leg in to block the lift. When Boudreau eased up to try for a second lift Chris adjusted himself and sneak out of the hold. Now beside Boudreau, Chris grabbed the back of the man’s head and slammed it into the apron. Spinning him around, he rolled him right back into the ring.

Chris Storm followed in behind him, making sure to press. Boudreau tried to get back to his feet but Chris was right behind him. Giving him a pair of clubbing blows to the back of the neck, Chris wrapped his arms around the waist. Boudreau knew what was coming next. He only had to experience it once to know he wanted to part of another German Suplex. Boudreau dropped his hips and tried to keep all his weight down low. Unfortunately for him, Chris Storm still seemed to dead-lift him even at his weight.

Having him up in the arc, there is nothing Chris Storm can do when he noticed Carrachio Sulfuego was back on his feet and standing on the apron. Timing it just right, Carrachio springboard off the top rope and nailed Storm in the chest with a Dropkick. The end result saw Boudreau get slammed with a little more carelessness than normal, causing him to nearly slide out of the ring on impact.

Seeing all three in the ring finally, Mark Shields went ahead and signaled for the bell.

DING-DING!

“Are they just now starting the match?” Cardinal wondered out loud.

“Better late than never!”

Regardless, now the match was official. Carrachio must have heard the bell because he dove on Storm for a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

Chris Storm seemed more surprised than anything else at how early Salfuego had gone for the pin. After the kick out he was already trying to get back to his feet. Carrachio kept the pressure on Storm, forcing him into the turnbuckle. Charging him, he leapt onto the middle turnbuckle and rifled off a fist square to Storm's head. Even with the protective mask covering his face, Salfuego still rocked him with punches to the side of the head. After a fourth shot had Storm rolling, the Spanish Boy hopped down from the middle turnbuckle and grabbing him by the wrist. Looking to launch him across the ring, Carrachio found himself being reversed.

He was never given a chance to crash into the far corner as JP Boudreau came off the mat and timed a Chop Block just right. Carrachio dropped to the canvas, clutching his knee.

Grabbing the leg, Boudreau turned him over for a Single Leg Boston Crab. Mark Shields didn’t even bother to check and see if Carrachio would tap. As soon as Boudreau was settled in Chris Storm came right at him and nailed him across the head with a Shuffle Side Kick, knocking him right off.

With Boudreau off and Salfuego still down, Chris decided to slap on his own Single Leg Boston Crab. The crowd was booing, just letting it rip. Hearing them scream, hearing all that support, Carrachio reached out for the ropes. He crawled, he fought, even when Chris leaned back to increase the pressure he refused to give up.

Fighting for the ropes, he could almost touch them. His fingertips were just inches away but as much as he reached he could not grasp it.

He would, however, be saved for a second time. Boudreau paid Storm back, Clotheslining Chris off him from behind. Chris Storm tried to get up but Boudreau was there to stomp away on him, keeping him planted to the canvas. Boudreau lifted Storm off the mat, slapping him with an European Uppercut. Chris stumbled backward, falling into the ropes. Boudreau rushed, looking to take Storm out of the ring and possibly out of the match. The Rock Superstar saw it coming from a mile away. Dropping the shoulder, he lifted the Montreal Frog up and over the ropes. Luckily for him he was able to land on the apron and avoid a painful crash.

Back on his feet, Carrachio sprinted at them. Chris turned just in time to get caught with a Monkey Flip that sent him across the ring. Kepping up to his feet, Carrachio grabbed Boudreau and flipped him over the top rope and back into the ring.

The crowd exploded for the Man from Madrid. He stood in the center of the ring, soaking it all in. When it slowly died down he turned back toward JP Boudreau. The Montreal Frog was trying to get back to his feet when Carrachio nailed him with an Enziguri. Boudreau fell into the corner. It was all Salfuego needed. He grabbed Boudreau and moved him from the corner. Hoping onto the middle turnbuckle, he leapt and caught the head in the air. Spinning, he took him down and spiked him into the mat with a Tornado DDT.

El Espiritu De Madrid!

Even louder now, the crowd watched with baited breath as Carrachio rolled over to make a cover. The third wheel made himself felt again. Grabbing Carrachio, Chris nailed him with a headbutt with that protective mask before dumping him through the ropes. He made the cover over Boudreau.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING-DING!

”BBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Chris Storm raised his arm in victory. He never cared how he got it. He got it. And now he was getting out of town.

”He doesn’t care how he does it, Chris Storm just gets wins!” Reid commented as Chris Storm made his way up the ramp.

Welcome (back) To The Night Life

KING OF AGES 2010 had been crazy thus far. Tonight, four wicked matches had already been seen; two of which shaped the finals of ACW’s grandest tournament yet, the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament. The fans were still chewing on the result of the match that just ended (with Carrachio and Boudreau consoling each other as they exited the ringside area receiving cheers from the fans that appreciated their efforts), but right before they could get any further with the next one… the lights went out right along with any sound, save that of some die-hard wrestling fans.

“What the hell is this?!” 'The One' Jimmy Reid called from ringside.

“I don’t know.” Renaurd Cardinal replied, stunned by the arena lights. “What is this?

The SlyTron lit up in a flicker of static and snow. Immediately following, a message began...

“Fuck. Yeah.”

caffeine overload

"Fuck. No."

In her locker-room, one Fejona Min stared wide-eyed at her television monitor, her nostrils flared at what she'd just seen unfold. It wasn't that she was pissed at there being a new group in ACW, seemingly bent on integrating themselves into the ACW way of life.

Rather, it was the words of The Amazing Gabriel that irked her. More specifically, one referring to Fejona herself.

"Maggie Q rip-off?" Fejona repeated, getting up from her chair and standing to her feet. "This no-name idiot dares to sully MY name? Motherfucker."

Uh oh. When the Rogue Slayer gets really pissed, she makes with the cursing.

Without warning, Fejona suddenly lashed out with a sidekick at her television monitor, knocking it off its perch! The result? Well, that was rather obvious, innit? The television monitor crashed down onto the floor and broke into a half a million pieces.

Surveying the damage done, Min bit down on her lower lip. "Well, then. I think I've consumed enough coffee for the day."

With her precious Scorpion Fighting Title fastened tightly around her slender waist, ACW's Original Femme Fatale turned on her bare heels and briskly marched out of her locker-room. Clearly, she was on edge for the upcoming Stockholm Syndrome Battle that was on the horizon. Four individuals, two storied title belts, with only one end in mind: complete and utter annihilation of the highest order.

Question on everybody's mind was a simple one: would Fejona Min be able to survive? Would she be able to walk out of Stockholm still in one piece, and cement herself as one of ACW's greatest fighters EVER?

We'd find out soon enough.

The Real God and Goddess

   

The ever increasingly beautiful Jenna McMullen -- ACW's bestest backstage interviewer of all time -- stood next to the fancy KING OF AGES 2010 backdrop smiling widely for the cameras as her guests arrived on scene. The shining glint from their championship belts gave way to who they were. Well in most cases this was the case but seeing how one was seven foot three colossus of a man and the other was the highly attractive Gina Carano of wrestling, you can easily surmise that she was next to The Entourage.

"Evening guys. Fans, please join me in cheering for two wonderful stars!" she stated with glee. "Thank you for this moment of your time."

"Anytime, and always for you Jenna." spoke Saunders as they became welcome to the camera shot. Standing between the two was their acquisition, Darina O'Callaghan. "After all it is about time that the real God and Goddess of the ring grants the peasants a few moments of time."

"Great. Excellent. Before we talk about tonight, I wanted to say thank you."

"Thank you?" queried Callie.

"Yes. Those investment tips you provided me. They paid off. Big time!"

"Great to hear, Jen." She smiled and reached out to shake her hand, but instead pulled her in for a smooth hug. "Very good..."

Saunders chuckled as the two pulled apart. "Glad to hear it worked out for you Jenna. Perhaps soon you can leave this career choice and move up the ranks or get a decent paying job back in the States."

"Maybe. But for now this is great spending money increasement!" She giggled. "Enough about me, for the moment. I heard from the grapevine, that you guys are defending the ACW Tag Team Titles tonight against Irish Spring. Is that correct?"

"We are. However, we don't want it to be just about these title belts. Sure, it is a title defense of the highest order; however we are business-minded individuals and would refuse to have only these at stake. They miss their sister, and just like prior to FIGHT NIGHT, her services are up for grabs."

"Do not read this wrong, Jenna. Darina is an excellent young woman. She has a great mind for business, and in the short few weeks we have been able to associate with her, we have learned quite a bit about her brothers and herself. We also know that despite how she may act, and her origination, she actually is a smart woman."

"Beautiful too." remarked Callie. "Much like yourself sweetie."

"Tehehe~!" giggled Jenna. "So tonight then we could very well see the end of your reign and Darina going back to her brothers?"

"Hardly. If on the off-hand chance we do lose to Irish Spring tonight, you can consider our reign done for the time being. Yes. Will we be done with the tag division?" started Spike.

"Who knows? Frankly, we came in and set a goal in motion. We accomplished that goal. And look at us now, we are the ACW Tag Team Champs."

"Well if you do get past the Irish Spring, what are your thoughts on the new group on the block, The Night Life?"

Saunders and Callie looked at each other with confused expression.

"Who?"

"Those five or six guys that showed up a few minutes ago. Even had some words about you."

Again they looked around cluelessly, and then back to Darina whom simply shrugged her shoulders.

"Sorry Jenna, we really don't have a clue who you are talking about. The last wrestlers we saw were the match with Chris Storm, and of course the lovely Fejona Min."

"Wait!" interrupted Callie. "There were some dudes out in the ring. I think they were performing for some local charity or something."

"Jenna, I do apologize it seems we had misunderstood your question. If you were talking about those guys out in the ring, you can understand our confusion." Saunders shook his head. "It seems that even the freaks come out in troves around here. These guys had a nice circus act I suppose. Not sure why they were allowed in the building but heck if they needed a break from the wrestling to allow for a piss break and snack stop, we can understand. We are after all about to blow the roof off this place."

Speaking of which, 'Shipping up to Boston' could be heard playing on the speakers which meant Irish Spring was about to walk out and they were next out.

"Well Jenna, it has been a blast. Maybe we will catch up with you after the match, or back at the hotel." Callie leaned in and gave her a hug while whispering in her ear. Jenna blushed as she then pulled back and looked at Spike with a 'What?' expression. Saunders simply chuckled and grinned before the three headed off towards the curtains for their entrance.

DOUBLE JEOPARDY LADDER MATCH
ACW TAG TEAM TITLES OR DARINA O'CALLAGHAN'S CONTRACT?
Irish Spring vs. The Entourage ©
REFEREE: TOMAZ HEINREICH

           

Back at ringside area, the fans were rocking out to “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys and the entrance of the best Irish born tandem in the fucking world. Irish Spring rushed through the entrance curtains and onto a grand stage where the fans of the Ericsson Globe arena went crazy.

Cillian rushed past his brother, whom was still very, very, very pissed off with his youngest sibling. The cold glare that shot from Cavan’s eyes looked as though it could have penetrated Cillian’s soul. The youngest of the O’Callaghan clan though wasn’t the least bit worried about his brother tonight though. Cillian knew what was on the line tonight, and it was within sight.

Irish Spring slid into the ring under the bottom rope, and both members looked up into the air. Hanging above the ring were not only the glistening Tag Team Championships, but a contract that would secure whoever grasped it at the end of the match with Darina O’Callaghan’s life. Cillian looked at Cavan and nodded his head, he knew that tonight there could be no screw-ups, and how could there be? The luck of the Irish had to finally pull through for him and his family.

Dropkick Murphys died down and “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” by Cage the Elephant began to blast throughout the arena. The fans knew more than anyone else what this music signaled, but for the majority of the fans there were a bit crossed as to whether to boo or cheer for arguably the greatest tag team walking the face of the earth.

Spike was the first to emerge from the backstage area, slowly followed by a very disgruntled Darina O’Callaghan, and then a very focused looking Callie Urban bringing up the rear. The Entourage, in the past, had not always been a group of only two members, and after tonight they could end up being a trifecta once again. The reason the fans weren’t completely against The Entourage at this point in time though? It was the fact that even though they had acquired the services of Darina, but the tandem had not really been treating her poorly.

And despite the fact that it was killing Darina to see her brothers at each other’s throats over the past several weeks since losing her; due to the stupid moves of Cillian. She knew deep down inside that her brothers wouldn’t let her down and even if they did would the good natured way of Entourage continue for her? Or would things only begin to take a downward spiral once the team knew they had Darina fully in their grasp?

Callie slowly crawled into the ring under the bottom rope, while the mammoth Saunders grabbed hold of the top rope from the mats and pulled his way up onto the apron. He then easily cleared the top rope and entered the ring tossing one arm into the air. Cage the Elephant died down as the arena looked to be on edge as referee Tomaz Heinreich signaled for the bell, and then exited the ring. There was no need for him within the ring during this match, and he knew it was sure to be pure chaos.

DING! DING! DING!

The four competitors looked at each other and quickly Callie and Cillian exited the ring, while Spike and Cavan rand head long at each other. Saunders shot a boot toward Cavan’s face, but the older O’Callaghan ducked under the move. Cavan quickly turned and drove the tip of his boot into the back of Saunders’ knee. The move caused the big man to drop to one knee and Cavan darted toward the ropes. Coming back through he drove a running knee into Spike’s midsection.

The move caused the giant to fall flat on his back, while Cavan mounted Spike and began wailing on him with stiff rights and lefts. Outside of the ring, on totally opposite sides, Callie and Cillian both grabbed hold of ladders and began to slid back into the ring. Callie being the first to get back to her feet with ladder in hand, she drove the tip of the ladder directly into the face of Cavan O’Callaghan causing him to fall backward off of her partner.

Cillian noticing what had just happened to his brother quickly came to his feet as Callie brought the ladder back around to her chest he flew into action. Urban was brought crashing down to the mat when Cillian dropped her hitting the ladder and driving it into her chest with a massive dropkick. Cillian grabbed the ladder that had gone chest first into Urban and placed it across Spike’s chest. He placed the ladder across Spike’s chest and darted toward the ropes.

Cillian came crashing down with a running leg drop, but the move never connected with Saunders. Spike had rolled out from under the ladder at the last possible moment causing Cillian to land bottom first against the ladder. The massive botched move cause the younger O’Callaghan to writhe in pain as he rolled onto his back grabbing at the back of his legs.

Cavan began getting back to his feet, noticing across the ring from him was the reason he had been taken down in pain to begin with. Callie had also begun getting back to her feet, and as soon as she turned her head a rushing Cavan was the only thing she could see. Callie grabbed hold of the top rope that had helped her find her way back to her feet to begin with and dropped back down.

Not having enough time to stop the only thing Cavan had left to do was go toppling from within the ring and right to the mats on the outside. This was a major crash and burn as Cavan’s back smacked off of the mats surrounding the ringside area. The sound and sight sent a cringe throughout the entire arena. Callie smiled at the sight of what she had just managed to do, and turning back around she saw Cillian still resting in a seated position.

Urban rushed the younger O’Callaghan driving a flying thigh into Cillian’s face and causing him to crash back down to the mats below. Now not only did Callie find herself being admired by the fans in attendance by the fact that she single handily had taken out both member of Irish Spring. But with Spike slowly beginning to get back to his feet, Cillian still lying in pain near the ropes, and Cavan slowly beginning to get back to his feet outside of the via the ring steps. Callie saw this as her chance to end the match as she grabbed the first ladder she could find and began setting it up directly in the center of the ring.

Wasting no time Callie began climbing toward the top of the ladder. Cavan had slowly climbed his way back up onto the apron, and noticing that his partner could soon be in peril Saunders now on his feet began making his way toward Cavan O’Callaghan. The only problem was that this move did not help Callie in the least as Cavan grabbed hold of the top rope and spring boarded into the ring.

Cavan managed to get high enough to clear the giant’s head, and using that extra leverage found himself now perched on the ladder. Standing a few rungs just below Callie he did the only thing he could think of and scraficed his own body as Saunders turned around Cavan holding onto the ladder shot both feet backward and into the chest of Spike. Cavan pushed off of Saunders’ chest causing the ladder to stumble forward.

Callie hit the top rope midsection first, the tag team championships and the contract for Darina mere inches away from his grasp. Cavan landed chest first atop of the ladder. Saunders stumbled backward into the ropes; the onslaught of maneuvers had only fueled the rage that was building within the massive beast. His soon to be target and the victim of said rage was finally beginning to make his way back to his feet still grasping at the side of his head from the move earlier by Callie Urban.

Cillian was rubbing his face when he saw Saunders coming at him full steam ahead looking to bring down a massive axe handle smash into the top of Cillian’s head. Cillian, however, dropped down dragging Saunders neck first into the middle rope with a drop toe hold. Saunders grabbed at his throat as he flailed on the mat before rolling out of the ring and dropping to one knee.

Callie had managed to also roll out of the ring still grabbing at her midsection; both members of The Entourage had been hung out to dry by the top rope and looked to be in pain. Cavan also still in pain from taking the blow from the ladder when his chest collided with it, mustered up enough strength to crawl out of the ring after the hurt Callie Urban.

Cavan shook off the pain and grabbed Callie by the hair pulling her back to her feet. The only problem was Callie driving a boot into Cavan’s knee causing him to fall to one knee. Callie dropped back a few steps, and quickly went in with a step-up hitting Cavan square in the face with a shining wizard.

GENTRIFICATION!
That wouldn’t be the end of things to come though, as Spike had managed to make his way around the ring and before Cavan had the chance to fall to the mat he was snatched back up; Gory Special into a sit-out powerbomb.

DREAMKILLER!

Things definitely seemed to be looking up for The Entourage when out of the corner of Spike’s eye he noticed Darina going completely crazy. Then turning his attention back to the center of the ring a cold shiver was sent down the massive Saunders’ spine. While the team had been disposing of Cavan outside of the ring, they had completely forgotten about Cillian still inside of the ring.

The tandem had thought the fans were cheering for the beautiful display of back to back finishing combinations placed on the oldest O’Callaghan outside of the ring. But what they were really cheering for was the younger O’Callaghan who was only a few rungs away from reaching both prizes hanging above the ring.

Spike dragged himself back into the ring as quickly as he could and drove a big boot into the ladder Cillian had been climbing. The younger O’Callaghan had managed to grab hold of the clasps that held both the contract for Darina and the ACW Tag Team Titles.

A look of fear shot across not only Saunders’ face, but that of Callie who quickly crawled back into the ring knowing that Cavan was completely knocked out. Saunders began swiping at Cillian hanging above the ring, but each time the young Irishman would pull his feet up and keep Saunders from being able to grab his legs.

Callie quickly grabbed the ladder that had fallen down within the ring and just moments before she had the chance to spear Cillian with it he came tumbling back down to the center of the ring. Tomaz began signaling for the bell as the fans in the arena went crazy. Cillian rested on his back looking up at the lights above as his arm shot into the air, holding the contract for his sister’s life in his hands.

However, the Tag Team Titles still hung above the ring and yet there was a delighted look on Cillian’s face. There also seemed to be sadness in his eyes as Darina entered the ring, the sounds of Dropkick Murphys kicked back up within the arena. While he had won back his sister in this match, the chance for tag team silver had still slipped through the grasps of Irish Spring once again, due to the mess up from the younger O’Callaghan.

With the fans going nuts, referee Tomaz set the ladder back up in the ring and began scaling to bring the Tag Team Titles back down to the ground. Somehow or rather, The Entourage would leave Stockholm...

... still the ACW Tag Team Champs. Recognise, natch.

Congrats are in order...

           

Saunders and Urban raised their championship belts in the air. The two walked over to Cillian and Cavan where Darina was crouched next to them to check on them. She saw Entourage bearing down from behind her and could only pray they would leave her boys alone.

Spike reached down first and with both arms he pulled Cillian and Cavan to their feet.

The fans were riled up and booing their hearts out as Callie and Spike stood in front of the two dazed fighters. Further insult to injury.

But to their amazement, the belts were draped over their own shoulders as they stuck their hands out and shook the two competitors.

'You done good gentlemen.' spoke Saunders as Callie walked to the ropes and got a microphone, handing it to the giant. "You done good gentlemen. That was incredible." Cavan was still nearly out of it and having difficulty standing on his feet, but Darina and Cillian quickly rushed over and held his weight with their own. "Darina, why don't you take these two to the back to get checked up. Once cleared, take them back to the hotel suite."

Saunders walked over to the ropes and put his weight down to hold them open as Darina and Cillian stepped through and helped their brother out as well.

"Folks, please show your appreciation and love for the one and only Irish Spring!" He held the mic in the air and was some what surprised the fans cheered as they walked up the ramp. "Folks. It has been a long ride here in ACW. We came here with one goal and purpose in mind. To relight the fire in the Tag Team Division to compete on the level of what the Scorpion division was, and to become champions. Tonight we can say that now both of those have been reached."

He palmed the microphone over to Callie whom was still short on breath.

"Competition. That is what this has always been about. We gave each team in the back that had the pair to challenge us the opportunity to do so. Even on the chase for these championships, we ensured that each team had a need and want to get there first. Before we could." She grimaced as she rubbed at her shoulder. "We made them hate us. We made you hate us. And in doing so we accomplished our goal, at the cost of our own popularity with you the fans."

"A few teams stepped up to the challenge while others failed to take that first step. Unfortunately some of those teams were in over their head and just did not give it their all." continued Saunders after Callie handed the microphone back. "England's Best were great in the ring, but champions they were not. They lacked the competitive edge. Our mind games with them were to get them back on track and to want to defend against the best and not take the easy way out. Unfortunately they loss and their partnership was disbanded. Sorry guys." He stepped back and leaned against the ropes. "Then you have guys like the SS. Their assistance in the Battle Royal where we won our contendership against England's Best was well played. They were able to make a name for themselves, and we were able to cinch that victory all the much more."

Callie pulled the mic back. "Of course, we did not need that help. It may be believed that we have them to thank for the championship reign, however they can believe what they wish. What we see, and what you all saw, was a fire lit under the SS that spread and encompass others around them."

"That fire being the passion for this industry." continue Saunders once more. "The O'Callaghan's of Irish Spring know this quite well. They were on top of their game but only at it for the fun of the sport. We saw this and saw fit to accomplish something that has not been done before in ACW. We re-lit the fire under Irish Spring after we took away their 'ball and chain' so to speak. They wanted nothing more than to get her back. They then went on to plow through the division and accomplish the contendership for tonight."

He grinned and patted the belt on his shoulder.

"And as you just saw, that fire remained lit for the duration of the match. Those guys truly do deserve to be the champions after all that work they put in. However, tonight just was not that night. The future, you never know."

Callie pulled his arm towards her: "Of course, we have no intention on dropping these championships any time soon." Saunders chuckled in response.

"True. I will saw this however. You can chose to continue to boo us like you have for the last few months. You can chose to believe our ego's are growing with each win. However you can not deny the results. Look around the ACW locker room. Not since END GAME 2009 have you see such competitive nature and passion building in the eyes of the talent. We came to ACW to relight the fire in the tandem division and accomplished that goal ten-fold. We came to SAVE ACW."

He smiled as a faint applause followed.

"Rest assured, like us or not, the Entourage has not yet finished with ACW." He motioned towards the ropes and followed his partner as she stepped through and down to the entrance ramp. The two slowly made their way up to the curtain and stopped to turn back to the audience.

"In fact, you could say that our Era has truly only just begun." Callie smirked as the two held their championships high. "The question is-- Do you have the passion, All-Star Championship Wrestling?

They grinned as the fans begun to cheer for them and rang out a nice ACW chant as they passed through the curtain.

'A-CEE-DUB'

'A-CEE-DUB'

'A-CEE-DUB'

The Wrath of Ages

       

The scene faded to the backstage area; a camera man had been trailing SlySports' bald-headed representative Jeremy Hunt and WAR to an undisclosed location. At least it had been undisclosed to the camera man, the suave Hunt stood before a door, and what was on the other side? Hunt took one long breath and ran his hand through his hair before he tapped on the door. A voice from the other side could be heard, “Come in.”

It didn’t sound like a very friendly voice, but it was one the fans in the arena had all grown accustomed to hearing since End Game 2009. Hunt slowly pushed the door to the room open, and just as WAR was about to follow him in, he turned. Hunt put one hand up, and the look within his eyes told WAR that he could handle this situation alone. WAR nodded and took a stance to the side of the door with his feet exactly two feet apart, and his arms crossed over his chest.

Hunt continued into the room, the camera man quick in tow. He looked around the room trying to find the reason he had ventured out of his office, and almost missed him. A towel resting over his head as he was leaned back in a black steel folding chair, the only thing that really gave him away was the smoke sifting into the air from his lit Pall Mall menthol cigarette.

Hunt stood looking a tad bit anxious, unsure of his decision to leave WAR outside of the room. Jesse sat up from his chair, the towel fall from his head to his lap. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting out a long exhale, “Is this about the “no smoking” violation, because I’ll glad pay the fine...” Jesse took another long drag off of the smoke, “Then I’ll find the person who turned me in and I’ll bash his fucking head in…”

Jesse waited for a response from Hunt, but he just seemed to be standing there, trying to find the words that were definitely resting in the back of his mind. Jesse’s almost calm look seemed to be turning into a bit of frustration, “Listen, if you’re just going to stand there then that’s fine, but I’ve got to prepare myself for this elimination style match for the finals now. We’re not having a repeat of Legends IV again.”

That was the lead in that Hunt needed as it jarred him enough to finally find the words he was looking for, “Yeah, about that. Jesse, listen, I know we’ve never really seen eye to eye before.” Jesse nodded at Hunt’s words, “But I have all of the faith in the world that tonight you’re going to be crowned the King of Ages. I’ve been trying to align myself with the men involved in this tournament since the beginning, because I know you’re all the best in this business.”

Hunt paused, “None of you would have made it this far if you weren’t. I’ve tried pandering to Zimmerman by throwing lavish things in his direction, and Z…” Hunt paused and then scoffed for a moment, “Well, that’s just a lost cause altogether. But I know there is something more with you, there is a fire burning inside of you, and I know you’re going to be the winner of this match tonight. I want you on my side Ramey, just tell me what you want and I can make it happen!”

Jesse finished off the cigarette and flipped it across the room, “Listen Hunt, we know that I am going to win the King of Ages tournament. We know that after tonight I will truly be the crowned prince of madness. We know that after tonight, Jeremy Hunt, that the only era that matters for All-Star Championship Wrestling will begin, and the Dark Ages will reign.”

Jesse stood from his chair and began to crack his neck, “The Bastard King of Ages loses his meaning tonight, because when it is all said and done you will all know that I am no bastard. I will be your Wrath of Ages, and the congregation of the damned know that I don’t need your help to accomplish this goal, Jeremy.”

“I told you once, that this monkey doesn’t dance to the tune of your music,” Jesse paused, “and that’s because I am the minister of this place of worship. There are no monkeys in the congregation of the damned, Hunt. My people, my followers, have been behind me for years. Nothing you or anyone else has to say will ever change that, because I can give them what they want. And tonight, I prove that to them on my own, not with the help of you or anyone else.”

Jesse looked Hunt up and down, “Tonight, Jesse Ramey, will become the 2010 King Of Ages and the only people I need helping me celebrate that victory are the ones who have been behind me longer than anyone else.”

Hunt looked completely flabbergasted, and then anger shot through him as he pushed the door of the locker room open. WAR looked at him for a second, before Hunt stormed back down the hallway and WAR just fell in line.

SINGLES GRUDGE MATCH - SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Orlando Grant vs. 'Vicious' Greg Miles
REFEREE: RODERICK LYNCH

   

When The Guns Come Out.

That heralded the entrance of none other than Orlando Grant, ACW's Original Gangsta. Orlando bounded out from the back looking extremely determined, and very happy that the citizens of Stockholm were giving him such a nice reception. He didn't want another repeat of Copenhagen, that's for damned sure.

Stepping into the ring, Orlando glanced at the referee for this fight, Roderick Lynch. Lynch nodded at the Ziploc Boy, who nodded back. They both knew this fight had the potential to spin out of control, considering the history Orlando had with his opponent.

Orlando and Greg Miles had been at each other's throats for a while now, but it escalated during the Scorpion Fighting Battle Royale on COURAGE 119. The week after, on COURAGE 120, the two men duelled... and Orlando triumphed. In the process, very nearly putting The Baytown Badass out of commission.

It'd been announced the last week on WORLD.WIDE.WRESTLECIDE 003 that Greg was a-okay, and was more than eager to get his hands on Orlando in a rematch. The added wrinkle? Whoever won tonight, would earn a shot at the Scorpion Fighting Champion at COURAGE 121.

Preparing himself mentally, Orlando paced around the ring and looked out at the stage. He was primed for action, and wanted to end this feud with Greg Miles once and for all. The chance to claim the prize he'd been chasing after for a while was in reach.

Only one man stood in his way. Rise Up, by Disciple.

The fans indeed rose to their feets, but there was no decisive sentiment. Half of them cheered, the other half jeered. 'Vicious' Greg Miles was a polarising figure, hell bent on making an impact as fast as he could. Orlando went over to the ropes and grabbed them tightly, grinding his teeth and waiting for Greg to come out from the back.

One problem with that. Miles had instead chosen to pop out from within the crowd! He hopped over the security barricade and silently slithered into the ring, armed with a steel chair. Still, Orlando felt there was a disturbance in the force.

He was right to turn around. "Ya sneaky sonnova--"

--SMACK!

The Vicious One didn't wait for Orlando to finish. No, he didn't.

DING DING DING!

There was the bell. Cheers for that, Roderick Lynch.

Greg Miles reared back the chair a second time, just as Orlando got to his knees...

SMACK!

Oooh, that one hurt like a motherqucker and a HALF. OG was down, ya'all.

Greg tossed his chair aside and began to let loose with a flurry of kicks aimed at the former US Champ's head. Kick after kick connected with Orlando's cranium, and the fans jeered for the shady way that VGM had gotten this contest underway. Against one of their evergreen favourites, too.

Finally, after about a while minute of kicking, Greg relented. He backed up and crouched down slightly, biding his time. Orlando pressed his palms down onto the canvas and pushed up, already hammered thanks to Greg's overzealous start to the fight. It wasn't about to get any better for The Ziploc Boy when he regained his vertical base.

Kick to the gut. WHAM!

VKO! Orlando was out cold, and Greg was grinning away like an idiot.

"BOOOOOOO~!" went the fans, while many others urged for Orlando to recover. That didn't look likely.

Greg cockily bent down and made the lax cover, pleased with his conduct and the manner in which he'd taken out the former US Champ and his rival. Roderick Lynch, looking mighty impressed, got to his knees;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

Academic, baby.

Rise Up by Disciple? Check. Greg having his arm raised in victory? Check.

OG thoroughly humbled and outplayed? Check.

A shot at the Scorpion Fighting Title in VGM's back pocket? Oh, check.

Watch out, world. The Baytown Badass had well and truly arrived, with a lot of nerve and the attitude to back it up.

And he's gonna fuck YOU up if you don't respect him.

Sarsgaard's Hyped Up!

EARLIER TODAY

KING OF AGES 2010 FAN-EXPO
Stockholm City Conference Centre
Folkets Hus - The Congress Hall

Fans and reporters alike waited with bated breath as the countdown to All-Star Championship Wrestling's latest pay-per-view extravaganza was about to draw to its conclusion. With the 120th edition (kind of) of their flagship television show COURAGE in the books and the third edition of their secondary web-based telecast successfully pulled off, the All-Stars of ACW descended upon Stockholm for KING OF AGES 2010.

And once John Sarsgaard entered The Congress Hall, receiving a wonderful response from the crowd, the Fan Expo had begun. Sarsgaard didn't look like he was in the best of shapes, but he still made it a point to acknowledge the crowd with waves and salutes. This was a people's man, for sure. In time, Sarsgaard and the crowd settled down, eager to begin the Q&A session.

SARSGAARD: Thank you all very much for coming out today, just hours before the pay-per-view. It's wonderful to see so many fans of ACW here in Sweden, and I'm also very happy to see that my first piece of merchandise is a hit with a lot of you!

John was referring to the brand-new "Hands Of Steel / Heart Of Gold" t-shirt that had been the first true Sarsgaard-related merchandise released by ACW.

SARSGAARD: Okay, then. I'm open to take any questions at all. Fire away.

FAN #383: Hi, John! I'm a new fan of yours, after I saw you beat that evil Z at COURAGE COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER. I just wanted to ask, are you okay going into the pay-per-view? Are you fit enough to face Midnight Cowboy?

SARSGAARD: That's a very valid question. Prior to COURAGE 120, I already had to contend with recovering from a sneak attack and the chief concern was my right shoulder. I nonetheless threw myself into a match with Ryan Billows, who decided it would be FUN to target my right shoulder. Other than that, though, it was a very good match I had with Billows. He's one of the toughest man I've ever had to compete with.

FAN #383: Tougher than Z?

SARSGAARD: Ha. By a mile. Anyways, you guys know the story. The match ended in a draw, we continued to battle to the back, and just when Billows thought he could take me out, Midnight Cowboy gallops along and saves the day. He had a cold one while the EMTs tended to me... and after I was cleared, Cowboy got me a cold one too. My night was over by that point, so the two of us kicked back and indulged ourselves. I ain't gonna lie; my right shoulder still feels like crap. Beer help to dull the pain, though. Ha! Also, I'll be seeing a specialist later after thus who'll be giving me some LEGAL elephant-grade painkillers. So that'll help me get into fightin' shape by the evening.

FAN #918: You think you can beat Midnight Cowboy, John? Huh? You think you can win?

SARSGAARD: May the best man win. I've said it before; while this is the biggest match of my career so far -- even bigger than my Championship battles in Windy City Showdown -- and I would certainly love to win, I can't in good conscience say I'm definitely going to triumph. I don't know what will happen tonight. All I know is, I will give it my best shot. I'll have to be at the top of my game and fight like I've never fought before. And if everything goes according to script, then I'll win.

FAN #918: That's a bit passive, isn't it, John?

SARSGAARD: You could say that. I've also heard it being called pragmatic. Listen, at the end of the day, it comes down to this -- Midnight Cowboy is a damn fine Spirit Of ACW Champion who deserves to be the Champion for a long time to come. He's geared up for this showdown, though, because that's the way he's wired. And if you ask him if he can win? I bet he'll give you the same answer I did. He doesn't know he'll win for sure. He wants to say he will, but he can't. He will, however, bring it like WHOA during our match later tonight. That much is guaranteed. And I for one can't wait.

REPORTER #004: John, John! John! Over here, John.

SARSGAARD: Yes, you have a question?

REPORTER #004: I sure do. Have you been following this year's King Of Ages Tournament? What do you think of the tournament so far, and considering the semi-final fixtures, who do you think will win?

SARSGAARD: Ah, yes. I have been following it. I was gutted not to be able to qualify back on COURAGE 116, but there'll always be next year. Anyways, I think it's been a sensational tournament. Tons of surprises, tons of drama and there's a lot of potential for the semi-final fixtures. Jesse Ramey, Keith Scott Zimmerman and Kellen Masters? Yes, please. I have a feeling Keith's got that one sewn up, but don't count out the Anti-Star or the Submission King. And then, we have Buddy Saxon and Z. See, Z's just despicable. Did you all see what he did to Buddy on COURAGE 120? Just awful! Z's the boy's mentor, for crying out loud. Tsk. I'm behind Buddy all the way.

REPORTER #004: So you're saying the tournament final, in your eyes, will be Buddy Saxon versus Keith Scott Zimmerman?

SARSGAARD: That's what I'd like to personally see. Hey, Saxon upset Rud Albion to get into the semi-final stage. Anything can happen! Long story short; Keith's my pick to win the whole thing. I have no clue what he'd use the King's Choice for, however.

FAN #720: Hey, John? You still have the shot at the ACW World Title left in your Championship Pass, right? Any plans on when you're going to cash it in? Is it going to be how you announced you were challenging for the Spirit Of ACW Title, or will it be a surprise?

SARSGAARD: Yes, I do technically still have a shot at the World Title in my back pocket. No plans yet, but hell, I'm sure I'll think of something. As for my strategy? Well, I can't possibly reveal that! It's gotta be a secret, heh heh heh.

FAN #666: Hey, I got a question for you. Is Midnight Cowboy married or something? Just curious.

SARSGAARD: ... Ummm, I don't think so. What an odd question. Okay, so, I have time for one last question before the screening of this supposedly cool video of my journey in ACW so far. Anybody?

REPORTER #009: Let's say you don't win the Spirit Of ACW Title at the pay-per-view. What's next for you, then?

SARSGAARD: Hell of a question. I suppose I'll re-focus my energies on trying to break into the scene for the World Title, and make sure I'm in better shape before I challenge Cowboy to a non-title match. It'd be fun for us to go at it without having the pressure of a title belt hanging in the balance. I'd also like another crack at Ryan Billows. Jack Harris is still around, and we've still got beef. Sure, he's with Z now and I want nothing to do with that Caped Freak... but I just know Harris is itching for us to fight it out like we were supposed to at FOR QUEEN & COUNTRY 2010. So yeah, I've got options. I really wish I win the Spirit, though! Ha!

And with that bit of candor, John Sarsgaard and everyone in The Congress Hall diverted their attentions to the projector screen. A short eight-minute video presentation of Sarsgaard's journey through ACW (with brief mentions to his work in the All-Star Academy) played, and by the end of it, John received a standing ovation. The man many consider to be ACW's future was definitely a fan favourite, and there was no doubt he'd be rolling into the pay-per-view later on in the night buoyed by the support of the fans.

Glorious failure is my motto

   

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain sat in his bitterly cold dressing room freezing his big giant balls off.

They really are giant.

The cold never really bothered him before tonight, but a combination of withdrawal from all sorts of prescribed drugs as well as the upcoming bout he was about to partake in had him a little worse for wear.

Then a certain General Manager of ACW decided to try and make things worse.

"So the snake finally shows us all his true colours huh bud?"

SilverHAWK leaned against the doorframe as he looked at a rather unsettled K2.

"You don't look too good man, you been trying the local cuisine?"

HAWK smiled.

Keller didn't.

"How about you go back to your office and fuck off and die? How about that one?"

The smiling stopped at that juncture.

HAWK shut the door behind him as he walked towards the former King of Ages.

"You might have SlySports behind you... and you might be one of the sickest sons of bitches that I've ever come across in this industry Keller... but when push comes to shove you are a bottle merchant.

You can't make that final big step and the same will happen tonight.

Glorious failure should be your tag line."

Keller didn't even bother with standing up, he just looked up and gave HAWK a shrug.

"You can talk all you want HAWK. You no longer have any power in these four walls and after tonight... this place will be further from your grasp than you can even imagine.

2010 is gonna be fun, HAWK... make sure you've got your retirement plans sorted for 2011."

HAWK balled up his fists but knew he wasn't in the shape to even attempt to take on Keller... even a sickly one.

Little did these two men know that by the end of the year they would be closer than two peas in a pod... after battering fuck out of one another.

SINGLES MATCH - SPIRIT OF ACW TITLE
John Sarsgaard vs. Midnight Cowboy ©
REFEREE: LI MU BAI

   

Breaking Benjamin. I Will Not Bow.

That meant only one thing: JOHN SARSGAARD! The fans cheered as it appeared as if it was finally time for the Spirit Of ACW Championship to feature on the pay-per-view that had already contained so many talking points and noteworthy moments. Within seconds, Sarsgaard -- who'd transformed his image of a scruffy rocker-esque badass into a more refined and cleaned-up warrior -- stormed out from the back and made his way down the ramp.

The Hands Of Steel had endured a lot to get to this moment. And tonight, at long last, he would get the chance to compete for one of the most historic title belts in ACW history. In the ring, referee Li Mu Bai watched as Sarsgaard stepped through the ropes and did a little shadow boxin' to the sheer delight of the fans. John Sarsgaard was clearly in a buoyant mood, and he nodded at Li out of respect. Tonight, his match-up with the Spirit Of ACW Champion was going to be a showcase of sportsmanship.

And at the end of the night, if John Sarsgaard were to triumph? Icing on the cake. Validation for all his hard work. And certainly, a hell of a way to announce his arrival as a major player in ACW.

Within moments, his theme song faded out. Sarsgaard took his place in the corner of the ring and waited, along with the fans, for the second man in the contest to make his arrival. The Hands Of Steel was anxious and excited and raring to go. Could you blame him? Biggest match of his career, against a man he considered a role model and a beacon for everything that was good in ACW.

The Ericsson Globe suddenly 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 Globe. Spurs clanked as a tall figure emerged amidst the smoke wafting up from the metal stage grating. The text 'MIDNIGHT COWBOY' slithered onto the SlyTron, rendered in sexy 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 riffings 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 was in the house. Appearing out from the curtains, 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 t-shirt that was part of his burgeoning merchandise line.

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 apron, 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 and coming face to face with his opponent for the evening.

A man that had challenged him outright way back on COURAGE 116, using part of his Championship Pass. Sarsgaard watched intently as Cowboy stepped through the ropes and walked right up to the Hands Of Steel. The two men were nose-to-nose, staring each other down. The fans went wild.

And they went even wilder as they shook hands. Yeah, like I said. Sportsmanship showcase.

Backing away from each other, Cowboy unhooked the Spirit Of ACW from around his waist and handed it over to Li. The chinky referee held it up above his head for a couple of seconds, before handing the historic relic over to Tommy Vale on the outside. Months of build-up had finally led to this moment.

It was time for Champion and challenger to dance. Only one would walk out the winner.

Best of all?

Cowboy's theme for the match-up... was standard wrestling rules. Alright!

DING DING DING!

How to kick things off in a match between two good guys with nothing but respect for each other?

With a right fist to the face, of course.

Sarsgaard out early with the first strike, catching Midnight Cowboy by surprise with a quick combo of punches! The moxie of the homegrown ACW talent won him many cheers from the capacity crowd! It was out of necessity; the shorter Sarsgaard (who at 6'5" was already pretty tall to begin with) would have to gain leverage early if he had any chance of toppling the mammoth Texan.

Cowboy eventually got a forearm up to block. No matter. Sarsgaard ducked the return punch and booted MC in the gut, screaming off the ropes and leaping, snatching MC's neck as he passed by, planting his face into the mat with a hard bulldog! Cowboy landed in his special way, bouncing a little extra against the mat. It was a good sell, and the words were probably "Thanks" as Sarsgaard's lips slightly moved as he laid next to Midnight Cowboy and tightened his arms around his throat.

The Hands Of Steel must have also translated to the challenger's arms; Cowboy squeezed Sarsgaard's bulging forearms but the grip did not loosen. Chinky referee Li Mu Bai did the traditional "wrist check" but the champion still had strength and life in his limbs.

The words were probably "Sorry 'bout this!" on MC's moving lips as he quickly shot back his head and butted it into Sarsgaard's mouth, breaking the hold. The Hands of Steel gave him an inch, and he cleverly took it to escape the submission!

The two comptetitors were back on their feet, a smallllll sliver of blood seeping from a tiny cut on Sarsgaard's bottom lip. They locked horns and Cowboy whipped Sarsgaard to the rope. Sarsgaard came back in a flying body block! Both bodies landed hard, but Cowboy nimbly used the assistance of gravity on impact to press-toss Sarsgaard off of him! The crowd went crazy as Midnight Cowboy sat up and slowly climbed to his feet!

Cowboy was woozy now and shaking his head -- rattling the loose screws -- as Sarsgaard climbed to the middle rope. He jumped off for a double axe-handle smash, but he unfortunately landed on the Champion's knee. Air escaped his lungs in a violent manner. He spun around. MC snuck behind and hoisted him backwards in a release German suplex! The Hands Of Steel landed solely on his shoulder blades and crumpled to the side, and Cowboy gasped for air.

Within seconds, he was on top of Sarsgaard and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

TH -- NO!

Indeed, Sarsgaard got his right shoulder up. With authority.

Cowboy blinked. He though John's claims of his shoulder feeling absolutely fine was an exaggeration. Apparently not, as John quickly scrambled to his feet without a hint of his right shoulder weighing him down.

Hooray for those elephant grade painkillers, eh? MC didn't dwell on it and quickly advanced on John, catching him in the ribs with a kick. John sucked it up and swung his fist at Cowboy. No dice, for the Champion ducked and rammed *his* shoulder into Sarsgaard's sternum. The impact knocked the challenger into a corner turnbuckle. Cowboy slapped his shoulder blade and charged full steam ahead at Sarsgaard, extending his elbow out.

POW~! Connected, cleanly. Sarsgaard groaned; no amount of painkillers would have blocked out the agony of being elbow-smashed right in the kisser. Midnight Cowboy took one step back and looked out at the fans. Despite everything they'd watched unfold so far in the night, and despite the pay-per-view being one long-ass show... their enthusiasm was unwavering. And in a showdown with two fan favourites? Oh yeah, they were very pleased. Delighted, even.

Snapping out of his momentary trance, Cowboy grabbed Sarsgaard's left arm and launched his challenger across the ring in an Irish whip. Only, Sarsgaard was somehow able to reverse the whip. Cowboy's back collided rather harshly with the corner turnbuckle, and the impact saw him stagger forwards, back into John's path. The Hands Of Steel immediately went to grab MC, looking for a belly-to-belly. Cowboy ducked under however and fired a low dropkick into the left knee of Sarsgaard. Nicely done. When that failed to get Sarsgaard down to the canvas, the Texan mammoth hit another one to drop Sarsgaard, then quickly rolled into a cross-kneebreaker.

John Sarsgaard didn't despair. Instead, he very calmly used his strength to back up a few paces and grab the ropes to force a release. Cowboy didn't even wait for referee Li Mu Bai to poke his head in; he instantly released his grip on Sarsgaard and took two steps back. John smiled, and in a flash, he lunged at Cowboy, knocking the Champion down with a flying forearm smash! For a big man, the Hands Of Steel had amazing agility.

With MC down, John quickly got his body across the Champ's and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

TH -- NO!

Sarsgaard was back on his feet in a flash. There was still a long ways to go.

Picking his adversary up, the Hands Of Steel clocked Cowboy across the face with another forearm smash. After which, Sarsgaard whipped MC into the ropes, and on the rebound John lowered his head. He was obviously going for a back body drop. Cowboy telegraphed it and quite spectacularly performed a cartwheel flip over the doubled-over John Sarsgaard and landing on his feet behind the challenger. Confused, Sarsgaard turned around.

TWHACK!

Hard kick from Cowboy to Sarsgaard's sternum!

TWHACK!

A second one caused John to grimace, but he wasn’t going down. He instead stared right back at MC.

TWHACK!

A third kick from the Champ knocked the 4.3 Million Dollar Man several steps but still he didn’t fall. Cowboy wasn’t going to press his luck, however; so instead of kicking John in the sternum a fourth time, Cowboy grabbed hold of Sarsgaard's left arm and executed an over-the-shoulder judo throw. For a Texan brawler, Cowboy sure has some hidden tricks up his sleeve, eh?

At any rate, John was down, and Cowboy made the lateral press;

ONE!

TWO!

TH -- NO!

An easy kick-out by John Sarsgaard. The fans popped, enthralled by the match thus far.

Midnight Cowboy jumped up to his feet and looked down at John Sarsgaard. As if to ponder his next step. Sarsgaard never regained his full vertical balance. That was because Cowboy grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him tightly in place. John wondered what was coming next. WHAM! He didn't have to wonder any more, what with Cowboy's knee crashing into his ribcage.

And if you thought MC would stop at one? Think again, buddy. WHAM! A second one had Sarsgaard gasping for oxygen. WHAM! A third successive knee-strike saw Sarsgaard's knee start to wobble. WHAM! A fourth one? Well, that knocked John down to the canvas. Even if he was back to a kneeling position within 10 seconds. Gotta admire that fightin' spirit, huh? Midnight Cowboy didn't dwell on it too much.

Instead, Cowboy lifted Sarsgaard onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry, pandered to the fans for a bit (receiving a ginormous amount of cheers in the process) and then proceeded to destroy John Sarsgaard with double knee gutbuster!

John Sarsgaard was... ehh, kinda dead. Midnight Cowboy?

He basked in the adulation of the fans, reached over to cover Sarsgaard, and waited for the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE -- SHOULDER!

Dammmmmn, that was a close one. Sarsgaard survived, but just barely.

And judging by how the last few minutes were panning out, doubts over whether John Sarsgaard could hang in much longer. Cowboy rolled away from his challenger and ran a hand through his hair. Probably thinking on what a tough fella Sarsgaard was for kicking out from that last exchange.

Clawing back up to his feet, MC staggered over to Sarsgaard and reached down to pull him up. Only for John to lash out a kick to the Champ's right thigh. Two seconds later, the Hands Of Steel had managed to create distance between him and Cowboy, courtesy of an upwards knee-strike to the Champ's upper pelvic area. Chinky referee Li Mu Bai stepped in to warn Sarsgaard that he was close to drawing a disqualifcation on that exchange.

Sarsgaard's response? To roll onto his elbows and push himself up, a determined grin embracing his face. He grabbed Cowboy by the back of the neck and squeezed tightly. Vulcan nerve hold? Quite possibly.

After about ten seconds, John let go of Cowboy's neck and struck with a quick haymaker to the Champion's face, prior to slapping on a front facelock and hooking Cowboy up for a vertical suplex. With amazing ease, the Hands Of Steel lifted the mammoth Texan high up and held him. The blood slowly rushed to Cowboy's head as Sarsgaard unbelievably began to parade around the ring at this juncture, holding on for an IMPRESSIVE thirty seconds before falling backwards and slamming Cowbot down onto the canvas with brute force!

Instead of rolling over for the pinfall, Sarsgaard simply brushed himself off as if he just took out the trash before climbing directly onto Cowboy's back, pulling forcefully on his head while grabbing a full head of hair. He then let the crossface punches fly, driving each blow directly into the temple of the fallen Champion. This went on for a while, the fans still cheering as loudly as they can, creating a heck of an atmosphere.

And after insistence from Li to ease up on the punches, John Sarsgaard hopped off of Cowboy's back. Only to roll the Champion towards him and cover him, hooking BOTH of MC's legs;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE -- NO WAY!

Midnight Cowboy was gonna have to be more worn down than THAT to stay down.

John Sarsgaard realised this and raced to his feet, dragging Cowboy up along with him. A kick to the Champ's right knee-cap was followed by another Irish whip. Except, Cowboy expertly countered, and yanked Sarsgaard towards him, lifting the challenger to his crown onto his shoulders in another fireman's carry. After a bit of shifting around, there was panic on John's face. It seemed that he was on the verge of being trapped in a torture rack submission move.

Although Cowboy was rather nifty at submissions, we weren't being treated to a torture rack or any other submission move for that matter. Oh, no, after a couple of seconds of parading around the ring with Sarsgaard on his shoulders, MC decimated his opponent (he who had boastfully claimed that he was in the form of his life earlier on) with an utterly brutal sitdown Argentinian backbreaker!

In the mood for some Windy City cuisine? You're in luck, as the Hands Of Steel was as done as dinner, and Cowboy wasted no time in making the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE -- HOLY HELL, SARSGAARD KICKED OUT!

MC rubbed his chin, slightly caught off-guard by Sarsgaard's determination. Even referee Li Mu Bai was a little bit stunned.

But being a Champion, MC resolved not to brood on the near-fall any longer and pulled Sarsgaard back up, immediately striking him with a hard forearm smash. To the ribs, no less. Ouch. Sarsgaard doubled over, which allowed the Smooth Operator knocked him back into the ropes via a big-time haymaker. None of John's teeth were harmed during that exchange, thankfully enough for the Hands Of Steel.

On a not-so-positive note for the challenger, his adversary and the darling of the fans had launched himself into the parallel set of ropes. What happened next? Well, Cowboy damn near killed Sarsgaard with possibly the greatest rendition of a stiff-ass flying lariat ever executed within the confines of an ACW ring! At the Broadcast Booth, Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid were both wetting their pants at the massive eruption of cheers from the crowd.

"MID - NIGHT   COW - BOY!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap
"MID - NIGHT   COW - BOY!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap
"MID - NIGHT   COW - BOY!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap

Looks like we were mere moments away from another successful title defense for Midnight Cowboy, yes? Yes, indeedy. Standing to his feet, Cowboy's eyes narrowed, as if he was now certain that his next move would be able to put away his adversary who was quite frankly struggling to even breathe properly. Question that MC faced was, what move would he pull out of his bag o' tricks next? Would he go for his finishing move and end matters once and for all?

Cowboy shrugged his shoulders, as if coming to a decision, and gingerly pulled Sarsgaard up. He placed the challengers's head in between his legs, in a standing headscissors. Was Cowboy going to attempt to powerbomb the Hands Of Steel?

That was supposed to be the plan... BUT OH MY, A COUNTER FROM SARSGAARD! INTO A TILT-A-WHIRL ATOMIC DROP!

Just as MC lifted John up, the wily challenger used the momentum to flip out of Cowboy's grasp and landed quite nicely on his feet. Thereafter, John swiftly struck with his tilt-a-whirl atomic drop, and had many a fan completely bamboozled with what he'd just done. What, you all thought John Sarsgaard was finished? Man, you were wr-oooong.

And without hesitation, Sarsgaard made the quick cover, prompting referee Li Mu Bai to hit the deck;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE -- NEIN! NEIN! SHOULDER!

Oooooh, that was so darn close. Sarsgaard cursed silently and looked at referee Li in desperation.

A shake of the head and two fingers re-affirmed what just happened. Only a two-count there. The fans cheered nonetheless. This was turning out to be a complete slobberknocker of the highest order, with two men who simply refused to give up.

As it was, the momentum was definitely with the 4.3 Million Dollar Man now, who rose to his feet and surveyed the crowd. Majority of whom were solidly behind Cowboy, but John grinned upon spotting his legion of fans. Breathing heavily, John pulled his strong-willed opponent up and clocked him with a left-handed jab (not fully closed so referee Li let it slide), before driving his left foot into the right thigh of the Champion. Which was merely a fulcrum for a jumping right-footed roundhouse enziguiri to the side of the head of the Smooth Operator. INCREDIBLE!

Midnight Cowboy was wobbly, and quite unable to support himself without the help of the ropes. John was determined to change that, as he rolled to his feet and dragged Cowboy into the middle of the ring, where he kicked the Texan-born gunslinger in the ribs, and then drove him down to the canvas with a snap suplex. Simple, yet overly effective. But would it ensure the victory for the constantly-improving Hands Of Steel? Hmmm?

Let us confer with referee Li Mu Bai, who got to his knees and counted the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THR -- HECK NO!

John Sarsgaard? "Bah, come on!"

Clearly, this was the most important match of John Sarsgaard's career. And he badly wanted to win. Only problem was, Midnight Cowboy was one of THE most pugnacious wrestlers in the industry, and the Hands Of Steel was becoming more agitated with each thwarted pinfall attempt.

Taking a moment to massage his left shoulder, Sarsgaard got back to work; he pulled Cowboy up and trapped the Champ in a front facelock. What came next? Another snap suplex, but more deliberate this time around. Also, this time around, John kept the facelock cinched in and pulled Cowboy up again. What followed was a slightly delayed vertical suplex, which saw John drop MC right on his noggin. Did Sarsgaard happen to have a strategy? Perhaps. Something happened, however, when Sarsgaard decided to go for the hattrick.

Cowboy finally showed signs of life and squirmed out of John's grasp, landing on his feet behind the determined challenger. Forearm smash to John's kidneys was followed up by a reverse front facelock. Reverse DDT time! Or, not. Sarsgaard used his right leg to block it, by way of tangling with Cowboy's own right leg. MC was confused... then he was hurtin', after John used his left foot and stomped down on Cowboy's own left foot.

Wow, that was a mouthful. But in any event, having escaped from the Smooth Operator's clutches, Sarsgaard turned right around, kicked MC in the ribs, and took him down with a beautiful snap DDT! Excellently executed, and the Chicago native knew that. Which was why he quickly rolled over and hooked the legs, sure that he had the win. The fans were on their feet, wondering if this was the deciding moment.

Once more, let's check with referee Li Mu Bai;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEE -- FOOT ON THE ROPES! AMAZING!

John Sarsgaard was beyond himself. He couldn't quite believe it.

Still, the challenger knew it would not be wise to waste time. He shot back to his feet, lifted Midnight Cowboy up and slapped on a front facelock. Instinctively, Cowboy lowered his knees and put all his weight down onto his legs, rooting himself to the canvas. Sarsgaard grumbled, before firing away with clubbing forearms to the back of Cowboy's neck.

That did the trick. Cowboy loosened up, and Sarsgaard tightened his grip on the Champ. Was this it? Was the Hands Of Steel going for his Lasting Impression finisher? Could he deliver an Implant DDT to Midnight Cowboy and thereafter write his name into the history books?

Survey says: HELL NAW. How's that?

See, just as Sarsgaard was about to lift Cowboy up, the latter wrapped his arms around the Hands Of Steel and charged towards the corner turnbuckle! An ugly collision between Sarsgaard's spine and the corner turnbuckle occured, with the two men still holding on tightly with each other. Sarsgaard bit down on his busted lower lip to block out the pain, all the while tightening his front facelock on Cowboy.

Midnight Cowboy, for his part, placed his right foot on the middle rope next to him and interlocked his hands behind Sarsgaard's back; more specifically, near the kidney area. Sarsgaard gulped. He knew Cowboy was stronger than him, and now had a vice-grip on him. With an almighty groan, Cowboy lifted Sarsgaard up and placed him down onto the top of the corner turnbuckle with authority. The fans got excited. Superplex time?

Perhaps. Sarsgaard had different ideas. THWACK!

He kicked Midnight Cowboy in the face. Hard. Like, really vicious. MC stumbled back, arms flailing, and in the process took out poor ol' Li Mu Bai who had gotten close to make sure nothing illegal was going on in the corner. Alas, he paid the price, crumbling down to the canvas with part of Cowboy's body pinning him down.

That wasn't the worst part. John Sarsgaard, in all his infinite wisdom, saw that the Spirit Of ACW Champ was down and tending to his wounded face. So, with a portion of the fans egging him on, Sarsgaard lifted his legs up onto the top of the corner turnbuckle and haphazardly took flight in something resembling a frog splash. It was incredible.

... It was also ill-advised. Cowboy rolled out of the way, and Sarsgaard landed directly on top of Li Mu Bai.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!" et cetera, et all. You know the drill.

Still. Li Mu Bai was f-l-a-t-t-e-n-e-d. Sarsgaard writhed about on the canvas in obvious agony, cursing himself for a momentary lapse in judgment. Midnight Cowboy was still feeling the effects of John's kick to his face. What we had, was a case of everybody down and a lull in the action.

Until, of course, a man hopped over the security barricade with a steel chair in hand.

The fans screamed and hollered, hoping to get either Cowboy's or Sarsgaard's attention. It was futile. Malk Al-Haq slid into the ring undetected and with an evil smirk on his face. He set his eyes on Midnight Cowboy; their war over the past few months had been well documented, and many thought Malk's defeat at MC's hands on COURAGE 119 was the end of that chapter.

Apparently not, considering how Malk was stalking Cowboy. The sight of the Spirit Of ACW Champ using the ropes to eventually get to his feet made Malk's eyes gleam, and he readied his weapon of choice. Cowboy peered over his left shoulder and saw that the fans in the front row were trying to warn him not to turn around.

Being all woozy, Cowboy turned around. And instantly regretted his decision.

SMAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAACK~!

Malk obliterated Cowboy with the steel chair, right between the eyes! Blood immediately streamed down MC's face as the Champion dropped to his knees, eyes fluttering. Malk Al-Haq laughed.

And then, he raised the chair over his head again. Uh oh.

SMAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAACK~!

That did the job. Cowboy collapsed to the canvas, left leg twitching. Two brutal chairshots to his face. Not even the mammoth Texan could endure that kind of punishment.

Yet, Malk Al-Haq raised the chair over his head for the third time. He wasn't satisfied.

"Hey."

Malk frowned, and turned around. John Sarsgaard was standing behind him.

Kick to the gut. Front facelock. THE LASTING IMPRESSION! The fans, who had been jeering their hearts out at Malk, changed their tune and exploded with cheers. Having recovered from his botched frog-splash attempt, John Sarsgaard had just taken out the trash. The impact of his Implant DDT saw Malk roll right out of the ring, steel chair landing in the corner of the squared circle.

Sarsgaard dropped to a knee and inhaled, wide-eyed at Cowboy's condition. He cocked his head to the side and saw that referee Li Mu Bai was only beginning to stir back to life. He hadn't seen anything that had happened since the Hands Of Steel landed on him and knocked him out cold. John's eyes suddenly lit up.

With quick precision, John reached backwards and used his foot to push the steel chair that Malk had used out of the ring. Following which, John Sarsgaard dragged himself over to the unconscious Midnight Cowboy and... pinned him? Oh, wow. That was interesting.

"Come on, John! Not like this!" Renaud Cardinal pleaded at the Broadcast Booth.

Jimmy Reid actually agreed with his colleague. "Strangely enough, I concur. These two men have been battling each other with great passion throughout this match. I'm surprised John Sarsgaard is taking advantage of the situation like this, given what he's said and talked about with regards to this match!"

John Sarsgaard was neither listening nor in the mood to care. He just waited.

Waited for the referee to recover and turn around.

Waited for the referee to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

... And waited for the bell to ring. Which it did.

Breaking Benjamin's I Will Not Bow blared over the speakers. John Sarsgaard had done it. He'd triumphed. He had just become the new Spirit Of ACW Champion, which was made official by the title belt being thrown into the ring and towards him. Midnight Cowboy remained immobile, probably oblivious to the fact that he'd been dethroned.

The fans were, quite rightly, not pleased. In fact, many of them jeered. The Hands Of Steel clutched the Spirit Of ACW and rolled right out of the ring, not even bothering to stand up. He glanced at Malk Al-Haq getting up to his feet and escaping over the security barricade. John Sarsgaard shook his head and turned to leave in the opposite direction. He ignored the confused questioning from the fans nearest to him. Instead, he looked down at his newly-won prize.

John Sarsgaard had just become the new Spirit Of ACW Champ. For real.

... but he'd done so without a thought for the promised showcase of sportsmanship.

counter offer

   

It was a dark night, not stormy, an odd humidity hung in the air in fact.

Deep inside the Ericsson Globe, within the hustle and bustle of the KING OF AGES pay-per-view, Ryan Billows was actually smiling for a change. After so many weeks of scrowling and anger, and general malice, one had to wonder what had changed the Young Lion’s mood? Possibly it was because of his night off. When all others were wrestling for there supper, Billows was allowed to relax and prepare for the debut of his very own show.

His show? Oh, that’s right, you didn’t know a thing about his show yet.

A knock on his locker room door, took his attention away from plotting and planning questions for whoever his guest might be (he left that up to the producers, because he couldn’t be assed, he was going to burn ‘em to the ground anyway).

Opening the door, Ryan Billows was greeted by the bald visage of… Jeremy Hunt. The bald-headed man from SlySports was not smiling, something that immediately wiped the smile from Billows' face.

“Wonderful night,” spoke Hunt with a straight face.

“Why is that, because Z almost killed Buddy Saxon or because the guy that couldn’t beat me two weeks ago, is now the Spirit of ACW?” Billows grumbled back, as he walked back to his seat at the other end of the room.

“Good to hear you in such a good mood, hopefully your mood’s a bit better when you break out the bells and whistles for your little talk-show, what was it? The Lion’s Den?” The Englishman was quick to reply with a sardonic grin, as he followed Billows into the locker room, “You’re welcome for that by the way, because we at SlySports knew it would be perfect for you… your own talk show… after your first rant about… what was it?”

Billows raised an eyebrow, “What was it? Well, let’s see, the gist of it went: ACW, an acronym for All-star Championship Wrestling, sorely lacks aforementioned All-stars. It’s got King Shits of Fuck Mountains, it’s got ANTI-stars. But until lil’ ol’ me came pitter-pattering down that ramp, ACW had never so much as gotten a whiff of an all-star’s cologne, much less had one under a written contract. So, I sat thinking to myself, what better way to amp the ratings for SlySports than with their biggest star having his own show, complete with quote unquote all-star guests.”

Billows grinned, but only momentarily…

Hunt raised a finger, pausing to think for a minute, “About that…”

“About what?” Billows took a huge step forward, until he basically right on top of Jeremy Hunt. Used to this kind of reaction, Hunt braced himself, “About what? Are we going to play Indian giver now, Jeremy? Are we going to play fucking games? An audience full of a big-breasted blonde chicks and their boyfriends named Sven or whatever the fuck they go by--they deserve to see me in a high definition, preaching the truth and pounding it into their stupid little heads. I haven’t walked around this town listening to a bunch of people sounding like the chef from the Muppet Show just for you to wiggle an offer in front of my nose like a piece of meat, you little shit. You know, maybe I go and I dance with the other devil of ACW. Maybe, tonight, these small-dicked Swedes and their deprived girlfriends see the cabal get one MEGA-ALL-STAR stronger? Maybe the cabal can count themselves one lion stronger…”

Jeremy Hunt took all that Billows could give him, all the venom and threats and the horrible things said about the natives of Sweden (the men at least), and with a deep breath he gave his reply in a calm steady voice.

“Let me tell you the difference between myself and Mr. Z. That Masked Asshole makes promises to people, and I give people results. Under the tutelage of SlySports, Jack Harris became a Champion… while he’s all but disappeared within Z’s cabal. That basic cabal will become the ruin of your career if you choose to spurn the satellite power of SlySports because, although I’m sure he paints you a pretty picture… he simply sees you as just another lackey. SlySports sees you as a commodity. Rich and valuable. An asset to the highest degree.

So just keep doing what you’re doing… and you’ll be taken care of.”

Those last words from Hunt were said with a warm voice, but even Billows could see as they slipped through his sharks grin. Still Billows nodded, because as all things went… no one was saying that he couldn’t tow the line between both Hunt’s Cunts and the cabal. If he wanted to.

Billows thumbed his nose, as Hunt finally got to just why he was here.

“And as part of that, you WILL get your show but SlySports would like to hold off debuting it till further notice,” Billows was about to reply with a spring of fire in his eyes, but Hunt held up his hands, “And while that is not IDEAL, we would not be doing that if there wasn’t other plans for you tonight.”

Billows looked away for a moment, holding his emotions in check, before looking back at Hunt, “What’ve you got for me?”

“A match. Against Rud Albion. The Bronze Lion. He wants to join forces with SlySports, but I would like you to prove to me that he shouldn’t. He’s far too… nice, you see. Too gentle. As you know more then many, it’s a dangerous world that you work in, and we can’t have people in the SlySports family that could be at the risk of getting hurt. Defeat him tonight, and his place as one of the… Huntsmen… would be open.

Just let me know.”

Billows looked down, wondering if he did want the match for tonight. When it came to competition though, and the possibility of embarrassing an opponent, how could he resist? He grinned, just as he had before Hunt had arrived. The evening, hell, the big picture was indeed looking up.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME MATCH
BLACK TITLE + ACW SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE
Carrion © vs. Khristain Keller vs. Omega vs. Fejona Min ©
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

           

Are you ready for some Mayhem with a capital M? Hmmm? Good.

Because, it was time for the Stockholm Syndrome Match. Two men + one woman + one half-bird, half-human creature. Oooh, a recipe for disaster if there was ever a need for one.

The idea to chain four of the most violent and threatening individuals in All-Star Championship Wrestling TOGETHER might have proven to be one of the craziest ideas to enter the Scorpion Fighting division in a looong time.

Crazier then the Empty Arena Match at LEGENDS III.

Crazier then the Dead Match at THE WAKE 2009.

Crazier then Gimmick Hell… hell, crazier than the Gauntlet Hell Challenge at FOR QUEEN & COUNTRY 2010!

Crazier then Omega? Well, no, probably not.

Still, it took three backstage attendants to simply lock the chain around Omega’s waist, let alone lead him to the ring CHAINED TO the Scorpion Fighting Champion Fejona Min without chaos erupting before the bell rang.

Checkit: the chain around the waist between the Scorpion Fighting Champion and her unanimous numero uno nemesis, the God of Fight, Omega, and also the chain around the waist of Khristain Keller, who dragged behind him the almost sardonically walking Carrion (security separating these two men as well) as they walked to the ring, the chain echoed the hardware attached to either side of the Black Title. It was a storied fighting title of old that had since been turned into a clockwork torture device with the sands of time.

Now, in the hands of Carrion the vulture-masked man of deathless, the Black Title held a magnetic connection to the Scorpion Fighting Championship, a title that itself held a truly unknown origin filled with untold malice and power. One of the four fighters tonight… would take their chains and create a newly chained title belt within ACW… darkening the already crimson color of the Scorpion, and giving ACW the [Black] Scorpion.

It seemed that Jeremy Hunt -- the man from SlySports -- had a very special internet in the person who would become the [Black] Scorpion, as well, and one had to wonder if this was the end of his first act, which started when he first arrived in ACW and showed great interest in the Scorpion Fighting Division. Since seemingly destroying for good ACW’s Heart and Soul in Alias, to remove the Black Title from around his waist… he had shown the length, which he would go to take what he wanted.

Now he was giving those who seemingly wanted to kill each other, a chance to work together to attain what they had always wanted.

Only in Stockholm.

Playing the role of Patty Hearst this evening, would be Ms. Fejona Min.

Suddenly, both Carrion and Keller darted towards Fejona Min! One had to wonder that with the twisted history of Carrion, at first working with SlySports and then spurning it and taking the Black Title wih him… and then Keller being hounded by SlySports only to reveal how he had worked with them all along… that maybe Keller and Carrion were working together to gain the [Black] Scorpion for Jeremy Hunt. But Min managed to duck their lunges, which led both men into a double clothesline from Omega that sent the pair down to the mat, just as Fejona Min was hung to dry by the chain between the two men that also sent the Scoripion Fighting Champ to the mat. Omega wasted no time, stomping viciously on the chest of his ‘partner’ for the night in Fejona Min.

It wasn’t even Barb telling it him to do so, anymore. Not since Fejona and destroyed and stole his steel chair encased in barbed wire that had been stained in blood and experienced being burnt. Instead, the voices of anguish and loss that cluttered his mind.

Omega continued to stomp away at the Rogue Slayer, and seemed to have forgotten the other pair in the match so early on, until he felt Khristain Keller's take a hold of the back of his neck; THEN he remembered Keller and Carrion were there. Keller planted Omega into the mat with a brutal reverse DDT.

Carrion was back up, slightly winded and wheezing, but up nonetheless; he and Keller begin to double team Omega, kicking him in the midsection repeatedly. Turning their attention to Min, the Black Title proprietor in Carrion pulled Min up and held her, waiting for Khristain Keller to take a free shot. Keller wound up, and caught Min on the jaw with his patented uppercut. She Who Will Kick Your Teeth In staggered around for a moment, and just as she was about to fall over, she was met with a jumping driving shotgun of a knee right in the face from Carrion!

The Swedish crowd cheered at this bought of violence, though one had to wonder if it was because Carrion was responsible for the hit or Min had received it. Of all the participants in the match… they seemed to love Omega the most. And that was only because no one was sure when he’d go on a maiming spree and wanted to be on his good side.

Bastard referee Mark Shields, the only man even reasonably cold-blooded enough to referee a match of his style, began to count, getting to five before Keller pulled Min up, realizing Carrion the Deathless would have won the [Black] Scorpion if Fejona Min had been counted out. Min was pretty groggy, and pushed Keller back slightly, before rolling towards the ropes to help pull herself up, only to be pulled back down to the mat with a yank of the chain by Omega who had just gotten up. Carrion wasn't happy about Keller breaking the count though, and shoved Khristain Keller hard into the ropes. Keller shoved Carrion back.

“Look motherfucker, you’ve cursed me ever since that damn funeral party of a pay-per-view! So why CAN’T you let me have the ONE THING that you never wanted?!”

Carrion, the creepy man-vulture shook his feathered head and pushed Keller once more with a lot of force. As Keller staggered back, Fejona Min, who had been crouching down on the mat after being yanked off her feet by Omega, low-blowed Khristain Keller with authority.

Khristain Keller then staggered forwards again, and walked into a gutwrench powerslam from Omega!

Shields began to count out Khristain Keller.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five!

Six!

Seven!

Eight!

But Fejona Min managed to break the count by diving on Keller with a small splash. This simple fact gave Omega a wild look in his eyes, and he ran towards Min, stomping on the back of her head. Keller quickly got up while holding his back, before he was knocked straight back down with a flying clothesline at the hands of Carrion.

Pushing Omega aside, Carrion quickly slid his body around and locked into a full-nelson camel clutch on Fejona Min, what had once been known as Boswic’s Silencer in the days of 21w, on the downed Fejona Min. Keller was down after the flying clothesline, and Min was moments away from tapping out!

And shit, she was in trouble because only OMEGA could help her.

Funny thing? He did!

Omega broke the hold with a choice kick to Carrion’s head, avoiding watching another man win the amalgamated Black Title and Scorpion Fighting Championship… and only getting to see Fejona Min pass out in return. He’d rather she died. Carrion and Omega began to brawl for a while, and Carrion managed to get the upper hand, and delivers several knife edged chops to Omega's chest with his black-feathered wing.

Keller had gotten up and grabbed Carrion's shoulder and spun it around, kicked him in the mid-section and hoisted him up for a powerbomb! Omega grabs Carrion's shoulders and the pair planted Carrion with a spike powerbomb right in the middle of the ring! Keller quickly followed the move up, by clocking Omega with a stiff uppercut, and then pounced on the weary Carrion, locking in a roughly strewn sleeper hold.

Carrion was fading fluttering his black and white eyes, as the ref checked his arm.

Once!

Twice!

Three times!

But on the third Carrion's arm stayed up! Keller looked shocked for a moment, but then locked in the hold tighter again, wrenching back to apply more pressure using his knee in Carrion's back for leverage. But suddenly Fejona Min dived forward and clocked Keller on the head with her forearm, breaking the hold. As soon as Omega got up, he was given a standing sidekick that knocked flying which yanked Fejona with him, almost sending both men tumbling through the ropes. The King Shit of Fuck Mountain, rubbed the back of his head, and followed up the insanity up by locking in that rough and tumble sleeper hold once again... and leaning back… it made Carrion scream!

And with Carrion out of the way, Khristain Keller was going to be the [Black] Scorpion.

NO!

No he wasn’t. Not as long as Fejona Min and Omega had anything to say about it. The two ran past Keller, and the chain around their waists… almost beheaded the most notorious man within the SlySports family. The events over the past few minutes had taken their toll on all four fighters, and they were all down on the mat. The referee, Shields, began to count all three competitors out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five!

Fejona Min was up first! Showing great resilience! All she had to do was stay up, and if the ref reached ten, she'd be the victor.

Right?

“This damn knock-out count is mine, right Shields?” Fejona seethed.

Six!

Shields shrugged. "You'd better hope so."

Seven!

Eight!

Omega began to stir to his feet, a snarl on his face.

Nine!

Carrion scrambled to his feet and tackled Carrion to the mat and began to viciously throw rights and lefts at Keller's head. Keller covered up and eventually pushed Carrion away, but no sooner than he got up, Keller was on the mat once again courtesy of a Carrion the Deathless head butt right on the nose. Keller rolled over and blood dripped to the mat from his nose. He began to get up, but Carrion kicked him back down again.

Keller began to get up once more, but Carrion kicked him down again. One more time K2 attempted to get up, and as the Deathless attempted to kick the man known formally as Koschei, he grabbed Carrion's leg and took Carrion down with a leg whip.

Omega glanced across the ring and noticed the Black Title lying on the mat. He looked at Min, who questioned what he wanted with the infamous title belt that had gained most of his notoriety in theAsylum over the last decade, and which wasn’t yet even officially recognized by ACW; but then the Craziest Bastard in Pro Wrestling wiped the blood from his nose and picked up the Black Title. As Min circled Omega at chain length looking to catch her breath, Omega wound up... and pitched the spiked and weighted title all jagged edges and metals parts, right towards the Scorpion Fighting Champion. Fejona ducked and the Black Title smacked into the Swedish crowd with screams of horror; Mark Shields grunted and ran out to grab it back. And remember… Omega is the GOOD guy. Min put her hands up in a time out position and said: "Whoa, whoa. Time out. Time out. That's just plain dirty."

Omega grinned and ran at Min, but Fejona dropped to the mat and drop toe holded ol’ Omega’s head cleanly into the ring post! There was a loud OOOOOOOOOOOOH from the crowd as Omega's head hit square on the metal screws at the the back of the turn buckle, and blood instantly began to drip from an inch long gash on his forehead.

Jut then Khristain Keller came in, to kick at Omega for a moment before backing up.

Back in the ring, Shields stood up and started to count out Omega.

One!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

Omega was up. The camera picked up a clear shot of Omega's head, and he was busted open bad. Another scare to add to quite the collection of scar tissue. Carrion had managed to get Tommy Vale to throw a chair to him (Vale didn' want to become bird food so he complied) and as Keller turned back towards Carrion, the vulture swung and smacked Keller on the head with the chair!

OOOOOOOOOOOOH. The Bastard King of Ages fell back quickly and he began to bleed heavily all over the mat. Min taunted Keller and Omega, daring them to get up and Carrion tilted his head to the side of and stared at Min. Eventually Keller did, and he falls victim to another chair shot from Carrion, but this one only sent him down on one knee. Carrion swung again and connected. Blood sprays all over the ring as Keller fell back to the mat. Before he could turn his attention on Min, the Scorpion Fighting Champion dropkicked the chair into the face of the creature that claimed ownership of the Black Title.

Walking over to Keller, she then punted the Bastard King in the side of the head.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

Before you start cheering don’t forget that Scorpion Fighting rules… means a standing 15-count motherfuckers. Also, come on! How could you cheer for Fejona Min?!

ELEVEN!

Fejona Min was standing over first King of Ages, who's entire head and much of his chest was now crimson and raised her arms.

TWELVE!

Keller began to stir, as Omega grabbed Min's ankle! Aha, you can’t take your eyes off of either bald bastard, Pan-Asian Kiddo! Omega swung his arm up viciously punching Fejona riiight in the cunt, I kid you not, which gave him some time to get his wits about himself again and all the women in attendance groaned in a pained way usually saved for any guy who has ever seen a nut shot. Min began to shake off the low blow, but Omega seemed to have got some sort of adrenaline rush from the blood from the turnbuckle which had began to match what had happened between Keller and the chair.

He had a sadistic grin on his face, which was completely red and growing ever yellow, as well as much of his upper body, and Min didn't look comfortable at all. Especially when Omega clotheslined Min and followed it up by DDT'ing her as soon as she got up.

Keller had crawled across the ACW ring leaving a trail of blood behind him towards the Black Title, which had startlingly made its way back into ring (thanks Shields). With an ever tightening slack on the chain between he and Carrion, Keller grabbed a hold of the Black Title and staggered over to Carrion who was flat on his back in the centre of the ACW ring.

“You want it, Champ? Have it.”

Keller held the Black Title high and then just simply dropped the title belt from above his head. As it fell, it gained speed and when it met Carrion's face it's going at some speed, colliding off of the side of the face, near the left eye.

Carrion screamed and held his face as he began to roll around the ring in agony. Keller grinned and fell over. He crawled over to Carrion and leaned over him and began shouting at him…

... Only to notice the black iris that formally belonged in Carrion’s left eye… had been turned completely white. The dangers of wearing contact lenses in a fight.

Keller then kneed Carrion in the gut. Omega had pulled Fejona up, and in one swift movement, powerbombed her hard in the centre of the King of Ages ring. Keller clubbed Omega in the back, but then could feel a yank on the chain that was almost more to get his attention then to really take him off his feet.

Keller quickly turned around and looked Carrion in the eye. One black eye, one white. He sneered, “You’re falling apart, Bird.”

“We’re going to destroy you, for what you did to Barb.” Omega could be seen growling at Fejona Min. Before ranting about holding the [Black] Scorpion over her dead body.

Keller arched an eye at Carrion, “And I know that you’d hate to miss the show.”

Obviously the two pairs should be fighting each other… not one another, but fuck it, at the moment they didn’t care. The game had changed.

Carrion looked Keller in the eye. The two stared at each other for another moment before Keller attempted to take Carrion's head off with the slacked chain between them, but Carrion ducked out of the way and kicked Keller in the midsection. He attempted to DDT K2, but the King Shit of Fuck Mountain suplexed Carrion. Keller crawled over to the dented and bloody steel chair and threw it down in the centre of the ring. He pulled Carrion up and set him up for a piledriver on the chair!

And HIT it! There was a sickening thud as Carrion's head hit the steel chair. Keller rolled away and scrambled to his feet but realized there was no ref to count what would surely be the ten count if not. Mark Shields, taking a smoke break on the outside of the ring noticed this, but shook his hand at Keller to just keep having fun. Keller began to point in the direction of the ref and bizarrely someone at ringside thought he was asking for a steel chair, and another chair got thrown into the ring. Keller caught it, looked at it and threw it behind him and began to shout at the guys at ringside to get Shields in the ring.

“Yeah, Shields’ll screw you if given the chance,” Carrion coughed to himself, “Believe me, I know.”

Keller then dragged Carrion out of the ring, going after Shields. 'The One' Jimmy Reid and his play-by-play man Cardinal jumped from their seats in excitement, wondering if anything would happen to an ACW official… even one as infamous as Mark Shields, a seeming member of the cabal.

Fejona Min had begun to stir and she noticed the brand spanking new chair lying in the ring nearby. She grabbed the chair and staggered towards Omega and smacked it hard across Omega's back. Omega had fallen to one knee and Min, who was still dazed from the powerbomb earlier, fell down to one knee as well. Omega grabbed the chair used earlier in the match and when both enemies were back to their feet, he swung it hard at Min's head! Fejona went back down to one knee, blood starting to stream from her head.

Both fighters actually, dripping head to toe in blood, looked groggily at each other, before Fejona returned the compliment, smacking Omega on the head with a chair not once, but twice! Somehow Omega managed to stay on his feet, and he staggered around for a moment, swinging the chair at the Scorpion Fighting Champion once more in a last ditch attempt. The sloppy chair shot connected with Fejona's head, and it was enough to knock the Champion down!

That was when a canister of hair spray bounced into the ring. See, Shields had run from Keller, and in doing so ran behind the Broadcast Booth, looking to hide behind 'The One' Jimmy Reid, ACW’s esteemed color-commentator. With Keller advancing at Reid, the former ACW Champion reached for the first thing he could find and ended up throwing a can of hair spray at the Bastard.

Kinda funny… until you saw the look on Omega’s face. With the lighter in his pocket, this was all he needed to get true, brutal revenge on Min for attacking him with a burning Barb on COURAGE 116. You know, where Fejona usurped Omega to become Scorpion Fighting Champ? Yeah.

An eye for an eye. “We will burn out your eyes for trying to gouge out ours with a pen, Min,” growled Omega.

Even Keller could see all that he could get out of this situation. If Min was all but dead then Omega could be carrying a ball a chain and all Keller had to worry about was taking down Omega with the body of the still woozy Carrion.

Keller rolled into the ring, kicking Carrion in the side of his feathered head as he followed. Then punched Min in the side of HER head, as he turned towards Omega with a crafty grin ever evident on the Bastard King of Ages. After a month of lost control, it had finally been regained for K2.

Bending over, the King Shit of Fuck Mountain picked up the can of hair spray and then picked up the Scorpion Fighting Champion, one hand under each arm. Omega readied the aerosol can in one hand before procuring the lighter from his pocket. As Keller held Min in front of Omega, Keller whispered in her ear, “Hunt didn’t seem to care which of us actually won that damn [Black] Scorpion at the end of the night… so better me then you.”

Omega readied his DIY blow-torch a short distance from Min’s face, but just far enough from it so that he assumed he could engulf the entirety of it in flames.

“Burn, you bitch.”

As Omega flicked the lighter to burning life and began to spray the highly flammable liquid into it...

PHWOOOOOSH!

Carrion burst to life from the side of the action, where he had been stirring to life. He burst to life, sticking himself in harms way, directly in the path of the flood of growing flames. The crowd screamed in amazement and horror.

Fejona it seemed, was unharmed as many might hate in hearing the news, and Keller began to stumble away in amazement, letting her drop to the mat in a mix of blood and sweat.

Even Omega could only look on in true wonder as Carrion, flames engulfed his beaked head and immediately began to burn his numerous black feathers to cinder, didn’t say a word, but instead stretched his arms out.

This was a rebirth through fire, for Carrion. At one time it had been Khristain Keller himself under the mask. Even for a time during FIGHT NIGHT it was Jeremy Hunt, the Progamming Executive forom SlySports, in a bid to drive Alias mad before the Black Title was taken from him in violent style, torn from around his waist… to the detriment of his waist.

Since before COURAGE 118, however.

Khristain Keller tensed his shoulders, as he sat slumped on the steps of the Furuset Forum’s docks. That son of a bitch Kellen Masters had gotten the better of him for a number of reasons.

This was the Destruction of Khristain Keller, after all.

“Fucking hell.” Keller sneered, as he held his battered head in his hands. First the legendary Ring Superstar in Vince Jacobs, now the King of Submissions in Kellen 'Machine' Masters… what was next for the Bastard King of Ages? It was almost as if, what Hunt had over his head, his daughter… was worse than what gauntlet he was running within the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament.

So… he would give up his daughter. Join Hunt. ‘Cause as much as he hated Jeremy Hunt, he could work with him, he wouldn’t work with the new man in the bird suit, however.

It was Hunt who had put Keller in this position, Hunt who knew what had happened to Alias. Or at least, Hunt thought he knew what had happened with Alias.

Carrion grabbed the mask, as the flames licked away the feathers and plastic flesh of the vermin, and pulled the mask from his face. He coughed as he breathed in the smoke, but you could tell he was smiling.

“Ya know, I’ve always been a better Phoenix then a vulture...”

Rubbing the soot from his eyes, Carrion lifted his head. Revealing that, since COURAGE 118 it hadn’t been Carrion at all… but a man beneath a mask seeking retribution from a title that had haunted him for several years, a title he was now free from.

It was why he was smiling.

And now he was bathed in the flames of saving a person he knew most would not have saved.

The Swedish crowd blew the roof off the fucking place.

A L I A S had returned.

For all intents and purposes, he was back from the dead.

“A better wrestler then a fighter.” The Original Pulp Hero grumbled with a certain charm, “But that don’t mean I won’t let any of you take that curse off of my shoulders without a good ol’ fight.”

Alias let the smoldering mass of a costume that used to belong to Carrion, drop to the blood-soaked canvas mat and stood there in the black pants of the costume. His bare feet covered in black tape. His now bare stomach covered with scars to such an extent that those familiar with his recognizable ALIAS tattoo, would not be able to find the word within the scar tissue.

Then Alias beckoned those surrounding him to come at him, knowing the potential for said plan to go tits up and for him to be stomped in the head by tWo bleeding bald bastards.

After so much violence already, now the war for the [Black] Scorpion could truly begin.

Keller started at Alias, but was tripped up by Fejona Min with the chain. Which left only Alias and Omega, staring at each other, eye to eye. Quite literally.

Alias. Omega. The two had done battle way back on COURAGE 104, when the Pulp Hero was still ACW World Champion and trying to survive the bounty put on his head. Omega had just ascended to the throne of being the most violent motherfucker in ACW. Alias won, via disqualification. But with this latest revelation... that Carrion had been Alias since COURAGE 118, where Carrion had bested Omega in an Unsanctioned Fight for the Black Title.

Oh, you'd better believe Omega was itching to go completely ballistic on Alias.

And with a mighty roar from the fans packed into the Ericsson Globe, the two powerhouses charged at each other. POW! SMACK! Both men were trading massive hooks to each other's face, blood and spittle flying all over the place! Despite the soot in his eyes, Alias was more than holding his own against Omega. Until Omega followed up his fourth hook of the exchange with a left-handed uppercut! Alias staggered back two steps, but instantly retaliated with a sharp kick to Omega's ribs.

"KRAKINJAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA~!" Jimmy Reid exploded, just as Alias LEVELLED Omega with an uppercut of his own.

"What the hell was that?" Cardinal asked, unable to peel his eyes from the action in the ring. Reid shrugged. "An uppercut like that deserved a cool sound effect thingamajig." The man, you realise, had a brilliant point.

Anyways. Omega was only down on the canvas feeling sorry for himself for half a second. As Alias advanced towards him, Omega lashed out with a wild flailing kick to the Pulp Hero's left knee, before expertly sweeping the legs of ACW's Heart and Soul from under him! Alias hit the canvas, grimacing, before he found Omega jumping right on top of him! A fistfight between the two erupted, and the fans couldn't be happier.

Meanwhile, Fejona Min had dragged herself over to a corner of the ring, watching as the slack on the chain tighten considerably as Omega and Alias rolled around on the canvas pummelling each other with close-ranged punches. Khristain Keller afforded himself a grin at the sight of Omega and Alias going nuts, before he turned her attentions to Fejona.

"What's your deal with Hunt? I never quite got that memo, sweet-tits." Keller leered at Fejona, getting up to his feet.

The Rogue Slayer spat at his feet. "Z was right. You're a disgrace to the industry."

Keller's grin waned. And then, he charged right at Fejona, driving his knee square into her face! The impact saw Fejona's face bounce off the canvas, but that wasn't nearly the end of that. Keller grabbed a handful of hair with one hand, and with the other smacked Fejona's tits around a little. Despicable, much? You got it. But Keller was aware that this was not the time to be a perverse creep, and eventually, that free hand of his.

SMACK!

Vicious right hook, natch. And with running commentary, too.

"Too bad for you, bitch...."

SMACK!

"... we ain't wrestling tonight..."

SMACK!

"... this is a fight...."

SMACK!

"... and I *will* win..."

SMACK!

"... and you can't do anything about it, cunto."

SMACK!

Fejona's face? Usually very nice to look at. But now? It was a mangled mess. If the rumours of her getting touch-ups after every brutal fight was true, Fejona would then have to fork out a lot of money to restore her lovely face after tonight. Keller didn't give a fuck. He pulled Min up, kicked her in the babymaker, and... PAINKILLA!

Was that it? Was that the final blow? Was the Bastard King of Ages on the verge of greatness?

That was the plan. But, see, Alias had different ideas. Ah, you thought I forgot him and Omega, didn't ya?

Having gotten enough of blasting each other in the face, Alias and Omega had separated and raced to their feet, only for Alias to knock Omega down with a discus clothesline. Alias then watched Keller take out Fejona, and sprang to his feet. The Original Pulp Hero contemplated sneaking up on one of his longtime rivals (but to be honest the fella has a lot of enemies); Alias, however, looked at the chain connecting himself to Keller, and had a different thought.

He yanked hard on the chain, forcing Keller to tumble backwards and straight into his open arms. Awww, they were hugging. Oh, wait, my bad. That wasn't it.

It was, in fact, Alias picking Keller up and managing to drill him with an A-BOMB! Both warriors were down on the canvas, completely spent. Keller was out cold, and Alias pushed his palms down onto the canvas, ready to get back up and allow Shields to begin the count. There was one snag in that plan.

Omega had sufficiently recovered from his discus clothesline and had retrieved the Black Title. Not a good sign.

And the nanosecond that Alias got to his knees, breathing heavily, Omega charged ahead. The Original Pulp Hero's head snapped backwards upon impact, and down went the former three-time ACW World Champion. Out of the corner of his eye, though, Omega spotted Fejona stirring to life. In fact, just seconds earlier, half her body was hanging out of the ring. Now, she was using the ropes and willing herself back to her feet.

Omega wasn't stupid. He knew Fejona had a weapon. And he knew Min was inching closer towards him, judging by how slack their chain had gotten. Still, Omega played along with the charade. With the Black Title in one hand, Omega kicked away at the Pulp Hero's sternum, drawing muffled groans. Keller roused back to life, raising his left hand up from the canvas; only to find that his right hand was promptly stomped on by Omega.

And then, Fejona turned around and charged. Finally Omega thought. He too spun on his heels and advanced.

The two storied rivals lunged at each other, each with a weapon of choice in their possession. Black Title? Meet the Scorpion Fighting Title. Fejona and Omega had intended to clobber each other with the two prized title belts that was up for grabs in this Stockholm Syndrome Match. Instead, the two title belts collided rather violently with each other, and the resulting sparks from said collision stunned both Omega and Fejona.

As if that wasn't enough, the two title belts were... seemingly now stuck to each other. One way or another, a [Black] Scorpion had been created. Fejona seethed, Omega growled. Now, what?

Min knew what. Even though she still felt the effects of the PAINKILLA that Keller had delivered earlier, her brain was still able to function somewhat normally. So she lashed out with a pushing kick down to Omega's left knee, before taking two steps back and destroying her rival with a modified leaping roundhouse kick! It didn't pack her usual punch, but Omega still went down, and Fejona dropped to her knees, every part of her body starting to ache like never before.

A moment's peace was all she got. Khristain Keller had dragged himself to the ropes, pulling himself up, while Alias rolled in the opposite direction. Fejona decided she needed to act fast. First, she reached out towards her left, grabbing the twisted prize that had up to a few minutes ago been two separate title belts. From there, the Rogue Slayer slithered forward towards Keller, measuring K2 up for something. The chain connecting Keller and Alias being stretched to its fullet didn't escape Fejona's attention.

And once Keller turned around? Rising spinning uppercut, that sent Keller tumbling over the ropes and out of the ring! Alias suddenly found himself jerked backwards and towards the ropes. More importantly, towards Fejona Min. Holding on to the [Black] Scorpion, Fejona took flight and busted out her famous hurricane kick. And people? That hurricane kick? Oh, bloody hell, it was quite the magnificient work of art. Not only did Alias crumble, but the chain connecting him and Keller.

It had snapped. The fans exploded in a mixture of shock and awe and distress. Especially when Fejona landed rather nicely on her feet and immediately used her momentum to advance at the recovering Omega. The Craziest Bastard In Professional Wrestling barely had time to react, and therefore he didn't react when Fejona introduced the [Black] Scorpion to the side of his face. Down went Omega. The darkened clouds of hate circled above the ring. The fans realised what had happened. In one fell swoop, Fejona had taken out everybody.

"COUNNNNNNNNT!" Fejona screamed at bastard referee Mark Shields as she staggered towards the ropes.

But she didn't have to worry. Shields was already counting.

THREE.

FOUR.

FIVE.

And much to Fejona Min's relief and delight -- even as Keller stirred on the outside and reached into the ring to grab a hold of the Pulp Hero's ankle, and even as Omega started to force himself to peel his body off the canvas -- the count was in her favour.

TEN.

ELEVEN.

For by the time Omega had reached the ropes?

THIRTEEN.

For by the time Alias and Keller wrapped each other's necks with their chain?

FOURTEEN.

For by the time the three men in the Stockholm Syndrome Match had regained their vertical standing?

... It was just too late.

The bell had rung. The count had been fulfilled. It was over.

In one corner of the squared circle, the Rogue Slayer slumped down against the corner turnbuckle and let herself fall down to the canvas. The insane prop that she cradled in her hands? The [Black] Scorpion? It was hers.

Not only had Fejona Min claimed the Black Title, she had done what many felt was impossible; retained the Scorpion Fighting Title. Sure, she was one heck of an accomplished fighter, but nobody had expected HER of all people to survive the Stockholm Syndrome Match, much less end up the winner. But hey, that's life for you, kiddos.

Omega tumbled out of the ring and fumed. Keller and Alias? They had taken to trading blows with one another once more, taking their fight around the ringside area and up the ramp. Their battle was far from over. In the ring, Fejona basked in the glow of the moment, even as the fans jeered their hearts out. This wasn't what they'd expected. Omega. Keller, even. Carrion aka Alias, surely. Those were their picks for the ultimate victor.

Alas, it was not to be. Fejona Min had triumphed.

Now, she could sleep.

inhale

   

Or could she?

See, even as Alias and Khristain Keller took their fight back down the ramp and over the security barricades (where many a fan took our their disappointment over Fejona winning by dousing Keller in beer), there was still one man at ringside.

Okay, two, but bastard referee Mark Shields was not a factor here. Omega was.

He locked eyes with Fejona in the ring, fists clenched, the chain bonding him and Fejona together stretched to its limit. Blood covered his massively-scarred face. Min swallowed (heh) hard. Was her night not quite over yet? Was Omega clamouring for more? After all, Fejona winning and becoming the [Black] Scorpion was the last thing Omega would have wanted. Then again.

"Next time." Omega muttered under his breath just as a terrifed Tommy Vale shuffled over to him.

Within seconds, the chain that had kept him restrained to his biggest rival in ACW had been removed from his wrist. Omega grunted and duly hobbled over, climbing over the security barricade and not once looking back at Fejona.

The Rogue Slayer crawled out of the corner turnbuckle and surveyed the prize in her possession. The infamous Black Title, now merged with the Scorpion Fighting Title. She tried, half-heartedly, to split the two. No luck. They were stuck together, somehow. Didn't matter to Fejona. She stood to her feet, taking two limping steps forward before tumbling down to the canvas. Towards the end of the fight, adrenaline and the will to win kept her going.

Now, as she rolled out of the squared circle, her body was giving up. It was time to hit the showers, get a massage, and sleep for two days. Or more. Yeah, the smile on Fejona's face as she thought about that plan? Priceless.

Equally priceless was the lighting in the Ericsson Globe suddenly flickering wildly. And then.

And then, it happened.

Loudest cheers of the night? Check. By far, natch. You thought Alias got a hell of a reception when he ditched the Carrion mask earlier on? It was nothing compared to when AC/DC's War Machine began blaring over the speakers.

The prodigal son had returned. The hometown hero. The Swedish War Machine was in the house: Sven Avsbern!

Fejona watched, wide-eyed, as Sven appeared from the back and slowly made his way down the ramp. A composed smile on his face, a microphone in his right hand. Ever since it was announced that KING OF AGES 2010 would be taking place in Stockholm, Sven spent the past two months waxing poetic about how monumental it would be returning to his birthplace. He also made obscure references to him ascending to the top of the mountain or some other nonsense to that extent.

Perhaps now was the time to clear things up? Hmmm, of course.

"SVEN! SVEN! SVEN!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap
"SVEN! SVEN! SVEN!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap

Catchy, huh? Avsbern was lovin' this.

"Ah, Stockholm. We meet again!" Sven proclaimed as he expertly climbed into the ring. The fans exploded once more, drowning out the rock-metal stylings of AC/DC. Sven nodded his head as he scanned the fans; every other person was recognisable to him, and vice versa. Friends. Enemies. Family members. Relatives. Fuck buddies. Business associates. You get the idea.

Min was now very afraid. This didn't bode well for her. "It's been so long since I've been back here. I can't even remember. Three years? Yet, I see a lot of people that know just who the hell I am. And these people, I bet, might also know a little something about that Scorpion Fighting Title. But I don't want to bore you all with ancient history. First things first.

A very hearty round of congratulations to you, Fejona. You've just won an epic fight. You defied expectations, and you've survived a hellish fight.

... Now, I hope you're ready for another one. Because I'm challenging you, right here and right now."

Oh snap.

Oh, snappity snap. Fejona went all 'what the fuck' while the fans completely lost their shit. In the ring, Sven The Hardcore looked like one smug son of a bitch. This was allllll going according to plan for him.

"Let me explain first." Sven spoke up once more, raising his free hand in the air to garner attention. "Ever since I stepped foot in ACW, my goal has been simple. To get my hands on that Scorpion Fighting Title. A title which has a lot of history and unspeakable power if you know its origin story. I once came very close to winning that title belt; the kicker is, I was bested by the man that eventually introduced it to ACW. Subsequent battles against that man saw me come out on the losing end.

Needless to say, I knew that I needed to prepare myself mentally and physically if I wanted to claim that Scorpion Fighting Title.

Especially since Omega was at the helm, and looking pretty much unstoppable at the time. And then, you came back at LEGENDS IV. Like a greedy pig, determined to get your hands on the Scorpion Fighting Title."

Sven walked over to the ropes and leaned over, glaring menacingly at Fejona. He was no longer smiling.

In fact, Sven The Hardcore's eyes burned with a fiery passion. "You. You've only known about the Scorpion Fighting Title since, what... 2004? After the first time you won it? And you had the audacity to come back from the dead, declaring your intentions to regain the title belt, like you knew what you were talking about. Psssh.

I've known about this stinkin', acursed title belt for over a decade. Besides the mysterious Guardian and that bastard Vincent Pembridge -- yeah, I know he's not supposed to be named but screw that -- there's nobody else on this planet that knows more about the Scorpion Fighting Title. And seeing how Vincent Pembridge has been in a coma for nearly seven years and counting now, that makes me the authority on that title belt.

And when I told Jeremy Hunt what I know about HIM, and what I intended to do with that knowledge? Let's just say I was always good with making my blackmail threats seem larger than life. And he granted me whatever I wanted."

The fans were riveted. Most of them didn't have a clue as to what was really going on, but hey. Hometown hero.

Fejona, on the other hand? She had a sinking feeling.

"First, I demanded for KING OF AGES 2010 to be held right here in Stockholm. Just because." Sven revealed, to an astounding (cheap-ish) pop. "Secondly and perhaps more importantly, I demanded incessantly to know his plans for the Scorpion Fighting Title. He sang like a canary. I told him *my* plans. He told me he'd deliver.

And after the announcement two weeks ago about the Stockholm Syndrome Match, Hunt gave me the go-ahead. Especially in the scenario if you of all people should win, Fejona. I was to be an insurance policy. I don't know what happened between you and Hunt; nor do I quite care. Fact is, he's soured on you. I was planning to come out here regardless of whoever won, but he reserved special instructions for you, Fejona.

... Hunt wants you gone. I want that title belt. Mutual goals, with only you standing in the way.

Do you get it now?"

The Rogue Slayer shook her head defiantly. This couldn't be happening. She'd just walked out of an absolute war, her face covered with blood and without the ability to stand on her two feet sans assistance. Yet, she was staring at a man, seemingly deranged in his obsession with the Scorpion Fighting Title.

Fejona Min had only one thing to say: "Fuck off."

The fans, despite learning that Sven Avsbern was seemingly behind the scenes with Jeremy Hunt, nonetheless went wild as the Swedish War Machine jumped out of the ring and lunged at Fejona Min. It all happened so fast, Min didn't have time to react. She was down on the ground in an instant, covering herself from the barrage of kicks that Sven was throwing at her.

Sven The Hardcore was not going to be denied his moment of glory. And in front of his adoring fans, too.

"YOU WILL FIGHT ME!" Sven screamed, reaching down and pulling Min up by her hair. Fejona's response was to fling a combination of spit and blood into Sven's face. Uh oh. That wasn't very smart.

Immediately enough, Sven drove his head into Fejona's face, in a Zidane-style headbutt. Brutal? You bet. Fejona's legs crumbled under her and she dropped to the ground, unable to even groan out in anguish. Sven towered over her, with waves of adulation cascading down onto his shoulders. The Swedish War Machine was beyond caring about the fans at that moment, however.

He had his eyes on the prize. Or at least, what it was now: the amalgamated Black Title and Scorpion Fighting Title.

"You see what you've done to it?! It's ruined now, you cunt!" Avsbern seethed through clenched teeth, enraged at the twisted mess that was the [Black] Scorpion. His fingers stretched out, grazing the prop... but just as quickly, Sven retracted his hand away from it. Almost as if Sven The Hardcore felt that the [Black] Scorpion was some sort of disease-ridden item like pigeon's droppings.

Peering over his shoulder, Sven watched as Fejona crawled towards the Broadcast Booth, passing by esteemed ring announcer Tommy Vale. The fans were gripped by the drama. Sven's challenge was still out there, and as far as they knew, Fejona hadn't accepted and wouldn't likely accept to fight after what she'd just gone through.

For some reason, though, ACW's Original Femme Fatale now had a microphone in her possession.

"... You... *tt*... want to... f-fight?" Fejona asked, struggling to catch her breath.

Sven The Hardcore merely gave her a glare of intent. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved his bottle of pills and twisted the cap open. Fejona smirked, watching as Sven consumed two pills.

And despite Jimmy Reid's protests, Fejona decided to shock everybody in the Globe: "Fine. Let's do it.

Let's fight, you fucker."

They were shocked that she accepted, yes. Nonetheless, the fans roared. Sven Avsbern nodded and rolled back into the ring. He wasn't stunned. He knew Fejona's pride would get the better of her.

What he didn't know, however, is that Fejona had an ace up her sleeve. Why, was that Jack Harris standing behind the Broadcast Booth? Indeed it was, and Fejona was now hobbling towards him. Sven frowned.

That frown grew more profound as the fans suddenly screamed, trying to alert their hometown hero of impending danger. Sven knew right away, by the shadow cast over him and the ring shaking ever so wildly, that he was not alone. Alas, as he turned around, there was nothing that the Swedish War Machine could do to prevent Kesavan from running him over with strike to the face!

And when the Mongolian witch-doctor that's the bodyguard to the leader of the cabal and that's about seven feet tall kicks you in the face? With a steel-toe boot?

Suffice to say, you stay down. I don't care if you're Casper The Friendly Fucking Ghost; you.stay.down. Capiche? Good.

Meanwhile, Jack Harris and Fejona Min were having a lovely conversation about daisies and current affairs. Actually, it was more of Fejona saying 'give it to me' and Harris asking 'should I tell Z you accept the terms and conditions of the agreement' or something like that.

"Y-Yes! Now, give me Hanzo!" Fejona begged, her knees buckling already.

Harris shrugged and produced what appeared to be an inhaler from within his leather jacket. Fejona snatched it out of her hands, removed the cap and took a puff. Everybody in the Ericsson Globe began to ponder just what in the blue hell was going on (while also jeering Kesavan's beatdown of Sven in the ring).

Within seconds, Fejona staggered backwards, tossing back the inhaler to Jack Harris. The Pikey Madman nodded, whistled to Kesavan, and promptly got the fuck outta dodge. In the ring, Kesavan dropped his right knee down onto Sven Avsbern's sternum, which many a fan winced and cried at; once he laughed at Sven's misfortune, Kesavan hopped out of the ring and also took his leave.

Leaving a wounded Sven Avsbern alone with the completely battered Fejona Min. Playing field evened out?

... I wouldn't be so sure, what with that look of malice in Fejona's eyes.

UNSANCTIONED FIGHT - ACW [BLACK] SCORPION TITLE
Sven Avsbern vs. Fejona Min ©
REFEREE: ?

   

So. Just about five minutes prior, the Black Title that had been become famous in theAsylum and ACW's Scorpion Fighting Title had become unified in name and in physical states. The woman that could claim to be the first of its kind, the [Black] Scorpion?

None other than Fejona Min. And she was about to have her first official defense of the [Black] Scorpion.

And despite having been in an absolute all-out assault to become the holder of the [Black] Scorpion, the Rogue Slayer no longer exhibited signs of fatigue or exhaustion. To demonstrate, she expertly hopped onto the ring apron and backsaulted her way into the ring, surprising a large number of the fans. Was it thanks to whatever was in that inhaler? Mayhaps.

Sven Avsbern, getting back to his feet and shaking off rather nicely the beatdown he'd suffered, scanned Fejona Min from head to toe. He was equally creeped out to see Fejona Min standing in front of him, seemingly revitalised and raring to go, and no longer looking like she'd been in a plane crash.

"You ready to do this?" Fejona mocked, grinning from ear to ear. "Your pills versus... the source of life?

*tt* Give me your best shot, Blondie. I dare you."

Min then went ahead and did the 'just-bring-it' hand motion. The fans jeered. Sven scowled.

He didn't know what Fejona had consumed to be seemingly nursed back to top physical shape in just a matter of one minute, but Avsbern didn't quite care much. This was, after all, an Unsanctioned Fight. There were no referees in sight. Just thousands of fans in the stands and two warriors in the ring.

After thirty seconds of just staring each other down, Sven made the first move -- he took off like a jet rocket towards Fejona, aiming to connect with a wild swing. Min, in a rather scintillating show of awesomeness, did a backwards bridge a'la The Matrix (Jesse Ramey scoffed backstage and told anybody that was listening that his own earlier in the evening was better). Once Sven was beyond her, The Rogue Slayer straightened up and took flight. BICYCLE KICK! Sven hadn't even turned around fully, and already he was sent down to the canvas, completely bamboozled out of nowhere.

How in the hell did Fejona do that? Minutes ago, she could not even stand without support.

The air of hatred was metallic in the air. Fejona didn't care. She greedily inhaled every jeer into her lungs. It made her feel that everything was status quo. Although, that could probably be attributed to whatever substance she ingested moments ago via the inhaler. At any rate, Fejona bounced on the balls of her bare heels, watching as Sven Avsbern shot back up.

Avsbern was rumoured to be addicted to pills that helped to block out an abnormal amount of punishment, but he was already feeling the effects of a resurgent Fejona Min. Shaking his head, Sven threw himself towards Fejona, only to find the Rogue Slayer easily cartwheeling out of the way and launching herself into the ropes. Sven turned to the side, hoping to catch Min and drive her to the canvas.

No such luck. HURRICANE KICK! Sven tumbled down to the blood-stained canvas, and the fans jeered once more. The Rogue Slayer kipped up to her feet and considered the possibilities. This was an unsanctioned fight. She could do whatever she wanted. And with no referee, that meant the count would come from whoever was left standing.

At that moment, it was her. And Fejona intended to... not move in for the kill?

Nah. She took one step back and waited for Sven Avsbern to get back up to his feet. He wanted this fight.

Sven The Hardcore demanded for this chance to become a hero. He did, didn't he?

The second Sven straightened up, Fejona's eyes zeroed in on him staggering around. Her whole right arm tensed up. She cocked it backwards and dashed forward. Once more, Avsbern had no clue what was coming. In the larger scheme of things, the Swedish War Machine had no idea what he'd done by coming out at the conclusion of the Stockholm Syndrome Match.

POOOOWWWWWW~!

A stiff, ever-rising spinning uppercut. Sven's ENTIRE BODY snapped backwards, flying out of the ring!

The fans gasped in horror as Sven flopped down to ringside in a mangled heap, screaming out in sheer agony and distress. Fejona chose to stay in the ring, but she leaned over the ropes, spitting down a gob of blood onto Sven.

Her teeth were stained with crimson. Her face didn't look anything like how she used to look. Her hair was matted down to her neck, soaked with blood of three men and pespiration. Yet, Fejona Min stood tall and proud, like a natural born fighter. More importantly, she didn't appear to be winded at all.

If anything, there was new life coarsing through her veins. Unbelievable.

"You stupid motherfucker." Fejona spoke, finally stepping through the ropes and balancing herself on the ring apron. "You and your obsession with the Scorpion Fighting Title.

I've already examined the title belt. I've already gotten what I needed off of it.

All this years, and still visible. Incredible. It doesn't matter that it's now bonded to the Black Title, Sven. I already know what I need to do. I'll admit, I was initially stumped. But I got it. You, Sven, should be more worried with what I'm about to do to you. You thought you could come out here and RUIN my moment of glory.

I'm going to slaughter you in front of your hometown chums and family, Sven."

The Swedish War Machine growled, well aware of Fejona's position. Instinctively, his right arm snaked under the ring, looking for a weapon. Anything. He was desperate.

Min shook her head disapprovingly and readied herself. Once she was satisfied, she took flight again.

This time, her right knee was extended. Sven forced himself off the ground. Even better, Fejona thought to herself. Avsbern was playing right into her hands.

Speaking of. Sven had, wrappeed around his right fist, a steel chain. He grinned.

His chain-enforced fist tore through the air and sound, and landed right across Fejona's face. Min crashed down to the ground unceremoniously, her jumping knee strike having ended up being an unsuccessful gamble. Now, Sven had an opportunity to turn the tide and take control of the fight.

SMACK!

Or so he thought. Just as he leaned down to grab a handful of Fejona's hair, Sven got surprised.

How? Simple. Fejona flipped onto her back and drove her foot up into Avsbern's face. Always improvising, that Fejona. With Sven staggering backwards, Fejona kipped up to her feet and threw a snap roundhouse kick into the Swede's left thigh.

Sven The Hardcore yelled out in pain, but recovered a second later, swinging his chain-enforced fist at Fejona once more. The Rogue Slayer was wise to Sven's tactic and ducked, retaliating with a ferocious palm-heel strike. And then a kick to the groin. And then she took control of Sven's right arm, bent it over her shoulder... and... oh, my.

No, she didn't execute an over-the-shoulder throw. Truth be told, Fejona probably COULD have pulled that off.

"ARRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH~!"

Instead, Fejona Min broke Sven's arm over her shoulder. Like, seriously.

Sven was on the ground, writhing like a baby. His right arm was shattered into two. The stinging sensation of fear forced itself down his throat. This wasn't supposed to be how it happened.

Fejona looked down at him, face betraying no emotion whatsoever. "You asked for this."

STOMP!

"You wanted to fight me."

STOMP!

"You thought you were being clever, catching me at my supposed weakest."

STOMP!

"You're no Omega, that's for fucking sure."

STOMP!

"You're just an old man, crying over a relic you're obsessed over."

STOMP!

"You never even got your hands on the title belt, and you speak of it like an expert."

STOMP!

"You're nothing, Sven. You're the most useless human being ever."

STOMP!

By now, Sven's right arm looked something that would be hanging loose from a mannequin. Fejona stepped back, surveying the damage. A thin smile of pride crept onto her face. But she wasn't quite finished with Sven Avsbern yet.

Reaching under the ring, The Rogue Slayer produced... oh shit, 'Barb'! Many wondered why Fejona hadn't brought 'Barb' out at the start of the Stockholm Syndrome Match. Somewhere in the Ericsson Globe, Omega was surely cursing Fejona. But right there, at ringside, Sven Avsbern was doing something else entirely. Something that shocked the fans.

"... Please. S-Spare me!" Sven pleaded. He was begging for mercy. Sven The Hardcore, my ass.

Fejona's response.

Come on. You know the answer. "No."

SMACK!

On a night where the fans already watched Z obliterate Buddy Saxon with a crowbar, the Ericsson Globe once more retreated into a blanket of silence. Sven Avsbern was knocked the fuck out, but considering that Fejona Min still clutched 'Barb' tightly, everybody knew what was coming next. It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

SMACK!

To the left arm.

SMACK!

To the right knee-cap.

SMACK!

To the left knee-cap.

SMACK!

To the... gawd, neck.

SMACK!

To the already destroyed right arm. Sheesh.

SMACK!

To the face once more.

SMACK!

Third time to the face.

SMACK!

One more for the road.

... Satisfied at the sight of Sven Avsbern laying in a pool of his own blood, Fejona Min tossed 'Barb' aside. For the third time in the night, EMTs rushed down to ringside with a stretcher and their medical equipment.

The Rogue Slayer sniggered, calmly walked to the Broadcast Booth and retrieved the newly-birthed [Black] Scorpion title belt.

"Ring the bell. It's over." Fejona commanded to Tommy Vale. Vale obliged.

It was finished. Sven Avsbern... was finished. The jeers kicked in once more, but it didn't have any major bearing on what was happening. Fejona, in a trance, walked away from the scene of the crime while the ring crew hit ringside, cleaning up the area and rushing to replace the blood-soaked canvas. What a fucking night.

And in case it hadn't been said yet --

-- all hail your [Black] Scorpion, Fejona Min.

SINGLES MATCH - STANDARD RULES
WHO'LL BE THE APPLE OF SLYSPORTS' EYE?
Rud Albion vs. Ryan Billows
REFEREE: RODERICK LYNCH

   

And after ALL of THAT?

It was, yes, time for another match.

The Alpine moon was rising above the cusp of the near 17,000 strong crowd with The Globe. They, the ACW faithful where almost spent, with the heat within the arena, the epic night of wrestling that had taken place within Stockholm’s very streets. The night that they had experienced, well it was all that they could ask for and more. Those that they loved, and those that they hated, had arrived. Along with so many new faces. This much was inevitable.

Rifts had formed already, and those watching on pay-per-view, and across so many different television, in numerous countries where watching it all. The stress that could be on the mind, was obvious.

For Rud Albion, however, The Bronze Lion...

The Brummie Bulldog...

The Kingdom's Keeper...

The one man Revolution... only had to worry about one other man, at the moment. Not his fallen comrade and fellow, Englishman Buddy Saxon. He a heart warming Cinderella story struck down before his start by a vile and despicable man. Not that vial and despicable man, Z, who thanks to his victory over Buddy Saxon, if one could call such a slaughter that… would be wrestling in the FINALE of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament very very soon. The cunt, thought Rud even if he would never say such a thing, he didn’t deserve the honor. No, the only man on Rud’s mind was a fellow Lion. The Risen Lion had been chosen by Jeremy Hunt to battle Rud Albion… so the Bronze Lion would do just that. Battle for himself, battle for Buddy, battle for his place in the company, so that he would be able to wage a war on Z.

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. And as he pounded his gloved hands together, the first few chords of his music hit the sound system of the spectacular outdoor arena.

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 entranceway, a look of pure business in his eyes.

The lights fell to black, leaving the crowd in a canopy of darkness, the camera flashes resembling stars twinkling and burning 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 crowd’s negative reaction 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 entranceway with his head hung, soaking in the disdain of the fans that 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 in the ring and glared at his opponent when the bell rang.

Rud Albion stuck out his hand to Billows, to the immediate derision of the Swedish crowd.

“I have no personal business with you, the business I have is with Z. I just wanted you to know that.”

Billows looked for a moment at Albion’s hand, before looking back up at the Bronze Lion. Then he smacked the Albion across the face so hard that the Kingdom’s Keeper had to take a knee.

“Now you’ve got business with me!” Billows spat, “I could go and grab a pink mask if that makes it easier, but I suspect you‘re into that sort of thing.”

Rud Albion’s personal life aside, the Brummie Bulldog stood back up and took a step back from Billows. With intent war in both of their eyes this impromptu war brought to you by Jeremy Hunt was now truly underway. Waiting only to add to that KING OF AGES legacy of awesome.

The two circled each other cautiously, not wanting to commit themselves too quickly and give the other an opening. Finally, the two closed in and tied up. The Bronze Lion got the advantage first in retaliation for the slap, just using raw power even with his smaller stature to ram Billows into the turnbuckle. After a clean break, Albion fired off knife edge chops at a million billion miles per hour, giving the fans no time at all to WHOOO. Which is for the best, because they’re Swedish… and it’d sound too fuckin’ weird.

Once-Young wasn't fond of welts on his chest, so he promptly switched positions with Albion, and decided to redecorate the Kingdom Keeper's face with some well placed knee shots. Billows followed those up with clubbing forearms to the back, and then shot Albion across the ring into the ropes. Coming back, Albion ducked the lariat attempt from Billows and put on the brakes. Billows charged right into the arm drag takeover. Billows tried the same thing, and the results didn’t change. Apparently, Billows didn't learn his lesson, and charged a third time, only to go right over in an arm drag takeover.

Well, they say insanity is attempting the same action repeatedly and hoping for a different result. The Swedish crowd jeered Billows as he looked around for a moment before flipping most everyone off to further boos.

Billows fixed his eyes on Albion with an unnerving stare. The two circled each other once more, still feeling each other out. No matter how little history between two opponents, no matter how well they know each other, the feeling out part of the match is one of the most important.

Especially since these Two Lions didn’t know each other at all.

They tied up again, and Albion gained the advantage again by quickly clinching in a side headlock. The Salt In Your Wound did not think this was ideal, so he tripped Albion up and locked on a side headlock of his own, this one on the ground. Albion pushed himself up to a vertical base and rid himself of the side headlock by pushing Billows off into the ropes. On the rebound, Albion attempted an elbow, but Billows wasn't feeling that, and thought it was time for a game. He called it duck, duck, SHOULDER BLOCK.

Billows quickly ran off into the opposite ropes, while Albion attempted to get himself to his feet. Billows saw Albion was on his knees, and thought, ‘hmmm... Knees’ before coming with a running knee to the face. Lateral press.

ONE!

Albion wasn't gonna lose to a freaking knee.

Frustrated, Billows picked up the Kingdom’s Kepper. Remembering the million-billion mph chops he'd suffered, Billows accosted Albion with some trillion-billion mph chops. Of course, a man can hit trillion-billion mph chops for so long before his arm gets tired, so Billows then went for a vertical suplex. Rud Albion had other ideas, and those ideas included

1) Flipping over and out of the vertical suplex attempt

2) Grabbing a rear waistlock

3) Well, we'll never quite know number three, because Billows ran to the ropes and grabbed a hold of them, while Albion rolled backwards and to his feet.

Billows saw an opening, and springboarded off the second rope, before connecting with a dropkick right on the chin of Rud Albion. RUD ALBION DOWN! Billows figured that, with his opponent on the mat, it wasn't a good idea to follow up with more offense or anything, but to generally swear at Albion, the audience, maybe the ref, and DEFINITELY at the fucks who made that Machete shit. Fuck you Danny Trejo, that’s why!

Billows covered his fallen opponent, hoping his hard-hitting words had put his opponent down for a three count.

ONE!

TWO!

Well, not quite, but it was worth a shot. Speaking of "shots," Albion started taking some alternating knee shots to the face. Billows loves his knees, they take the pressure off his back, and Billows' knees just adore Albion's face. Albion isn't too happy about the whole deal, but what the fuck does he know?

Another front facelock on Albion, but Billows wasn't gonna let him float over this time, as he hit a vertical suplex of the SNAP variety. Billows bounced off the near ropes and dropped a - what else? - knee, right onto Rud Albion's throat. He covered.

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout.

Obviously, The Risen Lion must think he's got the best knee drop ever if it was gonna get a three count out of Albion during an important pay-per-view match-up. The shocking realization that his knee drop does not, in fact, warrant a victory, sent him into choking Rud while swearing at him mode. After releasing the hold, Billows patiently waited for his opponent to rise before bouncing off the ropes for momentum. Albion kindly thanked his opponent for the opening before lifting up Billows in a hiptoss...

...and bringing down Billows with a neckbreaker. Yeah, sick, I know. With the momentum firmly planted on his side, The One, The Only nicely helped his opponent to his feet, before snapping him down again with a standing neckbreaker. A cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Not quite.

Billows slowly worked his way to his feet, but Albion had made his way behind him, and Billows found himself on the mat once more after a back suplex. Albion hit a quick elbow drop to Billows' skull, and then attempted to wear down Billows' head even more with a side headlock. Billows made his way to his feet and pushed Albion off towards the ropes, but the strategy backfired when Albion made his way back and connected with a lariat. Billows slid under the nearest set of ropes to regroup and form a new game plan.

The fans in the front row were especially adamant about voicing their discontent of him right into his ear, leading to Billows turning to them and mocking them, “Herdy-gerdy-derdy, SHUTUP!”

Billows turned around and was unkindly introduced to The Bronze Lion’s entire form courtesy of…

DEAD YAMPY!!! (Tope Suicida)

The Reincarnation fell, with 223 pounds on top of him, into the barricade. Rud Albion knew how to deliver that move to a tee, and the entire impact for him had been cushioned by Billows’ body. He leapt to his feet before grabbing The Risen Lion by his mane of jet-black streaked-red hair, he found the wind quickly stripped from his lungs courtesy of a big elbow to his stomach from Billows.

Billows followed up the elbow with a leaping Spinning Uppercut that looked like something straight out of Street Fighter.

But it did the job and sent Albion onto his back on the outside.

Lynch had been a bit lenient in starting the count, but he was rounding the corner on 3 as Billows slid into the ring.

Billows glared out at the audience even as he was already in motion to make his next move which, he thought, would be a killer.

After leaping to the top turnbuckle, Billows remained perched, watching as Rud Albion made the hard climb to his feet.

“Come on then you British bitch. Let’ see who the real lion is!”

Albion made it to his feet, and Billows took flight.

The Headache Machine!

At least, it would have been if Albion hadn’t had the wherewithal to deftly evade the flying Enziguri Kick. Billows’ eyes went wide and he almost looked like Wile E. Coyote trying to readjust his momentum mid-air. But it was too late, and he spun wildly before coming to a crash-landing on his stomach.

The anguished groan the emerged from Once-Young were enough to make some of the fans squirm uncomfortably. The dirt sheets would later reveal that Ryan “FANSbane” Billows had dislocated a rib from this specific spot…but that was for the readers of the dirt-sheets to know. Not you.

Albion tooka few deep breaths, resting while he knew it was a bit safer to do so, and then he once again ripped Billows to his feet with a handful of hair. He rolled the opposing lion into the ring and slid in after him before making the smart pin.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

It was a good try though, while Billows had kicked out, the pain was still written on his face, and it had taken quite a bit for him to kick out. Suffice to say, Albion seemed to be in the driver’s seat.

Albion climbed to his feet and gave Billows a quick soccer kick for good measure before heading over to and up the turnbuckle.

The crowd cheered as The Kingdom’s Keeper took a moment to make an X with a line down the middle, painting an invisible Union Jack. And then it was Albion’s chance to soar with a Flying Fistdrop he liked to call:

The One And Only PUNCH

Hooooowwwwwwever…it would seem it was in neither man’s destiny to successfully take to the skies on this evening, as Billows grimaced at the pain in his ribs and folded his legs up into the air, squarely connecting both feet with Albion’s jaw, putting a mighty damper on The One And Only PUNCH.

The crowd erupted with boos as Rud Albion ricocheted backwards onto the mat, clutching his jaw, feeling it, working it--making sure it wasn’t all kinds of fucked up.

Meanwhile, Billows was a bit slow getting to his feet as he clutched at his ribs and walked over to Albion…

And then Billows was stopped dead in his tracks, a look of shock painted on his pretty face.

Out of nowhere, Rud Albion kipped up to his feet, glaring at The Risen Lion before, not breaking eye contact as he turned his head a bit to the side and spit out a wad of phlegm and blood.

Billows knew all about kipping up, all about gaining that second wind right when the world was counting the odds against you, and he only had one reaction to the Brummie Bulldog’s kip-up…

“God. Dammit.”

The Risen Lion had no choice but to do his best to make a dent in The Bronze Lion’s second wind, and hope to all things holy that there wasn’t a third wind hanging about somewhere in the Brit.

Billows rushed forward.

Eyes widening, Rud Albion did the same, and both men meant in the center of the ring to trade a bevy of blows between each other.

Left from Billows.

Elbow from Albion.

Right Forearm from Billows.

Left Jab from The Kingdom’s Keeper.

Right Jab from The Kingdom’s Keeper.

Albion had the advantage, but unfortunately, he squandered it as he went for a quick Standing Clothesline that Billows ducked underneath before quickly grabbing Albion around the waist from behind and lifting him up and over for a Release German Suplex.

The Brummie Bulldog went with it though, rolling and putting the weight into his feet to successfully flip backwards and come to a soft landing on his feet.

Billows leapt to his feet and began jaw-jacking to the crowd, his back still turned to Rud Albion who lay poised, a Lion in the tall grass.

The crowd was roaring, and Billows didn’t know why. He stopped mid-insult and looked out the audience with a look that said, “what are you guys smoking?!” before turning around and catching a big boot to the stomach, aggravating that rib.

Billows keeled over in pain as Rud Albion hooked both of his arms. Albion would proceed to bring his own legs up and lock them around Billows’ waist. The crowd roared for the submission that Albion called:

The Lion’s Roar

Lest we forget about the incredible leg-strength of the Risen Lion…

Whereas most men would find themselves dragged down to the mat with the submission, Billows refused to find himself in a submission predicament and he hurried as quickly as he could in taking the few steps over to the ropes, arranging Albion’s head just-so under the top rope before falling backwards.

Their positioning meant that as Billows fell backwards, Albion’s neck was sent painfully into the top rope, causing him to quickly relinquish the hold.

Both men lay on the canvas, Billows simply trying to breath through the lung-bursting pressure he felt in his rib-cage, and Albion trying to make sure his bloody larynx wasn’t crushed to dust.

Roderick Lynch began counting.

ONE!

TWO!

...

Billows rolled his eyes and immediately rolled onto his stomach, “Goddammit Lynch, shut the fuck up.”

The Bronze Lion saw Billows out of the corner of his eye, and he didn’t want to be caught on the ground when The Risen Lion had, well--risen. Albion started the struggle to his feet as well.

Billows reached a stance just a second sooner than Albion, and in that second, Billows decided:

“fuck this, I’m ready to go home.”

He sprinted into action, dipping into his reserves for that extra burst of speed before lifting his boot level with Albion’s stupid British skull…

L.O.S.T. KICK!!!!

NO!

Holy shit!

Albion ducked while at the same time capturing Billows’ leg before delivering a huge Leg-Capture Suplex!!!!

Albion went for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Apparently Billows wasn’t that ready to go home.

But The Kingdom’s Keeper was ready to send him home.

Albion leapt to his feet, frustrated, before ripping The Salt in Your Wound to his feet as well, bending him over, and hooking both of his arms.

We’d seen this move before…

RED COAT (double underhook face buster)

NO!

It was moments like these that made it so damned hard to boo the guy…

Just as Albion had lifted Billows, The Risen Lion had propelled himself off the ground, using Albion’s own strength against him. Billows showed the athleticism he was known for in managing to turn a flip from such a bizarre, bent-over position and FANSbane managed to wind up resting on a shocked Albion’s shoulders.

HURRACARANA PIN!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

KICKOUT!

This is normally when Billows would hop all over the official’s case for the slow count but in this instant…well…even Billows knew there was a time and place for everything.

He climbed to his feet, bringing Albion up with him before locking up with The Bronze Lion. Rud Albion pushed The Risen Lion away from him, gouging his eyes in the process. Albion held a wild look in his own eyes. Circling away from Billows, Albion almost ran into Roderick Lynch before pushing the referee aside without a second thought. Before Lynch could reprimand the Bronze Lion unzipped the top of his spandex uniform, and reaching for a chain around his neck that held what some could call bronze claws.

That is, if said bronze claws weren’t simply brass knuckles.

To the shock of all, the Bronze Lion slipped the brass knucks on and yanked them off the chain around his neck before advancing on the blinded Ryan Billows. Roderick Lynch pleaded (somewhat half-heartedly) with the man once known as the Gentlemen Grappler to put the weapon away, but all Albion could do was look at the knuckles… and then look at Ryan Billows.

He saw Jeremy Hunt.

More importantly he saw Z.

So Rud Albion swung.

DING, DING, DING

… and got himself disqualified. Ryan Billows hit the mat with a thud, as Lynch ran to the side of the ring, calling for the bell. Albion looked around at the ACW faithful, that at one time was chanting his name during the match before looking back at the brass knuckles he wore.

“It’s what had to be done,” was all that England’s Own could growl, before he left the ring.

Ryan Billows music played, because at the end of the night he had won the match. But in losing at this historic third edition of the KING OF AGES pay-per-view, Rud Albion… had won his spot within Jeremy Hunt’s good graces.

Lesson of the day? Crime does pay.

Scandinavian Showdown

   

The upcoming match would be another slight detour from the night’s special tournament theme, but only a very slight detour.

In fact, this feud was born and brought to the boil within the tournament proper.

The hatred between these two men could not be contained within the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament, though arguably both men stood an incredible chance to have claimed the sought-after King’s Choice had they not let their emotions get the better of them.

Of course we are talking about the Quarter-Finalists who mutually aborted each other’s opportunity to advance in the tournament by double countout. It had taken a slew of referees to break up their fight, it had taken disqualifying them both from the tournament outright and yet they were still not satisfied with their handiwork.

We were talking, indeed, about 'The Australian Opportunist' Jade Argent versus 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs.

Argent had done a one-eighty in the last twelve weeks from veritable hated villain to lovable and enchanting good guy, mostly because of the actions of one Vince Jacobs. As Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid picked over the bones of the weeks leading up to this final showdown, a montage of shots flashed across the screen.

COURAGE 116-- Vince Jacobs and Jade Argent stood in the ring opposite each other. Ira Cohn, Rhyme and Reason all stood behind the Australian as a heated exchange of words ends with CRACKBZZZTTTT~!! as SVJ jams a microphone angrily into Argent’s skull.

Then we moved along to COURAGE 118-- Vince Jacobs was fighting Rud Albion in a Matchplay decider and as the match was reaching a conclusion, SVJ’s attention was turned to Jade Argent and his entourage standing at the top of the ramp. This minor distraction led to Rud Albion picking up the win, leaving Jacobs furious.

The images moved faster now--COURAGE 119, exacting revenge Superstar Vince Jacobs grabbed a hold of Rud Albion and wanted to kill the kid. Out of nowhere, Argent chased Jacobs off with a springboard leg lariat. The following week, Argent vs. Jacobs 2010 King Of Ages Quarter-Final took place. The quarter-final proper lasted approximately four minutes before they both got counted out. The two athletes foght it out all through the arena for the majority of the rest of the night, both beaten and bloodied to a pulp.

And with the montage over, we returned to ringside where all is hushed and dark.

Only this match remained before the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament stages its highly-anticipated finale.

There was still a lot of airtime left on the pay-per-view and that alone had gotten a vibrant energy coursing through the Swedish locals and international travellers who have come here for this.

The lights dimmed down and a roar of thundering feet and excited cheers made it feel like the roof could come off at any moment.

It was time.

SINGLES GRUDGE MATCH - SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs vs. Jade Argent
REFEREE: LEON HURST

   

At the stage, gold sparks flew and the all-to-familiar flash of pseudonym’s cascaded across the SlyTron.

A corner of the arena cheered, marks for SVJ eternally. But the Swedish faithful who, by the way, hated Jacobs’ guts drowned them out entirely and emphatically.

As the jeers rung out, the man himself drunk it in as he closed his eyes and stepped through the curtain with a man in suit carrying a briefcase. The sight of the former ACW World Champion at the top of the stage only exacerbated the jeers and broadened the smile on his face. He strolled down to the ring with the suited man walking behind him.

Announcer Tommy Vale stood tall as he called in the sub main event…

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a pinfall-only SCORPION FIGHTING RULES match!

“First, from HOLLYWOOD CALIFORNIA USA! He stands at SIX FEET FIVE INCHES and weighs TWO-FIFTY-FIVE POUNDS! He is RING SUPERSTAR, PRO WRESTLING’S PHENOMENOM, THE ICON, THE LIVING LEGEND… He is VINCE JAAACOBS!!!”

Vince Jacobs stood tall in the ring by the time Tommy Vale had gotten through all the pseudonyms and what-have-you.

He nodded to Leon Hurst, the referee for the proceedings, who seemed taken aback at SVJ’s sincerity – genuine or not.

Trent Reznor screamed a cappella across the arena as the drum and bass intro of “Starsuckers Inc” kicked up and the arena returned to blackness.

Slowly the beat picked up, and silver spotlights began dancing across the stage.

To mixed response came the beautiful twins Rhyme and Reason as the spotlights focused one on each of them.

Their long platinum hair hung freely to the bottom of their respective spines, silver sport bras covered their modest chests and left their midriff bare for admiration of their perfect form. Matching hot pants drew attention to their endless and shiny legs glistening in the twilight, sparkling with glitter until their knee high patent leather heeled boots concealed the rest.

They took in the glares, the stares, and the wrestling fan geek ogles without batting an eye. This was their every day. Just a bit bigger. Camera shutters clicked off at a thousand per second rate as the music was building up the Jade Argent’s entrance.

That’s when Rhyme pulled a microphone from her waistband, and with a slight twist on the usual…

And Stockholm ROARED!

“Starsuckers Inc” was in full flow now, Reznor screaming over the heavy guitar and drums, and silver sparks and pyro began flying around the stage as a third spotlight centered on Jade Argent as he stood between his twins.

Rhyme, Reason and Argent all stepped in unison towards the ring in their extravagant display as Vince Jacobs looked on in wry disgust.

Tommy Vale piped up again

“And Vince Jacobs’ opponent tonight. This man stands at SIX FEET TWO INCHES tall, and weighed in this morning at TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE POUNDS, he was born in CANBERRA AUSTRALIA and currently resides in SEATTLE WASHINGTON, he is THE AUSTRALIAN OPPORTUNIST JAAAAADE ARRRRGENT~!!!”

Rhyme and Reason circled the ring as Argent got in and slipped out of his silver canvas sleeveless jacket. He stretched out his right taped up hand and elbow, and then did a few hops on the spot.

Referee Leon Hurst did the mandatory talk between the two, explaining the rules (or lack thereof) for the forthcoming match.

He barely got through a word before Jade shoved Jacobs back against the ropes, with the crowd going nuts. Jacobs slid out of the ring, biting his lower lip.

Argent seemed perplexed, just a second ago Jacobs wanted Argent’s blood and now he was walking away. Who knows why this confused Argent though, it was a mind game that he had played himself hundreds of times over the last couple of years.

Vince Jacobs approached Rhyme and Reason, his hands out to them. They looked disgusted, and as SVJ took Reason forcibly by the wrist she struggled to pull away. Rhyme screamed a shrill high-pitched scream as Jade Argent valiantly made the save!

Vince Jacobs? Say hello to the ring steps courtesy of a two footed dropkick to the side of the sternum. Quickly Jade Argent grabs a fistful of hair and shoves Jacobs under the bottom rope and into the ring. No nonsense tonight.

Jacobs gets quickly to his feet and the two begin circling one another, within a second they are tied up in the center of the ring. Argent gains the early advantage with a side headlock, wrenching back to apply torque. SVJ grimaces in pain and uses his leg strength to push Argent to the ropes.

As the Australian Opportunist comes off the ropes, Jacobs hops up and Argent ducks under. Argent stops short, drops to his back and monkey flips Jacobs over.

Well, kinda. If, by monkey flip you mean grab Argent’s heels and drop a double leg drop down on the backs of his knees leaving The Australian Opportunist doubled over in a precarious pinning combination, then yeah. That.

ONE~!

TWO~!

THNOT THIS EARLY SON~!

Jade quickly got to his feet with Jacobs, backing SVJ into a corner. Jade chokes SVJ with his forearms against the corner buckles. Out of habit the referee starts to count but gets to two before realizing his error. This is Jade Argent, though, and he quickly transforms his forearm choke into a thunderous forearm smash to the jaw.

Followed by another.

And another.

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

Jacobs is fucking pissed now as Argent takes a step back. He’s like Bruce fuckin’ Banner up in this joint, and he’s advancing on the Aussie faster than Argent can react. The engine just WON’T GO INTO REVERSE! REVERSE REVERSE JADE REVERRRRSEEEE!!!

BIIIG TIME FOOTBALL TACKLE nearly takes Argent’s head off.

Jade Argent, despite the re-awakening of his headache is back on his feet almost instantly. The Icon turns on his heel, delectably savage grin curving his lips as he plants Argent with another.

NO! ARGENT DUCKS! OPPORTUNISTIC NECKBREAKER~!

Argent floats over for a quick cover, hooking both legs.

Referee Leon Hurst cannot even get into position for the pin before SVJ has thrust Argent away from him, discarded like a dirty whore.

Stalemate, then.

Neither man has had a lion’s share of momentum. It’s been back and forth.

Tie up once more in center ring. Argent gets his hands free under The Ratings Grabber’s arms and behind his shoulder blades, lifting the much bigger man with an atomic drop that sends SVJ reeling backwards clutching his buttocks. As Jacobs returns from the ropes he is thrown expertly overhead by the Australian’s amazing exploder suplex!

Argent is back on his feet immediately and is in the face of Jacobs, gloating that he had gotten the better of the more experienced man in that exchange. Jacobs saw his opportunity, thrusting a thumb into Argent’s mandible sending him away before Jacobs got to his feet…

A STAR IS BORN SPINEBUSTER~!!

That nearly sent Argent THROUGH the ring!

ONE~!

TWO~!!

THREEKICKOUT~!!!

WHAT THE WHAT?!?!?!?

Argent was staggering on his feet hazily, and only BARELY managed to sidestep the oncoming freight train of SVJ hurtling towards him and you have to bare in mind ladies and gentlemen, THAT TRAIN HAVETH NO BRAKES.

As Argent sidestepped, pulling the top rope down, Pro Wrestling’s Phenomenon careened to the outside with a thud!

In a split second decision that may have been influenced by the backlash of that earthshaking spinebuster, Argent decided it was time to get serious as he sprinted off the ropes…

PLANCHA SUICIDAAAAAAAARGENT MISSED~!!!

“Superstar” Vince Jacobs tapped his temple knowingly, letting everyone in Stockholm know just how smart he thought he was. Jade Argent’s plan to capitalize had not quite gone as he hoped, as he lay in a crumpled mess of skin and bone at SVJ’s feet.

“Seems like we’ve been here before.” Jacobs chided, “Not so lucky this time, though.”

Jacobs playfully pushed the blond mop of Argent as he arrogantly walked around him. Slowly, but surely, he allowed Jade Argent the indignity of using The Icon as an aid to pull himself to his feet. Then he stepped away.

The Australian Opportunist stood on jelly legs, haphazardly clutching at the lower part of his back with one hand and trying to reach out to the apron or the security railings or ANYTHING with the other to stop him from falling.

Then Jacobs snorted, smirked and hocked a horrible disgusting loogie straight into Jade Argent’s face as a chorus of boos started up slowly at first.

SVJ looked down his nose at Jade Argent, in his opinion a much lesser man, and blistered the Australian’s cheek with a brutal open right hand, followed by an echoing backhand directly afterward.

Jade dropped to one knee.

’FUCK OFF SVJ! FUCK OFF SVJ! FUCK OFF SVJ!’ the crowd rang out as the veteran took a step back. We’d seen something very similar the week before on Courage…

STARGAZER~!!

Shining wizard to the temple of Argent and the Australian’s eyes had rolled up in his head, his night was OVER!

ONE~!

TWO~!!

THREE~!!!EXCUSE ME SIR BUT THAT’S A NEGATORY!

Or so Jimmy Reid thunk. This match was still very much on, but judging from the mental acumen of Jade Argent right now, it probably wouldn’t be a match for much longer!

“Shoulda just stayed down…” Jacobs growled under his breath.

Argent opened his eyes half-lidded, as fresh blood poured from his mouth. He managed a few incoherent words something along the lines of, “you’ll have to do more than that, mate.”

Jacobs, shocked completely, grabbed Argent by the hair and rammed his skull into the steel ring steps. The crowd was a mixture of cheers for Argent’s resilience and boos for Jacobs’ dastardliness.

But they joined in unison as they counted Argent’s head bouncing off the ring steps.

FOUR~!

FIVE~!

SIX~!

SEVEN~!

EIGHT~!

“Shut the fuuuck up!” Jacobs yelled loudly enough (with the ring mics) for most of the audience to hear.

’BOOOOOOOOOOO~!!’

Jacobs was enjoying a spell of dominance now as Argent slumped back into the apron of the ring.

The two athletes began fighting in the aisle way, mostly one sided. The cameras followed the two as they walked staggered towards the backstage area, through sections of the crowd where close-ups could be seen of Swedish people slapping the backs of Argent and Jacobs – whoever they could really.

“Give me that chair!” Jacobs demanded of a kid sat with his parents.

The kid complied, and SVJ snapped it shut, savagely wrapping it around the skull of the Australian Opportunist.

Nonchalantly, the Ring Superstar stepped on Argent’s chest.

The Australian coughed a wad of blood out of his mouth and onto his own face – such was the predicament he found himself in right now.

Referee Leon Hurst didn’t even get to the floor to count before Jacobs took his foot off of Argent’s chest.

“This isn’t over, not by a long shot. I told you, Argent, I TOLD YOU. NOBODY FUCKS WITH VINCE JACOBS.” He released his grip of Argent’s chin in his hand, and pushed the self-proclaimed King of the Cruiserweights into a set of double doors leading to the backstage area of the arena.

Technicians of various descriptions scattered from their positions, to get out of the way. A food cart was, heh, positioned very handily for Jacobs who grabbed a chafing dish and swung it at Argent. The Australian managed to accidentally dodge the blow, it would seem, but fell on top of a wooden trestle table.

Golden opportunity, thought Jacobs. He set another table up next to this table with Argent on it and began to climb up. As he managed to do this, he hooked the Australian Opportunist into a front facelock.

STAR BURST THROUGH A TABLE INTO THE CONCRETE--SUPERSTAR VINCE JACOBS ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!~!!!

BUT ADRENALINE or SOMETHING MUST HAVE KICKED IN AS ARGENT PUSHED HIMSELF OUT MID-MOVE LEAVING BOTH MEN TO CRASSHTTZZTTZ THROUGH THE TWO WOODEN TABLES~!!

Referee Leon Hurst had his head in his hands!

It looks as though Jacobs took the worst of the fall, however, as his skull bounced off the concrete flooring.

I guess now is the best time to take a breather as both men’s chests heaved in and out. Jade Argent was sporting a huge gash across his forehead as he sat up dazed, Jacobs was face down.

A few grunts from Argent led to him being back on his feet, and in the far off distance the crowd could be heard slowly riling up a ‘JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’ chant.

“This ends now.” Jade mustered.

Jade grabbed the thick mane of Vince Jacobs and pulled him to his feet. He scraped his forehead along the breeze blocked walls and then leveled him with a karate style side kick to the jaw. The Australian didn’t demonstrate his stiff kicking ability very often but by GOD but when he did. SVJ could need corrective surgery following this match!

SVJ clutched his jaw as Argent’s bloody face scowled, his hair beginning to mat in a Kurt Cobain red haired way.

Jade Argent whipped Jacobs back through the doors they had come in through and into the audience, scattering a few of them around. Jacobs slumped to the floor as the Australian began haphazardly and blindly climbing the stairs to the entrance ramp way up above.

“Once and for all, Jacobs.” He spoke to himself, now, looking down at Jacobs collapsed into a steel chair. A burst of energy within him as he sprinted to the edge…

THIRTY FOOT 450 SPLASH~!!!

And if you thought the Scorpion Fighting Division match was insane?

’HOLY SHIT~! HOLY SHIT~!

THE AUSTRALIAN OPPORTUNIST JUST ENDED BOTH HIS AND SVJ’S CAREER~!!

A stray hand was draped over The Ratings Grabber’s chest and shell shocked Leon Hurst did all that he knew how to do. He made the cover, and the whole crowd counted along…

OOOONNNNNEEEEE-AH~!

TWOOOOOOO-AH~!!!

THREEEEE--NOOO~!!!!

There’s been a lot of rumors lately about ACW stars going to do Hollywood movies… well here’s a new one: VINCE JACOBS TO STAR IN TERMINATOR REMAKE, TERMINATOR: THE BIONIC MAN.

Argent could NOT believe this.

Leon Hurst couldn’t either.

Stockholm? In shock.

I don’t think even SVJ knew what he had done, this was just instincts.

After a rest period, both men gradually got to their feet and staggered towards the ring trading occasional and tired rights and lefts with each other. The Australian slumped against the apron and Vince Jacobs rolled under the bottom rope.

A true sign of his experience was his ability to be still standing after all this, whereas Argent had to be dragged into the ring. A circle of blood tricked around the Australian Opportunist’s head in the canvas.

Vince Jacobs grinned wide, ready to put Jade Argent away for good now.

He locked in a front facelock, lifting Argent high into the air, spinning 180…

STAR STRUUUCKKKK~!!!!

RING SUPERSTAR BY CYPRESS HILL, IF YOU PLEASE.

This Australian rookie is done.

Vintage Vince Jacobs.

ONE~!!

TWO~!!

THREEEEE~!!!

SHOULDER UP----!!!

WHAT THE WHAT!

How did Jade Argent do THAT?

It was a lackluster kickout, by anyone’s standard but can you blame him?

Jacobs stood in the ring with his hands on his hips looking down at Argent. He couldn’t believe that after all the punishment these two men had gone through that Jade was still able to kick out time and time again.

Vince smirked and thought to himself, “This kid has some fight in him. But I am about to end that.”

Jacobs slowly dragged Argent to his feet as the crowd continued to chat Jade’s name, while Rhyme and Reason slammed the mat apron to get Argent back into this match.

Vince pulled Jade up and whispered into his ear. “You’re done kid. YOU ARE NOTHING. You can’t win this match on the biggest stage of them all.”

With that final whisper Vince hooked Jade, before picking him up and driving him into the mat. The crowd gasped as Jade lay lifeless on the mat after the…

STELLAR PERFORMANCE – CHOKE BOMB

Vince had that smirk back on his face as he looked at Leon Hurst and pointed him to the mat so he was there in position to make his victory count.

ONE~!!

…

…

…

TWO~!!

…

…

…

THREEEEE~!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO----!!!

WHAT THE HELL!

Leon Hurst signaled that it was not a three count and jade got his shoulder up a tenth of a second before the three count.

The crowd roared in appreciation for these two warriors battling it out at ACW’s King of Ages pay-per-view.

Rhyme and Reason stood ringside with a sigh of relief.

Jade Argent lay in the middle of the ring struggling to get to his feet.

Vince Jacobs sat still near Argent with a look of disbelief on his face.

How the hell did he kick out? He thought to himself. But Vince wasn’t one to sit in wallow in what should’ve happened.

He turned around and looked at jade with evil intentions. The Icon rolled to the floor and pushed the timekeeper out of his chair. He grabbed the metal chair and folded it up, looking at the fans at ringside who was giving him a hard time. Jacobs turned toward the ring but was stopped by Reason.

She stood in between Jacobs and the ring with Jacobs carrying a steel chair.

This was probably not a good thing to do.

Reason pointed at Vince trying to get him to see reason (no pun intended). But Vince just saw blood just like the blood that was dripping from Jade head. He held the chair up as if he was going to hit Reason with it.

The crowd jeered but quickly jeered as Rhyme came up from behind Vince and took the chair from his hand. Jacobs turned to look at Rhyme as she ran around the ring. Jacobs clutched his fists and turned around quickly with a vicious SUPERSTAR KICK TO REASON’S JAW.

Vince was hot as he went under the ring and found himself another steel chair. He slid the chair into the ring as Jade Argent was almost back to his feet. Vince rolled into the ring and grabbed the chair from the mat. He tossed the chair at Jade who caught it.

Vince went for the knockout blow with a Superstar Kick aimed toward the chair but Argent had his wits about him and moved out of the way at the last second.

Jacobs’s foot hit nothing but air. As he turned around to go after Jade he was met with something sickening.

WHACKKKKK!!

The chair shot heard around Stockholm.

The fans were elated.

How can you be elated at a man getting his head bashed open with a steel chair?

These fans were bloodthirsty and also could be the fact that they didn’t think to kindly of Vince Jacobs.

Jade smiled at his quick reaction but noticed one thing.

VINCE JACOBS DIDN’T GO DOWN

Jade didn’t hesitate as he drilled the Icon several more times in the head.

WHACKKKKK!!

WHACKKKKK!!

WHACKKKKK!!

WHACKKKKK!!

On the last shot Vince slumped to the mat like he was a gunshot victim. The crowd gasped not knowing if Vince was dead from taking all those chair shots to the head.

I thought these people didn’t have any sympathy for Vince Jacobs.

Well we knew one person definitely didn’t have sympathy for the devil incarnate.

JADE ARGENT

The Australian Opportunist picked up his nemesis and pulled his limp lifeless body over to the corner and tried to prop him up. Vince had no idea where he was but Jade knew he was about to do something to try and end this match.

Jade hooked Vince by the head and raced out of the corner.

RUNNING BULLDOG ONTO THE STEEL CHAIR

Jade moved the chair off to the side before brushing his crimson colored hair back. He slowly turned Vince over and hooked his leg for the pinfall. Leon Hurst raced to the opposite side and dropped down for the count.

ONE~!!

…

…

…

TWO~!!

…

…

…

THREEEEE~!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO----!!!

Not again.

Yes Again. Vince Jacobs kicked out of another pin.

This got the crowd not only behind Jade Argent but surprisingly behind Vince Jacobs, as dueling chants hit all over the arena.

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

S-V-J

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

S-V-J

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

S-V-J

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

S-V-J

Both men now battered and bloodied.

Vince grabbed at his head and wiped the blood away from his face.

Jade sat in disbelief as not knowing what he had to do to keep SVJ down for the three count.

Jade slowly got to his feet and Vince got to his feet with the help of the ropes. He was the worse of the two as the fans roared for both men.

Both men stood in the middle of the ring looking at each before they unloaded with punches. It all the energy that both men had to even land any hard shots.

The stiff style of Argent came into the play as he got the better of Vince. Jade continued with punches that had the Superstar reeling backwards to the ropes.

Jade moved in and grabbed Vince by the arm, whipping him into the opposite ropes. Argent rushed at Vince with a clothesline but the Icon ducked under the attempt.

SUPERSTAR KICK

Jacobs nailed Jade flush on the jaw with a Superstar Kick that came from out of nowhere.

Jade fell hard to the mat with a big thud as Rhyme and Reason looked on holding their mouths.

Jacobs fell back to the mat also. The move took a lot out of him as he couldn’t make the cover on Jade.

The Stockholm fans went ballistic.

H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!!

H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!!

H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!!

H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!!

H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!!

Jacobs slowly crawled over to where Jade was lying. He got closer and closer to Jade before slowly placing his arm over Argent’s chest. Leon Hurst dropped down for the cover as Rhyme, Reason, and the fans looked on in anticipation.

ONE~!!

…

…

…

TWO~!!

…

…

…

THREEEEE~!!!

FOOT ON THE ROPES----!!!

Jacobs put his hands over his head as he slumped down face first into the mat. Both men tired and exhausted from this long match. Both men wanted this match as neither one wanted to quit or give up.

This was what ACW was all about.

Jacobs slowly made it to his feet as Jade started to stir himself. The Superstar pulled Jade up to his feet and pushed him back into the corner.

KNIFE EDGE CHOP TO JADE’S CHEST FROM JACOBS

WHHOOOO FROM THE FANS!!

ANOTHER CHOP

WHOOOOO AGAIN!!

ANOTHER CHOP

You know what came next.

Jacobs smirk came back as he pulled Argent from the corner and drove him to the mat with a body slam. The Living Legend pointed to the top rope.

Vince slowly climbed to the top rope. He was tired, battered, and bloodied but he knew he had to hit something big in order to put Jade Argent away once and for all.

Jacobs took to long to get to the top as Argent got to his feet and nailed Vince with a big right hand.

Jacobs staggered a bit but didn’t fall off the top rope. Jade climbed up to the top with Vince. Both men were in a dangerous way.

Jade hooked Vince on the top rope and quickly drove him down to the mat with a CAPTURE SUPERPLEX

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

’JA-ADE AR-GENT~! JA-ADE AR-GENT~!’

Jade slowly made his way over to Vince but he didn’t pin the Icon. Oh no this time he picked Vince up.

BUTTERFLY BOMB!!

Jade Argent has put many men away with this move. Leon Hurst runs to the side to make the count.

ONE~!!

…

…

…

TWO~!!

…

…

…

THREEEEE~!!!

YES IT’S OV---- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Leon said that Vince got his shoulder up once again. How in the hell did he do that again?

Jade didn’t waste any time as he got to his feet again. He shook his head in utter disbelief.

Argent grabbed Vince from behind.

“Now you’re done superstar.”

Jade hooked Vince and drove him to the mat with his finisher the PLATINUM PLEX.

The cobra clutch bridging suplex was hit perfectly as Leon Hurst dropped down for what seemed to be all but academic.

ONE~!!

…

TWO~!!

…

THREEEEE~!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

WHAT THE FUCK?

Jacobs just kicked out of the Platinum Plex.

The whole arena went silent, as no one couldn’t believe what just happened.

Jade Argent had his blood stained face in his hands wondering to himself what he had to do next.

Vince looked up at Jade with a daze glare.

“You will never be where I am. This is the only great moment you will have in your career. You are in the ring with greatness, motherfucker.”

That did it.

Jade grabbed the steel chair that was in the corner near the apron. He laid the chair in the middle of the ring. He looked out into the raucous crowd and then quickly glanced at Vince Jacobs.

The Australian Opportunist reached down and pulled Vince to his feet once more.

Jade hooked Vince and drove him to the mat with the PLATINUM PLEX on the steel chair.

Leon Hurst dropped down for the count.

ONE~!!

…

…

…

TWO~!!

…

…

…

THREEEEE~!!!

HE DID IT!!! HE DID IT!!

JADE ARGENT FINALLY BEAT VINCE JACOBS

Both men lay on the mat for what seemed like an eternity. They were battered, bloodied, and extremely exhausted.

The fans however enjoyed every single minute of the match. They were on their feet giving Jade Argent and Vince Jacobs a standing ovation. If Jade Argent wasn’t a star before he was now after the performance he gave.

Jade rolled out of the ring to the floor as Rhyme and Reason helped him to his feet. The three of them looked at Vince in the ring as Jade showed Vince sign of respect with a head nod. Vince smirked back at the Australian Opportunist who was making his way up the ramp to a loud ovation from the fans.

Vince made his way to one knee wiping the mixture of dried blood and sweat from his face. He asked for the man in the suit that came to ringside with him to come into the ring.

All or nothing

       

The suited figure made his way into the ring with briefcase in one hand and a microphone in the other. He handed the microphone to Jacobs.

The Icon was trying to settle the fans down so he could speak. The cheers were drowning out the small jeers from some fans.

“Thank you all. I want to say that Jade Argent put me through one hell of a battle and I commend him on his victory.”

The fans erupted again as Jade Argent looked back at the ring and saluted the Icon.

What the hell? This was coming from SVJ. He must have hit his head real hard on that steel chair.

“I need to get something off my chest right now. Many of you may not know this but my ACW contract expired as of thirty minutes ago. And I have been contemplating for the past few weeks if this would be my last match EVER.”

The fans jeered at that statement. But Jacobs held up his hand to calm the fans down.

“What a minute… wait a minute let me explain. See I have been in this business for nineteen years and you just have to know when its time to hang up your boots and go home. I have done a lot of great things in this business and I have done some terrible things but the one thing that I can say that I have done non-stop and that’s entertain you fans.”

Cheers from the fans.

“This man standing next to me is J.L. Greenberg and he is my lawyer. I have in this briefcase a lucrative contract for ACW. I want SilverHAWK to come out here so I can sign this contract on pay-pre-view.”

Jacobs waited for a few as the fans erupted again to see SilverHAWK make his way down to the ring with a smile on his face.

SilverHAWK made his way into the ring and shook Vince’s hand first then Mr. Greenberg’s hand.

“HAWK, you and I have known each other for many years. We have traveled this world together. We have also fought side by side. You and I both know that you made ACW what it is today.”

A SilverHAWK chant started throughout the arena.

HAWK!

HAWK!

HAWK!

HAWK!

HAWK!

“You and I both know that we haven’t always seen eye to eye on a lot of things either.”

Both men looked at each other and shook their heads sharing a playful nod.

“But we do know that we both wanted to make ACW the greatest promotion ever. Even when I left to go to FWO, I knew that ACW was still home and I could always come back.”

“You know I look at my time spent here in ACW, dating back to the early nineties when a snot nose kid that had that god given talent stepped into this promotion and told you and Joe Bishop that he would be a champion some day in this promotion.”

Vince paused as the fans continued their cheers.

“Even when I took a young kid by the name of Chris Phoenix under my wing to teach him the ropes. You all may know Chris; he goes by the name of Alias.”

Can we say ROOF.BLEW.OFF?

“And you, Joe, Chris, and I formed the most dominating stable in the nineties... Vintage Advancement. Then the issues came between me and Chris and the friendship that we shared deteriorated and we battled for years.”

“I tell Chris to this day, he has been by far my greatest friend and foe in this sport. So that’s why it took me some time to make my decision about the contract that’s in this briefcase. I waffled back and forth with the decision to retire tonight, win, lose, or draw. Or to keep going.”

DON’T RETIRE chants started in the arena.

“I looked at my body and saw that yes I have mileage on it but I haven’t had a lot of major injuries so that made my decision even clearer of what I had to do. So J.L. can you open the briefcase.”

The lawyer held open the briefcase as Jacobs looked inside still holding the microphone to his lips. He grabbed a pen from the briefcase and flipped up the last page of the contract and signed his name.

“Here it is. Tonight Vince Jacobs does not retire from professional wrestling. I hold in my hand a very lucrative contract for a few more years to wrestle for one of the greatest promotions of all time. HAWK I thank you. Here, I wanted to give you YOUR copy of the contract.”

HAWK looked to receive the contract as Vince Jacobs held the contract up to the face of SilverHAWK. But HAWK’s smile quickly turned into a look of disgust as he asked for a microphone.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS VINCE?”

Jacobs smirked and turned the contract around toward the camera to show the top of the contract had three little letters, but it wasn’t ACW. The three little letters were…

L o C

Jacobs smirked as the camera plastered the contract on the Slytron for the arena and whole world to see. SVJ just signed a contract with Legacy of Champions at All-Star Championship Wrestling’s pay-per-view.

The fans jeered Vince louder than ever now.

“You want to know what the hell this HAWK is? Well I will be more than happy to tell you. I have broken my back for this company. I know Chris is the poster boy for ACW and I am fine with that but NO ONE has put in more effort and worked as many dates as yours truly. I gave ACW and its fans night after night of great performances because I loved this place. But the past year you have been basically feeding me to underachieving peons that couldn’t hold my jock strap.”

“I have made stars left and right for this company and what thanks do I get? I got drawn into a feud with Jesse Ramey and look what it did for his career. He’s in the FINALS of the 2010 King Of Ages! If he wasn’t in that feud with me and had the match of his life at FOR QUEEN & COUNTRY then he wouldn’t be on his way to becoming a star. Jade Argent is another person that I just catapulted to superstardom tonight!

But what does that get me? Huh.”

“Vince...”

“Let me finish HAWK. It gets me nowhere, fighting Rud Albion, Orlando Grant, a freak in a mask named ZED, and any other no talent hacks you want to throw at me. Look at the four guys you had in the main event scene over the past year. None of them can hold a candle to the greatest in ring performer alive, period. But the biggest insult over the past year was that you put Jason Kain into the ACW Hall Of Fame on the first ballot and not me. ME”

“What the fuck has Kain done in this sport? Not a god damn thing. He had to create his own promotion to make himself a World Champion because he couldn’t get the job done anywhere else. The guy is a fucking loser and that’s how you want your Hall of Fame to be represented. Yeah I heard all the rumors that I am a shoe in for this year. But should I really believe that? Should I believe that the company that I gave my blood, sweat and tears to for years would actually commend me for the work that I have put in? NO FUCKING WAY

“It’s funny because after Alias retired me from ACW years ago I should have stayed retired from this place. Like Osyrus did when I retired HIM. But you live and learn. So HAWK I have one thing left to say to you friend. Put down the bottle and grow some balls and go after Hunt and get ACW back to where it once was before the clowns, and human advertisement machines ran this place into the ground. Because I am done. I am going someplace where they deserve my talent.”

The fans continued to jeer Jacobs as he and J.L. Greenberg left HAWK in the ring to wonder what just happened.

Vince got halfway up the ramp when Alias, fresh from a dramatic RETURN, made his way down to stop Vince's dramatic departure.

“Vince what the HELL are you doing? You know we've got something special here, you said it yourself... this is your HOME. You can't be burning your bridges with NAPALM like this, man. Think it through...”

Vince smirked.

“No Chris, I have thought this through. I have played this over and over in my head for the past few weeks. I should have never let you talk me into coming back to this place. Every time I think things have changed it ends up being the same political bullshit over and over again. They want to keep you at the top, I’m fine with that. Hell, I'm just glad you're alive. If this was eight years ago I would have something else to say. But I know you are ACW and nothing is going to change that. But I shouldn’t be pulling time in the undercard against people that I have to carry to a decent match.”

“I’m Vince F’N Jacobs. I am a main eventer point blank.”

“Vinnie, point blank? This time away made me realize that its time for us to give ACW to the next generation. Just like when we had begun to take ACW for ourselves.”

“By doing what Chris, letting guys who couldn’t put on a five star match to save their lives main event a pay-per-view, here? Well if that’s what you want to see than fine. I am tired of being disrespected by ACW. My time is up.”

"And what about Hunt? I need you next to me in this war."

Jacobs simply walked past Alias up the ramp as the chorus of jeers continued to grow.

"It's not a war with Hunt that you should be worried about." Vince was walking out of All-Star Championship Wrestling to go back to Legacy of Champions. HAWK made his way down from the ring and stopped at Alias, as the two men talked for a second watching Vince disappear through the curtain for the last time in ACW.

scary

And after all of that insanity, what would happen next?

Well, a bit of a breather would be nice. So, the scene picked up backstage. On a bench that had a gigantic 'ACW > everybody else' poster hanging above, was none other than the new ACW [Black] Scorpion Champion.

That's right. Fejona Min. And she was in a mess. That much was a given following the two intense battles she'd gone through earlier in the evening. The glazed-over look in her eyes and the beads of sweat rolling down the side of her face at immense speed was indicative of something else entirely.

"Congratulations are in order, eh?"

Fejona turned to the side and cracked a half-grin upon identifying the source of that greeting.

"You... are a sight for sore eyes." Fejona managed to string together, suddenly feeling her lips had become very dry. "Thank you very much, by the way. In more ways than one. You cannot possibly imagine how glad I am to have an ally like you around these parts, what with my quasi-agreement with Jeremy Hunt having gone south and all."

Z stepped into frame, and took a seat down on the bench right next to the Rogue Slayer. "Hunt, my dear Fejona, is a man driven by delusion and lofty ambitions that will never materialise. The man is not merely a representative of SlySports; he's a representative of the legion of failed usurpers and insurgents that have failed in their bid to take over ACW. His fate will be the same as that of many other disgraced losers.

He will be forgotten in years to come. You, Fejona? You've made history tonight.

You've been making a habit of MAKING history in ACW. First female Scorpion Fighting Champion, first female Television Champion, and so many other accolades.

Which is why I extended an invitation to you to join the ranks of the cabal; which, as you know, has a goal that numerous others will identify -- wrongly -- as being the same of one Jeremy Hunt. On the contrary, I have no intentions of launching plans to control ACW with my iron fists. It sounds good on paper, and definitely feasible with the right planning. But it's not the vision I have in mind."

Z turned his head sideways and grinned at Fejona. The Rogue Slayer nodded her head, seemingly understanding.

"I hate to digress, but I've got to say; you weren't kidding about Hanzo. Especially with regards to the after-effects!" Fejona exclaimed, running a hand through her usually-lovely hair that had been soaked in blood and sweat thanks to her exertions earlier on in the pay-per-view.

Z chuckled, stealing a glance at the [Black] Scorpion resting in Min's lap. "Your dosage was controlled. If it wasn't, you'd be vomitting violently right now, and you'd be feeling absolutely lethargic for up to three weeks. It's a hell of a stimulant, Hanzo. Still very much experimental. It felt wonderful to have it coarsing through your veins earlier on, innit?"

Fejona extended out her legs and clenched her fists. The Masked Enigma was right.

"At any rate. I have to get going. Welcome to the cabal, by the way! We'll talk more later, especially about ol' Sven. You'll laugh when I tell you his story!" Z smirked once more as he stood to his feet and placed his right hand on Min's left shoulder.

In return, Fejona looked up at Z and examined his eyes. His piercing eyes. "That sounds terrific. Yes, let's catch up later. We can make it a double-celebration round of drinks at a nearby pub or something, considering you're about to go out there and become this year's King Of Ages. Good luck with that, by the way. I'm sure you'll rock 'em like a hurricane!"

Jeers from the fans watching on the SlyTron. The Masked Enigma becoming the 2010 King Of Ages. Hell no.

Z continued smirking. He couldn't help it. He thought about his response to Fejona for a moment.

The words he chose had to be the correct ones. "Oh, I don't need luck for what I'm about to do, Fejona.

... And anyways, the war's already won."

A low chortle, and Z spun on his heels, taking off down the hallway. It was just about time for the night's concluding match, the main event. The blockbuster showdown that'd decide who would be ACW's third King Of Ages. Fejona Min watched as the back of Z's trenchcoat flapped in the air behind him.

The Rogue Slayer was already confident that being in the cabal would reap rewards. A right decision had been made. Something about the entire situation DID irk Fejona, though. She didn't know Z's master-plan. And that frightened Fejona. More so than the thought of Z actually winning the upcoming match and becoming the 2010 King Of Ages.

But what, oh what, did Z mean? the war's already won. Fejona shook her head.

"It's showtime."

TRIPLE THREAT ELIMINATION MATCH
2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - FINALE
Jesse Ramey vs. Z vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

       

All-Star Championship Wrestling had been building towards this moment all summer long. It wasn't hyperbole to say that the result of this match was going to change ACW history; it also wasn't hyperbole to say that this final matchup -- however modified -- seeemed to lend credence to the old adage that nice guys finish last.

Of course they do.

Nice guys don't get to be king, either.

And with Stockholm's eyeballs already set to the widest fringes... cue Atreyu.

Loser?! Hh. Maybe the Bad Attitude. Maybe the Right Atttitude.

But this iteration of Jesse Ramey? The Anti-Star? He was hitting heights his career hadn't seen in years, maybe ever, and with one more win tonight, the West Virginian would be ACW's resident ruler. Ever since the trip to Eastern Europe and suffering the machinations of the 2003 King Of Ages Khristian Keller, this Jesse Ramey had shown a bloodlust that seemingly had no ceiling. Yet as true as that was, his own sick deeds and viciousness still paled in comparison in the shadow of his next opponent.

You know the deal by now. You don't get the Final Countdown anymore, special remix or not. By this point, the ACW audience was booing lustily through this, even though they knew more was to come.

My reflection,
dirty mirror.
There's no connection, to mysellllllllllllllllllllllllllf...

People were booing so loud during the playing of the Smashing Pumpkins' Zero, you would've thought Courtney Love had managed to clone herself 20,000 times over. Irregardless: the trenchcoat was draped around the broad shoulders, the snazzy fingerless gloves were well in place, and the familiar fuschia mask was secured to hide the face.

The man known and despised as Z was one step away from making this his summer, as he had promised to do several weeks ago. What would ACW look like with Z as King, the cabal right behind him backing up his every play? We'd already seen the depths he'd sink to earlier: Paige Allen had inexplicably pretty much risked her job to allow him a free mugging and a gift-wrapped spot in the finale of the tournament. We'd ask his former protege Buddy Saxon what he thought of this, but he was lying unconscious and on his way to a local hospital.

That was the sort of man Z was. The sort of man who looked at Trent Savage and who's evil grin sent chills down the referee's spine. The sort of man who only looked at Jesse for a second before scoffing and shaking his head. The sort of man who hears a crowd booing, yells out "Oh, you morons can do better than THAT!" and when he gets the full throat of the audience's venom smiles broadly and keeps encouraging them on to pump up the volume.

Ramey would've helped them boo, but Savage was keeping the two men apart. Is there anything worse than a cunning badass? Thought not.

But speaking of those--

Swedish guys
+ fast guitars
+ 20,000 odd people losing their shit
could only =

And for the second time tonight, out came the Zimmermans. No smiles. No playing to the crowd, no matter how many signs in their favor were being waved. KSZ's eyes were locked on the two men in the ring -- men he'd beaten before to get here, but men he was going to have to beat again in order to become the 2010 King of Ages. It sure would go well with the ACW World Championship he proudly wore around his waist. He looked over his shoulder at Ramey. He stared straight ahead at Z, who merely looked on placidly. Mind games atop mind games, and this tranquil was shattered in short order when Zimmerman's hands thrust towards the heavens--

Purple pyro shot up from the turnbuckles, white pyro fell from the overhead, and the four words that fell from Keith's lips were obvious to any lip-reader:

I - WILL - be - king.

The lights came back on as Tommy Vale entered the ring, Keith & Allison taking a neutral corner while Trent began to check everybody for weaponry, knowing the psyches of the men involved.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this match -- to be contested under Triple Threat Elimination Rules -- is the final match of the tournament to determine ACW'S 2010 KING OF AGES!"

HUZZAH!

"Introducing first, in the corner to my left, weighing in at 205 pounds, he hails from Harts, West Virginia--the man you know as the Anti-Star--JESSE! RAAAAAAAAAAMEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!"

Jesse's response to his ovation was to glare at both his opponents and nothing else.

"Introducing next, in the corner to my right, weighing in at 234 pounds, out of Los Angeles, California is the ACW superstar known as the Masked Enigma, the Dastardly Mastermind himself---this--is--Z!"

The crowd gave Z the sort of reception Keith Olbermann would get if he crashed a fundraiser at Dick Cheney's mansion. The Caped Crusader took two steps towards the center of the ring and bowed in a colossal act of hubris.

"And the final man in the match, he's accompanied to the ring by the Manger of Champions, Allison Lindum-Zimmerman--weighing in at 213 pounds from Berkeley, California, please help me welcome the ACW WORLLLLLLLDDDDDDDDDDDDD CHAMPION!

KEITH! SCOTT! ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMERRRRRRRRRRRMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNN!"

Zimmerman whipped off the belt and held it aloft, his eyes splitting the difference between looking at Z and looking at Ramey. He brought it down, folded it, and handed it off to Trent, who gave it to the departing Vale.

So this was it.

Last man standing wins the prize.

And as any paintball afficiando would tell you, the prize was everything.

The bell rang (DING DING DING). I hope you enjoyed that last minute of peace of quiet, because the moment hammer impacted bell the World Champion heeded the adage of offense making good defense, and charged in against his fellow Californian. Z's head snapped back just as Keith rocked him. CHOP!

"WHOO!"

And another (WHOO!) and another (WHOO!), but that wasn't enough for the rampaging title-holder, who began to slam his forearm into the face of the masked man, sending Z back on his heels as he delivered another hard shot to the jawline. Keith's arm drew back again, hit Z again, and whipped him into the ropes. Z didn't have much of a problem, fortunately for him, reversing this whip, and the crowd watched as Zimmerman went off of the cables. At this moment, Ramey stepped towards where the action'd been taking place and both he and Z elevated Keith into the air.

They stepped away as the ACW World Champion free-falled, and the thud when he hit the canvas chest-first was sickening. The crowd booed at this, as Z looked up and smiled at Ramey, extending his hand.

You could almost see the thought of the audience: "God, no. Not again." Was this all just a giant game? Was Z just going to slime his way to the throne, picking up allies along the way?

You bet your ass. First ally tonight? Jesse Ramey--

No, wait--

Jesse Ramey's FOREARM IN YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH, trickster! The boos immediately disappeared as the Dungeon veteran took a page from the book of Zimmerman, smacking Z's mask with some hard forearm shots. Z was whipped into the ropes, and Ramey was waiting for him--Japanese armdrag! Z recovered from the ipponzei somewhat quickly, but was on his ass just as fast as Ramey flew into the air and connected with a dropkick. Z was reeling but the possible Anti-King was in control, and proved it with a Steamboatesque armdrag. Z tried to get his bearings by noting where he was in the ring; once he did, he rolled out to the floor as Jesse was taunting him in the ring to bring it on.

Unfortunately for Mr. Ramey, this was not a Jesse/Z match, something he was about to be rudely reminded of when he was spun around by the shoulder and got greeted by a knee into the sternum. Keith leaned into Jesse before whipping him into the ropes. Ramey came back off, and KSZ dropped down.

Unfortunately for Z, he was just pulling himself up on the apron when Jesse slammed into him and the force of the blow sent him to concrete. The master of darkness stumbled forward having suffered his own mal effects, and Zimmerman quickly looked to capitalize as he flew through the air for a patented somersault swinging neckbreaker. Ramey spun away from what would've been the impact as Zimmerman landed flat on his ass, and Ramey looked to kick Keith's freakin' skull off!

Zimmerman ducked under the leg, then leveraged down into a schoolboy!

ONE!

TWyeah right. It's a schoolboy.

Both men up, with Ramey shooting a thumb into Keith's eye. This got a split reaction from the anxious crowd, but Jesse didn't get the memo about giving a shit, as he quickly used this advantage to slam a forearm into Keith's face, following it quickly with a second. Zimmerman was shot into the ropes and it wasn't long before Jesse had him back in the air for a succesful hip toss. Ramey corkscrewed his body before slamming into Keith's chest with a legdrop, then going for a cover.

ONE!

TWhe legdropped him. C'mon. The 2010 King Of Ages wasn't going to be decided this early that way. Especially considering the participants. Grunting his disapproval with the count, Ramey stood up and was spun around.

Oh, Z thumbed him in the eye! What a son of a bitch. A smart one, but even so.

Ever opportunistic, Z quickly ran into the ropes and floored Jesse with a high-impact chop block. He scoffed. Then it was a little something we in the transcription industry call motherfucking go time.

ANKLE LOCK!

Yes, just that fast, Z had procured his favorite submission on the Anti-Star. Unfortunately for Senor Masky, it was on a very smart and cunning man in his own right. You know, the sort of guy who would use his strength, roll it through and reverse it?

ANKLE LOCK! YES, AGAIN!

This time the crowd ovated as Z was trapped in the hold, and desperately reaching out for the shelter of the ropes. Trent Savage was in position to see if Z verbally or physically would submit, but as Jesse torqued the hold that didn't appear to be happening. Keith Scott Zimmerman dusted himself off and charged the mass of humanity.

Then half of it moved, as Jesse spun around and backdropped Keith over the top ropes to the floor. The esteemed World Champion out of the way, Jesse dropped down to reapply the punishing submission, but Z wasn't going out like that. No, he was going down like the ruthlesss mofo we all knew him to be, kicking Jesse in the chest once, twice, thrice, then rolling him into a small package to counter!

One, two

Jesse used his stealth to get into a pinning predicament with his OWN small package!

One, two

Reversed by Z!

Un, deux

Reversed by Ramey!

Eins, zwei

Rererereversed by Z!

Um, dois

And the same from Ramey!

Uno, dos

They disengaged and the crowd roared at the display of chain wrestling. Said chain had another effect--both men were dizzy, at least for a few moments as they tried to regain verticality. Ramey beat Z up by a second, but then they were both up--double clothesline--and both down once again. Shortly after this, a hand grabbed the bottom rope, then slid in under the bottom rope. Using the corner, a disoriented Keith Scott Zimmerman got to his feet and looked over the ring. Z and Ramey were both down, and his head jerked in an east-west direction. Allison moved closer to him out of sheer instinct as Keith saw the man who would be prince of madness was getting back on his feet first.

That won't be lasting long, thought the champion with a sneer, and as Jesse got back up Zimmerman ran out of the corner as if he was rocket-powered.

Jesse Ramey had jusMURDERDEATHKEITH! Oh, my lord. And I say that as an agnostic. The leg lariat stiffer than the unemployment rate had just taken a few hours off of Jesse Ramey's lifespan, and as he got to his feet Keith basked in the glow of having smited one of his peskiest rivals. This left Z getting up, and the evil grin only widened all over Zimmerman's face as he turned from the fallen Ramey and with his left hand gestured to the recovering Z-ster as if to say, "Well, what do you think? Should I get him?"

Audience?

FUCK YEAH, YOU SHOULD!

Well, then. Zimmerman's face turned into something positively Donnie Darkoish as he quickly moved into position. Z suddenly felt a weight press down on his shoulders and knew he was in trouble. Zimmerman's legs had locked his head in almost a figure-four headscissors.

It didn't matter if Z preferred the Human League, Prince, or even Scritti Politti, because the one 80s stalwart KSZ was about to share with him went by the name of WHAM! As in WHAM! As in WHAM!, WHAM!, WHAM!

If Buddy Saxon could've he would've smiled as Z fell victim to a five-star skullfuck at the hands of the former Action! star, and Keith used the ropes to pull himself up and get to his feet. Ramey was just now beginning to stir as Zimmerman leaned back against the ropes almost lackadasically, bouncing off a couple times as if he was merely warming up for the match. And then Z got up.

Oh, no.

MURDERDEATHKEITH!

Oh.

No?

MURDERDEATHKEITH! Instead, make that

TURNBUCKLE POWERBOMB!

Zimmerman's back slammed with mass velocity in the corner as Z had managed to counter what Jesse hadn't. Even as Keith was stumbling groggily out of the corner, Z was running for the ropes and what he did next shocked everybody in attendance.

Ready?

MURDERDEATHZ! Oh, what, you thought there was only one Californian in All-Star who could throw a leg lariat like a hurricane? Wrong. And as the crowd began to boo lustily, it was becoming apparent that the Dastardly Mastermind had just brought the Zimmerman Express to a screeching halt. Z merely picked himself up off of the canvas, and began to brush his hands as if cleaning them free of dirt. He smiled broadly and did a little jig before being spun around at the hands of Jesse Ramey.

Z was the sort of evil genius that went with the flow.

DISCUS LARIATOOOOO! Ramey was down, and Zimmerman was down, and besides Trent Savage the only man left upright in the ring was going by the name of Z. Looking back at Keith as he did it, Z fell into a lateral press upon Jesse.

One.

Two.

And thkickout from the Anti-Star. But Z didn't look too worried, or even perturbed by this. Making sure Keith was still reeling from the leg lariat he delivered, he lazily brought up Jesse before hitting him with a hard short-arm clotheDUCKEDANDCOUNTEREDWITHACRUCIFIX!

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout from Z--the same Z who beat Ramey to his feet, then took him off of them with a massive European uppercut. Not content with this level of violence Z let Ramey get back towards his feet before drilling him with a second, third, and fourth European uppercut. Z looked over at the bell-rung Keith, who was beginning to pull himself to a standing vertical base in the corner. Z sneered at Keith, before mounting Jesse and laying in some right hands. But the right hands didn't have the sting they might've, and with good reason.

Zimmerman was on the prowl and it showed, as Z immediately popped off of Ramey to run at Keith Scott Zimmerman with a splash.

DODGED!

Keith whipped Z into the opposite corner, only to have this effort of his reversed and Z successfully sent Keith into the opposite corner.

Zimmerman again was staggering out, and this time Z caught him with a backdrop.

Unfortunately for Keith, this wasn't just a one-on-one match with Z, and he was just getting backdropped, he was flying into the waiting arms of Jesse Ramey.

Those arms were NOT welcoming.

POWERBOMB!

Ramey stacked Keith for the cover:

ONE!

TWO!

THR--KICKOUT!

"Dammit!" cursed Ramey at his inability to close out Zimmerman. Keith was prone, and the Anti-Star took advantage with a series of stomps to the torso and most importantly the back of Keith, before he felt weight from behind. Ramey had merely been shoved from behind by Z, who replicated Ramey's work in stomping away at the fallen Only Champion That Matters before Ramey shoved him down in response.

"Hh." responded Z. "You're not that bright, are you?" Z laughed and patted the side of Jesse Ramey's face.

Perhaps that was a mistaPIMPSLAP!

The crowd went apeshit as Jesse Ramey backhanded Z like he hadn't gotten his 10%, and the Anti-Star quickly went into overdrive with a series of downward swings, stomps, and kicks. Pretty soon Z was on the mat a quivering mess as Ramey laid in heavy boots right between the eyes of the mask, the crowd beginning to fire up a familiar term of the past few weeks in ACW: the chant of RAY MEE! RAY MEE! RAY MEE! RAY MEE! Z heard them and didn't like it, and began to roll for the comfort of the corner.

Unfortunately for him, he was still in a bad position, and Jesse Ramey was not. Vaulting Z, Jesse shot up to the top rope in one impressive jump before coming back down

TOUCHING THE SKY! Ramey with a cover--

ONE!

TWO!

THRE--shoulder up from Z. But wow. Check Jesse pulling out the split-legged moonsault out of mothballs to try and drop the resident evil genius of ACW. Ramey brought Z back to his feet, before leaning up against him and firing him off into the ropes. Ramey ducked down, and Z used his back as sort of a fulcrum for an impressive fulcrum to do a corkscrew in midair and land on his feet. Ramey mule kicked Z in the gut, before running off of the ropes and driving down Z with an emphatic bulldog. Content that Keith wasn't about to break up the roll he was on, Ramey ran back for the ropes--springboarding for--

Culture Development--

CONNECTS!

ONE!

TWO!

THREKICKOUT! And now the springboard Asai moonsault from Ramey! Whatever his opponents had prepared for, this wasn't it. Z was gasping for breath just as much out of having the wind driven out of him as it was that the tornado that was blowing through his neighborhood was Ramey and not Zimmerman. Z scattered backwards on his ass, holding up his arms in the universal sign for timeout. The crowd booed this act of cowardice but it didn't stop Jesse in the least from advancing.

"Ramey! We don't need to do this! Isn't that just what he--"

Ramey reached forward, thus falling perfectly into the trap, and Z pulled Jesse by the tights and went backwards sending him to the floor. Z began to get to his feet--tragically for him Ramey was already on his own on concrete, and Z wasn't facing the Slytron. So it came that Ramey tripped him up and pulled him towards the floor. No, wait--not a pull, that was the ANKLE LOCK! AGAIN! The crowd went batshit, as Trent Savage hesitated on pulling the trigger. He might get crucified if there was a countout. Z screamed out in absolute pain as Ramey's sadistic grin widened as he torqued the hold. It was a good time to be Jesse Ramey.

Then it ended, because that's what good times do.

¡TOPE!

And off the side of the milk carton between the ropes fleeeeeeeeeewwwww Keith Scott Zimmerman, wiping out Jesse with a spectacular suicide dive that brought the crowd to its feet roaring at the athleticism of the World Champion. Trying to shake off the cobwebs, Keith brought Jesse up before rolling him in underneath the bottom ropes. Leaving Z to his own devices on the concrete, Keith re-entered the ring with a laser focus on bringing Jesse Ramey down.

CHOP!
(whoo!)
CHOP!
(whoo!)
CHOP!
(whoo!)
CHOP!
(whoo!)

Ramey was so on his heels it was nothing but ease for Zimmerman to lean into him and whip him into the ropes. KSZ went for a clothesline, but Ramey ducked, and he came off the opposite side to deliver FUCK YOU, RISING PALM STRIKE! You could hear the echoing smack of flesh on flesh in the upper deck as Ramey's mental eggs got scrambled by the shot, and Mr. Keith Scott Zimmerman was not done fucking up Jesse's shit just yet.

A boot to the sternum of Ramey doubled him over, and Keith quickly hooked Jesse up for a suplex--no, wait--gutbuster against the top ropes! Jesse's laundry was completely hung out to dry as Zimmerman ran for the ropes and launched himself at the draped Ramey, snapping him down -- OOH! sayeth the crowd at the somersault swinging neckbreaker. This one, from up high, had Jesse clutching the back of his head, and the ACW World Champion's arms went up with a sneer.

The resultant CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER~! when Keith Scott Zimmerman Dropped The Straps was deafening, and he got in a ready crouch to deliver his coup de gras upon the Anti-Star, stomping impatiently against the mat to get a groggy thReat alumnus out of his way and himself a step closer to the throne.

I say!

Jesse Tyler Ramey!

If you would...if you have a moment...if it's not too much of a bother for you...

...how's about you HIT MY MUSIC!

Now that was a crowd pop. For the fourth time this summer Keith's knees had driven themselves into Jesse's jaw, and as he got to his feet, Zimmerman truly believed that he was--

Z spun him around, and Keith reacted instinctively for his favorite offense out of this defense, merely spinning into the turn and adding another rotation.

ROARING ELBOW!

Z got out of the way.

Tragically for him, Trent Savage did not.

Keith looked down at the fallen referee and was in disarray as he tried to resuscitate the fallen zebra. Now, normally, as acting senior referee, Paige Allen would've run her tight sweet ass (oh yeah) down to the ring to fill in; but if you remember the opening match of the pay-per-view, you wouldn't be surprised to find out that she was nowhere to be found thanks to the machinations of Z.

You know, that guy behind Keith in a kneeling position, licking his lips and ready to strike the moment the World Champion turned around?

Say, now.

ACE CRUSHER!

NO!

Keith shoved Z down to the mat, and looked back to see if Savage was recovering. With some slight movement on the latter's part, the former smiled evilly and prepared to make Z hit his music, the buzz growing in the crowd by the second.

The buzz growing in the crowd by the second as the man in the yellow and red-splattered mask was running amongst them, vaulting the barrier, and shoving Allison into the ringpost. Wordlessly, she hit the ground, but the resulting impact made a noise that made Keith turn his head.

They were face-to-face for a moment, and in the next one, Keith was up in the air.

...wait, is this right? I suppose it must be. Okay, then--

URANAGE SLAM!

The impact roused Jesse Ramey & Trent Savage a little more as the crowd booed lustily as this turn of these events, the World Champion a grease spot on the L and N in the middle of the ring.

killjoy rolled from the ring, his work done. Well, almost.

For the second time this year he unmasked.

With Renaud screaming at him, killjoy let the straps of his mask unhitch before grabbing his object d'torture and whipping it off of his head.

But this killjoy was a killjoy in action only.

THIS killjoy...

...

was...

...

...

...

...

"TREY VINCENT!?" yelled ACW's premiere broadcaster. "IT WAS TREY VINCENT UNDER THE MASK! WHAT IN THE HELL!"

Leave it to 'The One' Jimmy Reid to sum it all up.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!"

This done, Vincent gave a fallen Keith the finger, a sarcastic smile, and ran back out the arena the way he'd come in.

And in the ring, Z lay back against the bottom rope and smiled, another link in his chain to the throne secured. "I told you so!" he mouthed to nobody in particular. Trent was beginning to recover, as was Jesse. And Z knew what one thing he would do now on his way to writing himself into the ACW history books.

Keith?

Keith?

You okay?

You seem really groggy, dude.

You seem like all your best plans done gone oft awry.

But the Dastardly Mastermind has a question for you.

Since you were so adamant about introducing him to WHAM! earlier, he'd like to reintrodcue you to something a little more current than that. The Smashing Pumpkins, for example.

And as Jesse's eyes began to clear, and Trent's head began to look towards the center of the ring, Z was taking flight.

Keith Scott Zimmerman?

How's about you

HIT

Z'S

MUSIC!?!?!

Zimmerman's eyes shut as he fell back onto the canvas.

Z shot down into the lateral press, hooking the leg and paintbrushing Trent in the back of the head.

"Count, you monkey!"

He did.

ONE.

TWO.

And Jesse Ramey---

--this is an elimination match.

Jesse Ramey put his body weight on top of Z's.

---

THREE.

...

...holy shit.

There were many a mouth left gaping at what just happened.

Jesse Ramey buggered off and dropped in a heap next to the ropes. As far as he was concerned, Ramey had just helped Z eliminate the World Champion, having placed his body weight on top of the Caped Crusader's to prevent Keith from kicking out.

And it wasn't personal. Purely business. At least, that's what Ramey told himself.

Z? He jumped up to his feet and absolutely went berserk. In the good way. "TAKE THAT, CHAMP! Z 3:16 SEZ I JUST PINNED YOUR ARSE!"

Yes, he did say Z 3:16. Yes, the Masked Enigma proceeded to run a lap around the ring while Keith slowly rolled out of the squared circle, coming to terms with what just happened. Yes, Allison was still unconscious at ringside.

"BOOOOOOOOOO--RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH~!"

And why, yes. That was the sound of the fans expelling massive amounts of hate at Z, only to change their tune and cheer wildly. Howzat? Ask Jesse Ramey. He's the one who suddenly SPEARED the living daylights outta Z!

With the World Champion outside the ring, tending to his fallen paramour and seething at the fact that Z and Trey Vincent had just screwed him worse than a young teenaged girl in a BangBros production, reality set in for Keith. He wasn't going to be the 2010 King Of Ages. It was now down to two.

Z. Jesse Ramey.

Keith had half a mind to dash back into the ring and beat the ever living hell out of the Masked Enigma, but Ramey was doing a fantastic job of that at that exact moment. Thusly, Keith scooped up ALZ and stormed to the back, eyes burning with white-hot rage. His night was over, but the war? Oh hell naw, son. The war had just begun.

In the ring, Jesse continued to strike Z silly in the face from his mounted position. The fans began to go apeshit. Trent Savage had fully recovered his marbles and watched as the Anti-Star rolled off of Z, full of vim and vigour. Jesse now knew only one man separated him from becoming the 2010 King Of Ages. The King's Choice was in sight. The end of the Summer of Z was in sight. And Jesse loved that he was about to make sure Z's summer ended in vain.

The Caped Crusader pulled himself up, thoroughly unaware of what was going on. He turned around, and... THE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT! Except, y'know, countered. Z expertly drove his knee up into Ramey's sternum, and followed up with a spinebuster slam! That evil genius! Once again, Z had escaped being planted with a killer blow, and the fans exhaled in supreme disappointment.

The sight of the fans in the front row being all =(. Made Z go all =D.

"Fucking idiots." Z muttered under his breath, pulling himself up and adjusting his mask. With that done, Z wasted no further time and quickly advanced on the recovering Jesse Ramey, eager to pummel him into defeat. Ramey though countered by way of grabbing Z by the waistband of his pants and yanking him forward. Nice turnaround from what happened earlier in the match, when Z did the same to Jesse. The momentum saw the Masked Enigma bundle out of the ring, but Z somehow landed on his feet. Like a cat. Jesse wasn't the least bit fazed. Instead, he saw that as a chance to springboard off the ropes and take flight with a diving clothesline!

There was just one tiny problem. Z moved out of the way, and Jesse paid for being too flashy by landing on the unprotected concrete! OUCH. Z swiftly capitalised, pulling Jesse up by his hair and slamming him against the ring apron! Ramey groaned, his body arching backwards through no control of his own. Z took a few steps back, sizing Jesse up. He took too long, however, for when he finally made his move... Ramey used the ropes above his head to lift himself off the ground and shoved his feet into Z's face! Clever.

Unfortunately for Z, that wasn't the end of that; he found himself on the receiving end of more punishment from Jesse, as the Anti-Star kicked Z in the gut and followed up with a knee smash when the Caped Crusader was doubled over! And as if that wasn't enough, Ramey found the time to smash Z's face against the apron before throwing him back inside the ring. There was a buzz of excitement in the air with Jesse Ramey choosing not to follow direct suite, but instead scaled to the top of the turnbuckle.

And with Z slightly woozy from the recent onslaught from Ramey, the man with a thousand and four plans surely had no idea what was looming. Therefore, Jesse decided to go for something a little different and just a wee bit retro. Oh yes.

DOUBLE AXE-HANDLE SMASH! FROM THE TOP OF THE TURNBUCKLE!

Man, that Ramey. Pulling out all the stops in what was probably the most important match of his career.

... Butttt, Z was once again too crafty for Ramey's own good. He sidestepped Ramey's flying axe-handle from the top of the turnbuckle and threw out a knee aimed at his adversary's abdomen at the same time! All the air had been expelled out of Jesse, and he was practically a sitting duck. Which was of course good news for Z, as he promptly followed up with a Northern Lights suplex! And of course, Z maintained the bridge that half the fans on their feet in concern.

Was this the deciding moment in the war? Let's check it out:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEDENIED!

Christ, how did Jesse Ramey get his shoulder up there?!

Matter of fact, even referee Trent Savage was surprised. He thought that was it. The fans popped, purely out of relief.

Z sat up, slightly perplexed at what he had to do to put Ramey away. Standing up, the Dastardly Mastermind wiped the sweat off his neck and pulled Jesse up. Jesse was far from done, however, and offered resistance in the form of closed-ranged punches to Z's gut. Z pushed Ramey into the ropes with a single hand and tried to take him out with a big boot... but Ramey ducked, and let fly with a knife-edged chop as Z turned around!

Strangely enough, the Caped Crusader SMILED in retaliation. Creepy fucker. Maybe because Jesse's chop lacked any power whatsoever. Hence Z decided he was completely in the driver's seat and followed with an overhand chop! Jesse howled, his chest burning, but decided he wasn't going to throw in the towel just yet. He waited for Z to make his next move and grinned when the masked evil genius shot himself into the ropes. The sight of Z barrelling towards him sparked Jesse to knock the big man down to a knee with a discus punch.

After which, Ramey decided it was his turn to use the ropes and came back with the intent to do some damage. Once again, however, Jesse Ramey underestimated the might of Z and the Caped Crusader took advantage with a rising uppercut! A blanketed hush fell over the fans as Jesse crashed down to the canvas, spittle flying out of his mouth and his body laying limp on the canvas. Z stood tall, his arms raised. In his mind, Jack was one move away from victory. And with Jesse Ramey unable to do anything except squirm around in utter pain, Jack of Hearts decided it was time to put an end to the proceedings.

Picking Ramey up, the arrogant Z lowered his head and whispered something into Jesse's ear.

What was it? Perhaps it was a declaration of his dominance over the Anti-Star. Perhaps it was dirty talk. You know, like: I love how your arse look in those tights. Whatever it was, Z was beaming from ear to ear as he quickly got Jesse in position and raised him up in the air for what seemed to be a powerbomb.

The expression on Jesse Ramey's face told a story contrasting from his current predicament. And as he locked eyes with Z, Jesse Ramey had an idea. He raised up his clenched fist and cracked the Caped Crusader right between the eyes! Z grunted as he released his grip on Jesse Ramey and doubled over holding his forehead in extreme pain. Jesse landed right in front of Jack, safe and sound. AND, with another idea.

The Anti-Star would never have an opportunity as clearly presented to him as he did just then. With every single fan in the arena and practically 95% of the locker-room cheering him on, Jesse Ramey went to work.

Say, Z. How's your summer going? Good so far. Let's change that.

THE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT! No counter this time, too. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!" Wow. Goosebumps.

Game, set, and match. Z was out COLD, and Ramey -- with whatever else he could muster -- threw his body across Z's.

This was it! It was gonna be over. Trent Savage was in position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEE!

NO.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!" went the fans. At the Broadcast Booth, Jimmy Reid breathed easy.

Z had... kicked out. At the very death.

Jesse fumed, and only one thought came to mind. "Son of a bitch!"

Fair response from the Anti-Star. Although, perhaps, he should have concentrated on Z dragging himself to the ropes. By the time Jesse turned around and advanced on Z, the Caped Crusader had regained his bearings just a little bit.

And to give Z room to plot his next move? Oooh, dangerous. One might say, MISTAAAAAAKE. With a grunt, Z used the ropes to pull himself up and lash out with a kick to Jesse's shins. Ramey dropped to his knees, and that gave Z the opportunity to go nuts: SPRINGBOARD KNEE-STRIKE!

Fancy? Yes. Deadly? Very much so.

But would it mean anything? We were about to find out, as Z clumsily covered Ramey and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO!

Getting back to his feet in record time after a failed pinning attempt, Z was letting loose with several turning kicks aimed at Jesse Ramey's ribs, drawing muffled groans from his adversary. Sensing that he would be able to put together a series of moves that would greatly wear Ramey out and secure the win, Z quickly pulled the Anti-Star up and dropped a couple of elbow strikes down on Jesse's kidney area. Suspicions that the Masked Enigma was about to begin an assault on Jesse's back were confirmed when Z easily lifted Ramey off the canvas connected with a snap backbreaker!

Naturally, Jesse Ramey rolled around on the nat in agony... with the fans now firmly paying attention to the developments unfolding in the ring, praying that Jesse would get back into the match. Z, being the arrogant genius that he was, waited for a few moments for Ramey to get into the right position. And when Jesse turned on his belly to put a hand on his kidney area, Z gleefully launched himself off the ropes and connected with a vicious JUMPING knee-drop right down on Jesse's back! Full score for malicious intent there, as Jesse gritted his teeth and closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain. A devious smirk formed on Z's face. He was in control. And he knew it.

Sensing that he was on the cusp of a famous victory, Z dragged Jesse Ramey up for what he hoped would be the last time. Jesse once more offfered resistance in the form of a series of jabs aimed at his adversary's torso, but they were half-hearted at best. Z put a stop to all that nonsense with a clubbing blow to Jesse's spine, before tossing him out of the ring by way of brute force. That course of action illicted a heavy helping of jeers and hissing from the fans, who knew that Z was up to no good. The Masked Enigma turned to face them, staring a hole through their hearts.

Had he NOT turned around to give the Swedes packed into the Ericsson Globe his best 'I don't give a fuck' impression (which was award-winning just so you know), however, Z would have noticed Jesse Ramey hanging on to the ropes and dragging his way back into the ring. Knowing he had the element of surprise, Jesse Ramey charged full-steam at Z. The latter had something of a sixth sense, though, and turned around just in time to catch Ramey and take him down to the canvas with a hiptoss. Simple, yes. Effective? Well, the verdict was still out on that. As soon as Ramey's torso hit the canvas, he leaned back on his spine and raised his legs up, aiming to thrust his boots into Z's face. Z was alert and parried Jesse's legs away with his forearms, before shooting himself into the ropes. Jesse rolled forward and got up to a vertical base, forcing Z to improvise by leapfrogging Ramey and continue on.

Jesse then had a seemingly brilliant idea; he launched himself into the ropes and upon return, took flight with a cross body! Only problem was, Z's senses were at an all-time high. He was more than ready for the Ramey, and planted him with a fantastic powerslam after catching the latter in mid-air!

Z = on a whole another level now.

Jesse Ramey = giving it his best shot but currently spasming on the canvas.

The fans = crying their hearts out and resigned to the fact of the matter.

Z hooked the legs, and referee Trent Savage dropped to his knees. It HAD to be over;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEE!

NO.

It was Jesse Ramey's turn to defy defeat. His left shoulder had barely gotten up from the canvas, but it was enough. Bah gawd, it was ENOUGH. The fans exploded and began cheering for the Anti-Star. Willing him to get back up and fight the good fight.

"You piece of shit!" Z snarled. He was more than aggrieved at the fact that all he'd gotten was a near-fall, when Z thought he had his opponent beaten. Z glared at Trent Savage, who shrugged his shoulders and maintained his stand that it wasn't a three-count. Oh, Savage. Do you have a deathwish, boy?

The Caped Crusader stood to his feet and stomped his right boot down onto the canvas in an impatient fashion. He was tired. Exhausted, even. Drenched in sweat and enduring copious amounts of unadulterated hatred from the fans.

In short, Z wanted to wrap things up. Like, now. So when Jesse Ramey groggily got to a kneeling position?

RUNNING IMPALER DDT! Which, to many fans and referee Trent Savage, had a more unique name. One that made Savage visibly gulp.

Can we say, BASTARD'S BLACK HEADCRUSHER? We can? Cool. 'Cause that's what Z pulled out of his bag of tricks! The fans fell silent at the sight of Ramey laying flat out on the canvas, having been killed by the finisher of one Trevor Wilson. You know him, doncha? You don't? Feck awf.

At any rate. Z made the cover with extreme urgency. "Count, you limp-wristed cunt!"

And that's exactly what Trent Savage did;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE - FUCK THAT NOISE!

How was Jesse Ramey doing it? Nobody knew.

Not even the Anti-Star himself was privy to how his brain ignored the amount of pain the rest of his body was in. Z? Oh, he was furious. He rolled right out of the ring and actually lost his composure, kicking the steel steps in frustration! Was the resident evil genius finding it difficult to accept that for once, everything wasn't quite going his way? Even in the past, in the face of defeat, Z was able to claim he had a plan, and acted all cool and shit.

Now? A whole different story. Fuming at the fans taunting him, Z rolled back into the ring, locking eyes on the recovering Ramey, immediately connecting with a kick to Jesse's mid-section. With Ramey doubled over, Z used all his strength to lift Jesse up into a standing suplex position. Impressive show of strength from Z which lasted all of four seconds. Why? Because the Anti-Star was a sneaky fucker. Without much difficulty, Jesse Ramey wriggled out of Z's grasp and dropped down right behind Z.

Suddenly presented with such a great chance to steal a win, that was exactly what Jesse Ramey did. No, no flash pin or school-boy roll-up.

DRAGON SUPLEX! OH YEAH!

Bridge? Check. Z's shoulders pinned to the canvas? Check. Savage? Counting;

ONE!

TWO!

THR - DENIED!

Both men raced to their feet. This was seriouz bizness, you guys. Both men weren't kidding around anymore.

Z went for a clothesline, snarling as he did so. Ramey ducked. And in doing so, the Anti-Star was able to drive his elbow backwards into Z's kidney area. The Caped Crusader grimaced and his knees wobbled.

But he didn't go down. Jesse shrugged, and figured he'd help Z out with that. EXTREME MEASURES! A peach of a spinning heel kick from the Anti-Star, which levelled Z. That sure seemed to have worked out well, eh? Ramey clenched his fists. He was feeling it. The fans were feeling Ramey feeling it.

What next? Let's see. Z was out in the middle of the ring, and Jesse had options.

It only took the Anti-Star two seconds to decise. CULTURE DEVELOPMENT, natch! Second time 'round, too!

Would it prove to be the charm? The fans sure as heck hoped so. Jesse hooked the legs, and Trent got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"MY GAWD, JIMMY!" Renaud Cardinal screamed, his voice going hoarse. "These two men simply will NOT. GIVE. UP! What will it take for either Ramey or Z to put the other one away? How long more can this go on for?!"

Jimmy Reid looked like he was sitting on pins and needles. "I have no frakking idea, but this is sensational!"

It really was. Ahem.

Jesse rolled to his knees and shook his head. The Anti-Star was at a loss at what to do next.

Credit to the devil in the fuschia mask; he was one tough mothersomethin. Z pulled his body off the canvas, barely able to sit upright. He was, however, able to spot Jesse Ramey himself off the ropes. Jesse raised his right foot in the air, ready to blast Z in the face with a pushing kick. There was one flaw in that plan.

Z found the strength to roll out of the way, and in the process, sweep Jesse's legs from under him. Once that was done? Blimey, Z went right to work and triggered many a heart attack in the crowd. Whuzzah?

ANKLE LOCK, fuckers! This time, Z went one step further. He slapped on the leg-hook and twisted Ramey's right ankle as hard as he could. To make matters worse for the Anti-Star, he was trapped in the middle of the ring! The ropes? Far, far away.

So, look. It was over, right?

It had to be, innit? There was no escape at all for Ramey.

... But see, you don't KNOW Jesse Ramey. The man has endured so much over the years. And ever since his second run in ACW began last December at END GAME 2009, the Anti-Star had battled through various forms of adversity to rise to the top of the pack. Did you really think an ankle lock would be enough to keep Jesse down for good? Please.

Through sheer willpower, Jesse began dragging himself -- and Z by token -- towards the ropes. Imagine the look on referee Trent Savage's face when Jesse was suddenly inches away from the ropes. The Caped Crusader growled and tightened his grip on Jesse's ankle, determined to make the Anti-Star tap out.

Alas, that didn't happen. Jesse had reached the ropes. Lemme rephrase that:

JESSE RAMEY HAD REACHED THE MOTHERTOOTIN' ROPES! Take that, Z! Trent Savage immediately deployed his five-count, ordering the Masked Enigma to relinquish his ankle lock.

What did Z do? Come on. Do you really have to ask? You do?

Fine. The Caped Crusader actually did relinquish the hold, only to race to his feet and grab Ramey's legs. With an almighty tug, Z pulled Jesse back to the middle of the ring, ignoring the outpouring of rage from the fans.

Fortunately for the fans, they had a reason to cheer once more. Just as Z was about to slap on the ankle lock again, Ramey used his free leg to great effect, driving his shin upwards into Z's thigh. Z winced, and Jesse followed up with a pushing kick to the Masked Enigma's ribs, knocking him down on his arse! Ramey breathed a little easier and turned towards the ropes, reaching out towards them. Z did the same, no longer able to will himself up.

It was clear that both men were spent. Yet, neither Z nor Jesse Ramey were willing to yield just quite yet.

Z was the first up, and he shuffled towards Ramey, beady eyes set on the Anti-Star. Jesse turned around oblivious to the danger, but was able to duck the spinning backfist attempt from the Masked Enigma. Z scowled as he spun on his heels, only to get blasted in the face with a forearm smash. With adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before, Jesse pulled Z towards him for one final gambit. Oh yeah.

THE ATTITUDE ADJUS--not bloody likely. Z raised his right leg and drove his boot down into Jesse's left knee! Desperate counter for a man in a desperate situation. Z took a few steps back, breaking Jesse's hold on him, and measured the Anti-Star up. Did Z dare go for his version of KSZ's Hit My Music? Nah, Z had something else in mind.

His own version of THE ATTITUDE ADJUScountered by Ramey into a SMALL PACKAGE!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

... NO, NO! Z rolled out just in the nick of time!

Both men raced to their feet once more, but Jesse was the quicker of the two this time. Haymaker to Z. Uppercut to Ramey. Left hook to Z. Right jab to Ramey. BLOCKED! Kick to Z's gut. Time for another Attitude Adjustment?

No.

Something better. Something more definitive.

Something that Z hadn't anticipated, and therefore didn't have a counter for.

You call it sunset flip powerbomb. Jesse Ramey calls it the gamechanger.

Actually: NON COMPOS MENTIS!

The fans knew it. Jimmy Reid and Renaud Cardinal knew it. Trent Savage knew it. In the fact, Keith Scott Zimmerman knew it. Drifting off to la-la land, Z himself had accepted it.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

...

It was over.

The bell rang, Atreyu's Gallows blared over the speakers for the third time. The fans exploded. The longest night of their lives meant jack; they cheered their hearts out. Loudest pop of the night? You betcha.

Jesse Ramey rolled off of Z, looked across at the Caped Crusader, and chuckled. "I win."

"THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH, AND THE 2010 KING OF AGESSSSSSSSS.... THE ANTI-STAR, JESSSSSEEEEEEEEEE RAAAMMEEEYYYYYYYY!" was the official confirmation from Tommy Vale. That was the cue for another round of fireworks, just as Jesse Ramey raised his right arm in the air. He might have not been able to get to his feet, but it didn't matter.

He'd done it. He'd outlasted the World Champion and the Caped Crusader. The Zimmerman Era? Nah. The Summer of Z? Screw that.

This was the Age of Ramey.

Jesse Ramey. The undisputed 2010 King Of Ages.

Bow down to your King, ladies and gentlemen. Bow down, and take note.

God natt, god kamp.