A C W



ASCENSION
COURAGE 120 ¤ 12 AUGUST 2010
FORUM COPENHAGEN, COPENHAGEN, DENMARK

It's Playoffs Season!

       

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the one hundredth and twentieth edition of COURAGE!” Renaud Cardinal’s beaming French-Canadian mug filled the television screen, in his orange button up shirt and black suit jacket. Renaud, who was ACW’s play-by-play, man was shown sitting beside the original mega-heel of ACW in Jimmy Reid who took in a wonderfully steady paycheck as the intrepid color commentator of COURAGE.

“More or less.” Reid spoke, dressed in a light blue shirt with a fetching matching tie and a tweed suit jacket.

“More or less one-twenty?” Cardinal asked, confused. I mean all of the Montreal shows haven’t been included in the numbers tally yet…

“No, more or less… welcome.” Reid sneered at the camera.

Cough. Cardinal smiled dryly and shrugged.

“He’s truly The One folks, and always pleasant company.” Cardinal motioned at the COURAGE set-up around him, and the ring in front of him, the crowd around him, “And talking of present company, we’re about to throw it to SilverHAWK and his announcement on the 2010 King Of Ages Quarter-Final fixtures and what we have to look forward to with the KING OF AGES 2010 pay-per-view just two weeks away! But before then, a quick look back at the KOA Qualifying and Matchplay.”

“Want a quick replay on the last four weeks? Keith Scott Zimmerman got the number one seed the honest way, while Z got the number two seed the smart way.”

“So putting in one week of work,” Cardinal counted on his finger, “in the Qualifying Battle Royale, and then playing sick games with his opponents is what you call smart?”

“Well it worked didn’t it? He’s got the first round bye, and a mental edge on a number of his competitors.” Reid shrugged, and brushing off the shoulder of his tweed jacket, “Hell, it’s what I would have done.”

“Sure, Z might have his own momentum going into the pay-per-view, but the fact is that he wrestled his way to 1-2 in Matchplay, while men such as Rud Albion and Jesse Ramey have had break out tournaments so far.” As Cardinal continued, footage from previous weeks flipped up on your home TV screens, “Jesse Ramey, though unable to truly break through since he entered ACW, has turned a vicious corner since his fight against Khristain Keller before FIGHT NIGHT 2010 and put on some stellar matches while amassing a 2-1 record.”

Reid was quick to point something out though, as footage from last week’s broadcast footage came up on the screen.

“Hell, one of my favorite non-Z matches of the tournament so far would have to be Jesse Ramey versus Jade Argent.”

“Reid, I’m surprised…” By the look on his face, Renaud honestly was.

“Why? Because I liked a match that almost ended on a handshake? Grow a pair, like Buddy Saxon should,” Reid replied with a scoff, brushing Renaud off.

“You make a good point… in the worst possible way,” Renaud could only shake his head, “but still a good point. Since losing the ACW Tag Team Championship, England’s Best have seemingly gone in two distinct directions. Rud Albion can be considered the hit of the tournament so far, securing victories against his former tag team partner Saxon, as well as Vince Jacobs and the King of Submissions in Kellen Masters.”

“While Buddy Saxon can’t buy a win,” the words were dry and cruel on purpose.

“Exactly. I would have to say the man with the most potential to have had a much different tournament so far is Sepiroth Du Luc.”

“Not SVJ or Keller? These are veritable ACW legends and former KOA finalists in there own right, of the first King Of Ages actually, and yet they finished 1-2 and 0-3, respectively.” That’s right, Reid can drop the knowledge every once in a while on his Francophone announcing partner.

“But both of those men have proven to be distracted this entire tournament. Vince Jacobs seems to be more intent on ruining Jade Argent’s chance at winning the tournament, then securing his own mantle as 2010's and the third King Of Ages and Keller… well, to put it in as simple terms as possible, Keller seems to have a very complex relationship with our SlySports representative in Jeremy Hunt.” Cardinal replied with some keen observations of his own.

“Ain’t that a thimble full of water in an ocean…” said Reid, left only to an turn of phrase.

“But yes, SDL, the Second COURAGE Superstar got a win over the aforementioned Saxon, but also had two seemingly winnable matches against men with dispositions similar to him, in Jesse Ramey and Kellen Masters. Two matches go a slightly different way… if we would have wanted it more… and he’s looking at 3-0, instead of 1-2.” Cardinal then craned his head over the ring, as he noticed SilverHAWK start to walk out onto the entrance ramp. Cardinal quickly changed the pace of the conversation, wrapping things up on the tournament recap, “And it looks like our General Manager is ready to announce how the rest of the tournament will shape up, so Reid, quickly, who do you have for your pick to win?”

“You might think I’m gonna say Z… but actually,” Reid drew a hand through his moustache, allowing himself a dramatic pause, “I’m going with Zimmerman. The World Champion keeps on winning, and I know what it means to be ACW’s top dog with a head full of steam, so it’s hard to pick against him. KSZ for KOA.”

Cardinal nodded at Reid’s smart pick, before quickly making his pick, “I’m going to surprise a few people and say the 2010 King Of Ages… is Rud Albion.”

“But…” yep, even 'The One' Jimmy Reid was surprised, “You’re French.”

“French Canadian,” said Cardinal with a quick correction, “I suppose because I’m Canadian I can stand dealing with the English… but, ahem, here’s HAWK!”

The camera switched to SilverHAWK standing at the top of the entrance ramp, gruff look on his face. He was tired, having been on guard since the Black Title showed up in his federation, and always working, but hell… he was proud with the way things had gone so far within the King Of Ages Tournament.

“Thank you Jimmy Reid and Reginauld Cardinal. Hello Copenhagen! I’m gonna keep this short and sweet as I’m want to do, and have all of you simply look up on the SlyTron at the brackets for the next two shows.”

“Beauty, right?” SilverHAWK said with a smile, then motioned through the bracket.

“Those first four quarter-finals matches? They’ll take place tonight. KSZ and Z get the night off as the first and second seeds. Then the people who win tonight will fight in two separate three-way dance to open up the KING OF AGES pay-per-view. After that… well… the men left standing will go face-to-face to decide the next KING OF AGES during the night's main event.” With the matter of the play-offs cleared up, SilverHAWK nodded and then waved to the Copenhagen crowd.

“Alright then, with that King’s Choice in sight… sit back and enjoy the damn show.”

The Past Haunts Us All

"Tonight is the night," Aria Murphy proclaimed.

Since her appearance with the returning Arkady Rasputin, the young woman's look had changed. Her makeup and attire had become more dark and grim with a black crucifix coming down through her right eye. It was as if she had become a whole new person stood before everyone. Though, her ability to ooze sex appeal definitely remained, which was on display courtesy of her nearly microscopic, hooded, black dress and fishnet stockings. Just in front of her marched the previously-mentioned Arkady. While with her, he really wasn't listening to her ranting. His mind was on nothing more than the combat he craved so much.

"This will be a message to all those who don't appreciate life, their's or the lives of others. We shall rain justice from the heavens like the fires that destroy Sodom and Gamora. Then, beloved, we both have our respective bloodlusts quenched. The title will bring you all the combat and enemies you can handle and it will lead the greedy, self-centered, and wicked creatures that I long to destroy to their doom. This is just another step down the path to achieving our goals."

Aria's newly found outlook on life was in full effect and by looking in her eyes, it seemed as if her soul was nowhere to be found. With her ranting sounding more and more like a sermon, Arkady couldn't help but lose his focus and shake his head with a chuckle. In another life, he used to be like her. He fought for justice. He knew how it felt to see people get hurt, cheated, and held back. He gave more than one man should to stopping it. However, when the villains are gone, only the combat remains. The adrenaline rush of fighting for the famous truth, justice, and they American way was like a drug and when it's no longer available, the need to fight was all that was left. But, as mentioned before, that was another life. Now, the Russian wolf just smiled softly, knowing her feelings and loving her for it.

Miss Murphy's rant looked to continue, but an unexpectedly it was put to an abrupt end. From out of nowhere, the massive frame of Vago burst onto the scene and he speared the blonde, driving her through a janitor's closet door.

"Motherf*cker," Arkady growled.

In a flash, he was standing before the rising Vago. Aria was lifeless on the floor. As if the Wolf's rage normally wasn't bad enough, seeing his former teammate decimate his girlfriend, pushed him to a whole new level. However, his anger and vengeance would have to wait. Coming up behind Arkady, Kroenen extended his collapsible billy club with a flick of the wrist. Arkady's rage blinded him from noticing Kroenen and allowed the German to smack him in the knee with the club.

Down went Arkady and the duo pounced on him like a pair of jackals. Their focus was on his leg and Vago kept Arkady at bay while Kroenen repeatedly cracked their former ally again in the knee with the club.

"Let us see how vell you do vithout us," Kroenen grinned devilishly at the Russian Wolf, basking in the agony Arkady was going through. "I varned you of zhe consequences, my friend. Now, you must live vith zhem."

Kroenen collapsed the weapon and slipped it back into its holster. The damage had been done and the dastardly duo that was The SS casually walked away, leaving the EMTs to the mess.

offer

   

It was a dark and stormy night. Kind of.

And right outside the rear exit doors of the Forum Copenhagen, a lonely figure knocked over a trash-can. Obviously in frustration. But why oh why was the one and only Ryan Billows so peeved?

Let's just say, as he took a stroll through the vast backstage area, Billows had a never-ending scowl on his face at the sight of life-size posters of some supposedly 'magnificient All-Stars' staring back at him. They seemed to mock him. As if they were laughing at the same thing he was really pissed off about.

Hadn’t he made it quite clear last week that he was here in ACW to take on ACW’s best; to show them what the best really looked like? He thought he had, but tonight he got to take on…John Sarsgaard? Sure, Billows had heard of the kid, had maybe even…come across him a time or two? Maybe. But, to say the least, Billows hadn’t even found the kid worthy enough of carrying The Young Lion’s jockstrap…

It got to the point where Billows simply HAD to get some fresh air.

Folding his arms and sneering at the sky above him, The Risen Lion thought about what he saw. The posters were still quite a sight, even if they hadn’t been the only thing on his mind. King Shit of Fuck Mountain posing in ridiculous glory. Jesse Ramey standing there in all the badass glory he could muster. SVJ being SVJ to the umpteenth degree. Blah.

And then, seconds later, Billows shuddered once more. Why? He couldn't explain it.

"Nice night, isn't it?" an unfamiliar voice rang out, garnering The Risen Lion’s attention. Billows squinted, trying to find the source.

But he couldn't. Until the owner of the voice stepped out from the shadows.

"…it WAS a nice night…and then…from the shadows, you come creeping. " Billows sighed, shaking his head just that tiny little bit, wondering what this guy was doing lurking behind the arena. Realizing, though, that he himself was a guy lurking behind the arena.

Z nodded once, flashing his pearly whites. "Indeed, it is I. I saw you trying your best not to vomit backstage. I admire you; I hurled twice upon seeing the poster of Khristain Keller. Zut alors, that man could quite possibly the worst big-time wrestler ever. If it wasn't for the likes of Rory Hayes and other idiots, Keller would officially be the most useless professional wrestler of all-time. UGH.

Anyway, Ryan. I did want to tell you something personally. The timing was never quite right. But now? Oh, now it is."

Ryan's right eyebrow arched upwards. He'd heard about Z, but hadn't really given the rumours and stories much thought. Now that he was alone with the Masked Enigma, though, the Risen Lion was more than a little concerned.

"Asssss….good time as any?" Billows responded rather casually, taking a few steps out from the doors, staring out at the sky. Z didn’t necessarily like talking to a man’s back, but Billows knew this, and Z probably knew Billows knew.

Z took a single step towards The Watcher. "I admired your handiwork a couple of weeks ago. You know what I'm talking about."

Silence. Awkward silence. Interrupted only by the chirping of birds. (do they have birds in Denmark?)

Billows lowered his eyebrows and turned around. He stared deep into the eyes of the Caped Crusader, and within seconds, the stunning realization hit him. Still, Billows kept his composure. It wasn't wise to show emotion at this juncture.

"Ahh. So you're the bankroller!" Billows finally spoke, as softly as he could. Z bowed his head.

Beneath that fuschia mask of his, the Masked Enigma was grinning away like a horny idiot. "Guilty as charged. And hey, listen. I'm impressed with you ON THE WHOLE. Your rants, your wrestling ability; you've got the whole package. Which is why I want to invite you into the cabal. But, of course, you DON'T have to accept right this instant. Just think about it first, and let me know at an appropriate time what you think and what your answer is.

The hook is simple, Ryan. Join forces with me, and together we'll eliminate the weaklings that populate this company. They have no place here. Warriors like you and I? This should be OUR playground. And that's the ultimate aim of the cabal -- out with the weak, and let the strong rule the way they should. Unopposed and like f**king kings.

That's my pitch, Ryan. I hope you strongly consider it."

With another nod of the head, the nefarious Z stepped back into the shadows and promptly disappeared. Billows grinded his teeth, contemplating the words of the Dastardly Mastermind. It was an intriguing, if not rather vague, offer.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose, “Call me Billows.”

Thumbing his nose, he looked up at the sky one more time. The evening was possibly looking up a bit.

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - QUARTER-FINAL 1
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs vs. Jade Argent
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

Now, are you ready for the first match of the night?

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” came a distinct Jersey accent, a surprise omission from the expected voice of Tommy Vale – who would usually be the one with a microphone at this juncture.

In the center of the ring stood the so-called ‘SuperAgent’, Ira Cohn. A spotlight focused brightly on him as a broad smile radiated from his tanned face. A sharp blue suit and white shirt beneath covered his small frame as he jutted excitably from side to side.

“If you please, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the following contest, and the OPENING match of the knock-out phase of the KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT.”

And as the diminutive man paused, a roar came up from the Danish crowd and the spotlight faded.

At the stage, gold sparks flew and the all-to-familiar flash of pseudonym’s cascaded across the SlyTron,

Before it came to a stop on the brazen golden ‘SUPERSTAR’, which glittered and sparkled momentarily until the now infamous Cypress Hill ‘Ring Superstar’ remix began blaring.

Strutting vicariously around the ring, ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs knew tonight was the night to end all nights. His rivalry with Jade Argent would come to a head here and now and, if all went well, he would move on and claim the King’s Choice. A perfect platform to launch his final assault on the this year's class of Hall Of Fame inductees.

As SVJ swaggered around the ropes, gesturing obscenities to the crowd and anybody else who’d give him the time of day, ring announcers Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid discussed the storied past that Jacobs and Argent had endured – from their failed effort at a coup of SlySports’ Asylum-like take during their stint in Eastern Europe leading to all out war between the two at FIGHT NIGHT 2010, then onto the King Of Ages tournament where Argent had cost Jacobs matches and where Jacobs had brutally spilt pints of Argent’s blood with a steel chair at any given opportunity.

And with that the crowd erupted.

There had been something strange over the last couple of weeks, a metamorphosis of sorts. It began during the failed VETO days; Mr. Argent got more and more disillusioned with the tactics Jacobs and Danger employed to try to get the job done, seeing himself as a cheat. As the King Of Ages tournament wore on, he continued to impress with his stellar performances and the major turning point perhaps was a handshake with Jesse Ramey after their epic battle on the 119th (kind of) episode of COURAGE, followed by Argent making the save for Rud Albion who was taking a lashing at the hands of one Vince Jacobs.

The stage in Copenhagen danced with silver spotlights, as the Australian Opportunist stood regaled in the twilight, flanked on either side by scantily clad twin vixens Rhyme and Reason. Argent smiled to the crowd and even dared to slap a few hands – much to Jacobs’ disgust in the middle of the ring – as Ira Cohn introduced the men in both corner before handing it over to referee Trent Savage and the esteemed Tommy Vale.

DING DING DING!

No ill words were shared between the rivals, the fire in each man’s eyes told more than words could ever express. Nose to nose, chest to chest, both of their hair tangling as their foreheads audibly clunked together.

Jacobs wasted no time, thrusting his knee into the diaphragm of the Australian and following it up quickly with a European uppercut, sending Argent reeling backwards into the ropes.

Argent burst off the ropes with a DIVING LEG LARIAT, flooring the Ratings Grabber. Jade immediately went for the cover…

ONE~!

KICKOUT~!

Not even close, Argent.

Vince Jacobs snarled and grabbed Argent’s ankle as he tried to untwine himself, dropping the Australian with a strange variation on the Russian leg sweep.

Jacobs mounted Argent, laying into him with a vicious right, followed by a left and then another right.

The two rolled, Argent on top now, viciously throwing rights and lefts of his own.

They rolled again, getting tied up in the bottom ropes. Trent Savage ordered a break but neither man wanted to give an inch. They knew each other too well, a moment of reprieve could mean a thumb in the eye or worse.

A stiff elbow caught Argent in the jaw and he reeled backwards and onto the foam mats on the outside clutching his face. Jacobs grinned wildly at Rhyme and Reason who were standing in close quarters to the action at this point. As Jacobs blew a kiss to the twins, neither really knew how to react.

A few weeks prior, the twins had been very fond of Jacobs. Now that Argent was at war, it wasn’t like their loyalties were in question… but lets just say that its not exactly like Jacobs had done anything to them, you see.

A fistful of bleached blond hair later and Argent was in Jacobs’ grasp, and it didn’t take much for the Icon to manhandle his opponent into the steel ring steps.

Boos begun to ring out, as this was appearing to devolve into shenanigans. Especially as referee Trent Savage took the diplomatic approach of cautioning SVJ rather than outright disqualifying him as a referee should.

There was too much riding on this, Savage reasoned with himself. Leniency is the best policy.

One thing that he could not ignore, however, was that both wrestlers were on the outside of the ring and were making no attempt to get back INTO the ring.

Jacobs grabbed the wrist of Argent once more and flung him rag-doll-like across the ringside area, into the security barricade by the timekeeper's desk.

Though instead of Argent crashing his ribs into the unforgiving barricade, it was Jacobs who suffered the blow courtesy of a suave pivot mid maneuver by Argent.

SIX~!

SEVEN~!

Argent was on the apron now, as Jacobs lay slumped against the barricade. Stepping through the rope, the Australian Opportunist broke the count. Though only for a second…

PLANCHA SUICIDAAAAA TO THE OUTSIIIIDE~!!!!

And both men were crushed in a mess of Danish fans on the OTHER side of the security barricade.

”HOLY SHIIT~!”

“THIS IS AWESOME~~!!!”

But the worst part was that despite both men being BROKEN by this, they kept on with the relentless rights and lefts, such was their passion to win and advance in the prestigious KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT.

Argent grabbed a fistful of Jacobs’ hair, as the referee reached FOUR~! in his double count out, and slammed his face into the concrete.

FIVE~!

Jacobs wiped away his face, covered in ketchup and mustard and smashed hot dog particles. He looked ENRAGED. Argent was on his feet and beginning to make his way to the ring.

SIX~!

“Oh no you didn’t you Kangaroo fucking little bitch!” SVJ exclaimed, grabbing Jade by the boot. Argent tried to shake off Jacobs, to limited success. In the meantime, Jacobs managed to get hold of a pancaked steel chair and swung it at the back of Argent’s knees.

Trent Savage was focused on only one thing, though.

SEVEN~!

Argent turned to the ring, “Fuck it.” He thought.

Right hand. Left hand.

Retaliatory right from Jacobs, left too. Irish whip further into the crowd into another barricade. Clothesline?

EIGHT~!

No, BACK BODY DROP! Jacobs was now into a further tier of the crowd, both men resigned to the fact that this would end a DOUBLE COUNTOUT, they focused on more important matters.

Now Argent had a steel chair, and now he was swinging wildly.

NINE~!

CRACCCCKKK~! With the EDGE of the chair to the temple of Jacobs and that one echoed all around Scandinavia.

“That’s for painting this pseudo-continent with my blood for the last five weeks, you jerk!” Argent hissed as the crowd were starting to get really behind him.

TEN~!

DING DING DING~!!!

Argent didn’t care.

Jacobs didn’t KNOW.

Blood began to trickle down the forehead of Pro Wrestling’s Phenomenon, and this bought a broad smile to the lips of Jade Argent.

The same Jade Argent who sprinted, full of adrenaline as though seeing Jacobs’ blood was what energized him. And SPEARR~!!! through a fire exit!

Both men were startled by the brightness of the light, the slipperiness of the floor, that the match was over. Jacobs thrust an elbow up, jarring Argent off of him.

Back at ringside, Renaud Cardinal explained that Courage would catch up with Argent and Jacobs – if necessary – later on, but for now the show must go on!

Who then would advance in the King Of Ages tournament?

... I’m sure we will find out sooner or later.

One Stubborn Bastard.

Greg Miles was seated in a chair backstage in what looked to be the medical center of the Forum Copenhagen here in Denmark. He was hobbled over with his elbows on his thighs, fingering the half dozen stitches on his head caused by Orlando Grant’s home run swing with a wooden bat last week on COURAGE 119.

For 6 days now, Miles had been having heavy migraines and that was because he was diagnosed with a concussion the following day after COURAGE 119, but Greg liked to think of it as a really bad headache.

However, Dr. Snelling advised him otherwise.

“You really shouldn’t be active tonight Greg, a mild blow to the head could put you out of business for months if you're not careful.”

Greg shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his head. He could care less what the doc thought because no matter what, he was fighting Orlando Grant tonight.

He was a stubborn bastard.

“I’m fighting tonight. Simply put.” he raised his head up and looked across the room. On the countertop was a small pill bottle with about thirty high powered pain pills. Printed on the label was his name and that caught his attention.

“What are those?” he asked.

The doctor reached over and grabbed the bottle of pills. He twisted the cap and poured one into the palm of his hand and spun the cap back on the bottle. He held the yellow pill with two fingers and placed it in Greg’s hand.

“Well, this is a prescription I’m going to give you. It will help with the pain. It’s the highest milligram there is to offer so it should take the pain away for a couple of hours. Just be careful and take them AS needed Greg.”

Miles tossed the pill in his mouth and took a big gulp without any water to chase it down as if he had done it once upon a time in his once miserable life.

“We done here? I’d really like to go kick Grant right in the balls now.” he told the doctor.

“Yes, I guess so since there is no talking you out of it. Just don’t over do the pills…take them sparingly Miles…and try to avoid any trauma to the head Miles, you‘re not Superman by all means.”

Greg stood up and opened the door.

“No, but I like to think so.” he smiled.

Miles shut the door and pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket as he walked the halls backstage. He poured another pill in his hand and smirked, “Oh, what the hell?” he said and tossed it into his mouth.

“Now I‘m gonna go get ready to Grant right square in the nuts…”

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - QUARTER-FINAL 2
Rud Albion vs. Buddy Saxon
REFEREE: LI MU BAI

   

Now, however, it was time for a very special match.

Two men. Two friends. One common understanding. Biznass was about to pick up.

The second of four quarter-finals of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament was about to begin, and the fans had just finished watching a quick mash-up preview detailing the journey of both combatants ever since their status as a tag team ended at COURAGE COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER months ago. One was flying high, the other was failing badly. Tonight, however, represented a chance at a turning point for one and also an opportunity for securing superstardom for the other. It would be their third match against each other, which meant only one thing. Both combatants had an intimate knowledge of each other.

Once the preview video ceased transmission on the SlyTron, an eerie silence enveloped the Forum Copenhagen. That silence was broken moments later; Shot By Both Sides by Magazine. BOOM BOOM POW. That brought out England's Own, the spandex-clad surprise hit of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament. None other than RUD ALBION. The fans gave it up big time for one of the brightest talents in ACW today; he who was on the cusp of greatness, surely, based on his performances over the last three weeks.

His journey to the ring was a muted one. The fanfare was massive, yet Rud was not allowing himself to hear anything other than his own thoughts. Tonight was a big night for many reasons. And as he took his place in the middle of the ring, alongside the appointed referee of the match in Li Mu Bai, Albion knew this was quite possibly the most important match of his career thus far.

Seconds later, as the fans simmered down, Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment. The Bournemouth Boy, BUDDY SAXON. He bounced out from the back as per normal, but tonight was all about a serious matter for Saxon. And against his best friend. A man with whom he held the ACW Tag Team Titles. A man that's beaten him twice thus far. A man that quietly become the dark horse to walk away with the King's Choice in a few short weeks.

Buddy quickly found himself climbing into the ring, locking eyes with Rud. The two men had already talked about what this match meant to the both of them. And both agreed; their friendship was one thing, but this quarter-final clash? The implications of the result? That was took priority over everything else for the foreseeable future. The tension in the air was palpable.

Both friends met in the middle of the ring. With a shared nod, Buddy and Rud bumped fists to a massive outpouring of cheers. Instantly, the two of them retreated to their own corner of the ring. The fight of their lives was about to begin. The formalities were over. It was time.

Ready? Set?

DING DING DING!

Go. It was underway, boys and girls.

Rud Albion wasted absolutely no time at all as he charged out of his corner and took Buddy by surprise with a twisting dropkick to the ribs. Falling to the canvas, Albion rolled on his back and took Saxon's legs from under him with a deft legsweep. The Bournemouth Boy winced, before he found his legs being carressed by his former tag team parter.

Well, more like clamped down on, as Albion dragged Buddy towards the middle of the ring and went in search of an early possible shock win with a rolling clutch attempt. ACW's most Oriental referee dropped to his knees in an attempt to count, but before he could even get to one, the wily Buddy Saxon used his leg strength to roll out of the move, over Rud's body. And thereby getting himself, somewhat conveniently, into the position for the... SAXON SLAM! OMG!

A bit premature, though, don't you think? Nobody in the audience cared, as they jolted off their seats. Alas, Albion managed to slip out of Saxon's grasp and retaliated with a backfist to the back of Buddy's neck. The Bronze Lion promptly landed on his feet, looking somewhat relieved that he'd managed to stave off possible defeat. The Bournemouth Boy winced, but ignored the pain in his neck. There was work to be done, see. Thusly, Buddy shot himself into the ropes.

As did Rud, who had to settle for being second-fastest on this exchange as Buddy came bouncing off those ropes with a clothesline in mind. The Kingdom's Keeper ducked under it and used his momentum to take himself into the parallel set ropes, attempting a spinning heel kick as he returned towards Buddy. Buddy evaded it with a simple duck, and struck with a spinning heel kick of his own! Following which, he again shot himself into the ropes, catching Rud's head in a side headlock, looking as if he might go ahead and hit a bulldog faceslam.

Being in the same weight classification as his friend Buddy meant that Rud Albion could more or less lift the Bournemouth Boy off the ground with relative ease. Therefore, the man with the 3-0 record in the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament thus far decided to make use of that little factoid and tossed Buddy up and over his head just when the latter was about to introduce Rud's face to the canvas.

Guess what? Go on, guess. Ah, you spoilsport. Okay, checkit; Buddy landed somewhat nicely on his feet, drawing a lot of surprised gasps from the fans, and quickly slapped on a rear waistlock. Good stuff, eh? Wait, it got better.

Because, before Buddy could go ahead and plant Rud with his intended German Suplex, the Bronze Lion rushed forward and grabbed the ropes, before yanking on those ropes and shoving Saxon off of her. That appeared to have done the trick, but Saxon did a little showing off and recovered nicely, rolling through the shove and springing to his feet like a cat on crack. By this time, however, Rud Albion had launched himself onto the top rope.

And as the flashbulbs went off in the arena, Rud Albion soared through the air in a graceful somersault that was the apotheosis of how all somersaults should be executed. Landing on his feet behind the impressed Buddy Saxon, Rud quickly kicked his friend in the arse and slapped on a rear facelock, a mere second away from executing a reverse DDT.

Yet again, there was a reversal. The Bournemouth Boy twisted his body to the side and shoved Rud into the ropes, which actually only served to give Rud another idea. Buddy found himself in a state of massive danger when Albion leaped onto his shoulders as he bounced off the ropes, getting himself ready to execute what appeared to be a leaping hurricarana takedown. However, out of pure instinct, Buddy Saxon countered.

Into a sit-out powerbomb that had the fans on their feet, cheering their hearts out. What an end to a fantastic exchange.

Already exhausted, Buddy leaned forward and hooked Albion's left leg, making the first cover of the match;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - SHOULDER!

Close call there. Buddy sighed. Story of his life over the past month. Gathering his thoughts, Buddy dragged Rud up to a standing position and swung his right arm at the Bronze Lion, eager to further bank on his current momentum. Albion ducked the swing, however, and retaliated with a stinging overhand chop to the chest, before kicking out at Saxon's left thigh. The Bournemouth Boy yelped, but suddenly found himself in a side headlock, of all things.

Instantly, Buddy staggered back back into the ropes, dragging Rud along with him. Following which, he wrapped his arms around Rud's waist and with a mighty grunt, tossed his former tag team partner out of the ring with a belly-to-back throwaway suplex.

Only one problem; Rud Albion somehow managed to land on the apron. Tricky fella.

Saxon stumbled back towards the middle of the ring, right hand holding his left arm, before he turned around. He knew better than anyone else by now that wasting precious seconds in a match was a big no-no, but the man with a 0-3 record in the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament was nonetheless startled when Rud Albion used the ropes to catapault himself back into the ring. Once again, landing on his feet. All cat-like.

Buddy wasn't THAT impressed, though. Okay, he was, but the Boy didn't want to show it. Anyways, Buddy ducked the resulting clothesline attempt from Rud and waited for the latter to come back off the ropes, scoring with a good ol'-fashioned hiptoss. Albion fought through the pain and forced himself up, and once again, found himself soaring back down courtesy of another hiptoss. Buddy was on a roll, yet The Bronze Lion was adamant to turn the tide.

Third time a charm? Ablion, but it wasn't the case. This time, Buddy tried a little variation; spinning heel kick to the ribs as he did earlier on, followed by a snap suplex with his right arm hooking Rud's head! It was one-way traffic, and the fans were going bananas!

Rolling over, Saxon quickly made the cover and referee Li Mu Bai dropped to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Wayyyy too early to be celebrating, don't you think?

Buddy backed away from Rud and grabbed the ropes to help himself up. The look in Buddy's eyes? A mixture of confusion and anger.

"Saxon's got to keep on doing what he's doing so far in this match if he wants to win!" were the astute words of Renaud Cardinal at the Broadcast Booth, as he kept an eagle eye on proceedings in the ring.

Jimmy Reid, his counterpart, grunted. "Buddy Saxon? Win? When was the last time he won a singles match, for f**k's sake? I can't even remember. Rud Albion was the heart and soul of England's Best, and this is just a minor blip. I'm not Rud's biggest fan, but I'll be damned if he loses to Buddy Saxon tonight! I'll eat my tie if Saxon wins tonight, as a matter of factitude!"

Cardinal attempted to open his mouth to argue, but instead, kept it shut. After all, Rud WAS Cardinal's pick to win the whole blasted tournament. Anyways, back to the action; Saxon had quietly been waiting for The Bronze Lion to pick himself up, and had JUST managed to knock Rud down with a barging shoulder charge. The second Rud pulled himself up again? Why, Buddy used his free left hand to good effect, and blasted away at his opponent's temple. OUCH and a half.

Needless to say, referee Li Mu Bai stepped in to see if a closed fist had been used. It hadn't.

Buddy shrugged, whispered an apology to Rud and then cracked him in the jaw with a vile right hook of doom.

And again.

And again.

And again.

You get the idea by now, I hope.

Rud Albion was reeling, and Buddy Saxon felt a little bit better about venting out his frustrations. Sure, it was at the expense of his best friend, but this was a high stakes match. After a barrage of punches left Rud in a stupor, Saxon changed things up a bit. He grabbed Albion by the shoulder and whipped him into the ropes. Upon his former tag team partner's return, Buddy went ahead and scored with a clothesline. Or at least, that's what SHOULD have happened.

Here's what REALLY happened: despite being majorly banged up, Rud found the where-with-all to slide in between Saxon's legs and OH MY! ROLL-UP PIN OUT OF NOWHERE! The fans were stunned, and referee Li Mu Bai quickly hit the deck;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NEIN!

Ohhhhh, that was so very nearly it. Rud gasped for air as he scrambled back to his feet, a little ticked that his surprise gambit hadn't quite panned out. Buddy, meanwhile, rolled towards the ropes and tried to piece together what happened. He spent just a second too long thinking about things, for Albion had sidekicked him in the shoulder. The result saw Buddy tumble through the ropes and out of the ring.

And just as he landed on the ground, Saxon knew trouble was on the horizon. Hell, he'd already wrestled Rud twice before and tagged with him for over two months. Buddy knew what was coming. Yet, the Bournemouth Boy foolishly stood to his feet and turned around. Big mistake.

DEAD YAMPY from Rud Albion! Move over, Matt Murdock; Albion's a true Daredevil!

"What a topé suicida from The Kingdom's Keeper! This is ACW at its finest!" Renaud Cardinal screamed like a maniac.

Jimmy Reid stood to his feet and laughed. "Bwahahaha, look at Saxon! He's D-E-D!"

Considering how the first match of the night ended, referee Li Mu Bai quickly jumped out of the ring, wanting to restore order as quickly as possible. He gestured to the recovering Albion to take the fight back into the ring, and for his part, the Bronze Lion acknowledged with a simple nod. Buddy Saxon, having just come to, had other ideas. He lashed out at Albion with a kick to the knees, and then rolled backwards to a standing position, determination written all over his face.

What came next? Ah, glad you asked. The Bournemouth Boy hopped onto the Broadcast Table (eliciting strong protests from Jimmy Reid), and half a second later took flight, catching the befuddled Albion with a flying cross body block!

Clearly, both men were going to resort to all the tricks at their disposal to ensure victory. Their first match was a display of burgeoning skills. Their second match was a technical masterpiece. This third encounter? It was turning out to be an all-out war.

Finally, after raising his voice at both competitors, referee Li Mu Bai was happy to see Buddy and Rud crawl back into the ring. The exertions of the last few minutes had taken plenty from both men, but all it took to rouse both Saxon and Albion back to their respective vertical bases was the roar of the fans.

"THIS IS AWE-SOME!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap
"THIS IS AWE-SOME!" clap-clap clap-clap-clap

Rud and Buddy stared at each other. They knew what they'd told each other before the night began. Don't hold back, go for glory.

Both men nodded at each other in understanding, and restarted by circling around one another. Albion certainly had the momentum of weeks gone by on his side, while the Bournemouth Boy was relying on the advice he'd been given plus a call to Lady Luck. And it was Buddy who made the first move, lunging at Rud. The Bronze Lion stepped to the side and spun on his heels, delivering a backward elbow strike to the lower spinal area of his former tag team partner.

From there, Rud quickly capitalised; he reached back, grabbed Saxon's head and SNAP NECKBREAKER! Saxon was down, and quite possibly out. Rud however didn't make the instant cover. He was catching his breath.

And six seconds later, The Brummie Bulldog sent the fans of Copenhagen into ecstacy with a nicely done kip-up. Whoo!

But as Rud turned around and circled his immobile adversary, Buddy Saxon figured it was turned to bust out the kip-up. Only, with a difference; Saxon kipped himself up onto Rud's shoulders and thereafter connected with a hurricarana! All of that took place within the blink of an eye, but every single fan in the arena went apeshit. And rightfully so; Saxon's kip-up hurricarana takedown was a thing of beauty that was replaying for the benefit of the viewers watching at home.

For the fans in the Forum Copenhagen? They watched as Buddy made the cover and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOO~!

Once more, Rud Albion had survived.

Hell, if even Kellen Masters couldn't beat Rud, what chance did Saxon have? Still, the Bournemouth Boy came within an eyelash of victory just there. Not wasting time, Saxon pulled his friend up and connected with a short-range left jab to Albion's right shoulder. That was followed by an elbow strike aimed at Albion's left shoulder. It was evident that Buddy was preparing for something big.

Was it the resulting discus clothesline? Probably not, for Rud telegraphed that and evaded it with a Matrix-like backwards bridge. Oooh, fancy. Saxon blinked, before grimacing his pain as Rud shockingly balanced himself with one hand and struck with a close-ranged roundhouse kick to the side of Buddy's ribs! And once the Kingdom's Keeper planted his two feet firmly down onto the canvas and spun Buddy around?

Trachea choke, swiftly and decisively leading into a fierce STO takedown. Better known as the ONE MAN REVOLUTION!

More cheers from the fans. This was gangbusters. Albion quickly dropped to his knees and covered;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEE - NO NO NO!

Buddy Saxon had just, barely, gotten the shoulder up. On any other night, it would have been three.

In a telling moment, Albion rolled away from Buddy and glared at referee Li Mu Bai. The latter insisted that it wasn't three, and Albion bit down on his lower lip. He could see himself in the semi-finals of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament. The victory was there for the taking. Hell, Rud could taste a third successive win over his friend and former tag team partner.

In that instant, Rud decided that it was time for the killing blow. He stood to his feet and waited for Buddy to do the same. Saxon was having a little trouble breathing properly, considering he just endured a choking STO. Nonetheless, he was determined not to throw in the towel just yet and willed himself up to an upright position.

Bad move. Albion spun him around, kicked him in the gut, and... RED COAT!

Except, y'know, it didn't happen? Whaaaaat? See, Buddy Saxon forced his arms out of Albion's double-underhook grasp and countered with a back body drop. Considering how bloody well both men knew each other, that wasn't all that surprising. Saxon took a few staggering steps forward and massaged his throat, while at the same time biding his time.

And the instant Albion got up to one knee, Saxon charged him from behind. SAXON SLAM! Oh, wait, denied. Albion again slipped out of Buddy's grasp, which thoroughly confused the Bournemouth Boy. Buddy would be even more confused as he turned around, for Rud drove his knee into his ribs and instantly went ahead with a double-underhook lock. Uh oh. Two words: RED COAT!

This time, there was no counter. Just the sound of Buddy's head colliding violently with the canvas.

The Brummie Bulldog turned Buddy over and covered, prompting referee Li Mu Bai to drop to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

... NO EFFIN' WAY.

Buddy's right foot? Was on the bottom rope. Jesus Allah Vishnu, Buddy had SURVIVED!

Rud Albion couldn't believe it when referee Li Mu Bai broke the news to him. Hell, even Jimmy Reid was bamboozled. The fans, while glad that the fantastic match was set to continue, were unable to fathom just how the Bournemouth Boy had the presence of mind to save himself.

Grinding his teeth together, Rud scrambled back to his feet and pulled Saxon up. Perhaps it was time to bust out his straightjacket piledriver of an ultra-finisher. Yes, that would do the trick. It was, after all, what Rud had busted out to beat Buddy Saxon during their first match on COURAGE 105.

However, it would appear that Buddy Saxon had other ideas. One inspired by something a wise man told him: dig deep.

And so, as Rud Albion tightened his grip on the man with whom he fought side by side against a myriad of challengers during their reign as ACW Tag Team Champions, Buddy Saxon made his move. He struck with a vicious forearm smash into Albion's gut and followed that up with a left-handed uppercut to Albion's jaw. Buddy tried not to let on to the fact that his left hand hurt like a mothersomething after the uppercut, and instead proceeded with the rest of his plan.

Which consisted of Buddy launching himself into the ropes, just as Albion re-gathered his bearings and saw Saxon barrelling towards him. The Brummie Bulldog charged ahead, rearing his right arm back for what one could only guess was a clothesline attempt. Buddy, however, took a page out of Rud's playbook and very sneakily slid in between the latter's legs.

Once he popped up behind Rud, who was beginning to piece together what was happening?

"Third time's the charm, mate!" Saxon whispered as he grabbed Albion. The Bronze Lion closed his eyes. It was over.

SAXON SLAM!

The fans were on their feet once more. Cardinal and Reid were watching on in shock.

Buddy Saxon merely leaned back and got an arm across Rud Albion's torso;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

...

I.

Kid.

You.

Not.

Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment blared over the speakers, and the Forum Copenhagen exploded. Half of them were beside themselves, bemoaning Rud Albion's unexpected loss. The other half? They danced for joy at Buddy Saxon's equally unexpected victory. The Bournemouth Boy rolled off of his friend and turned his head, catching Rud regaining his consciousness.

The two friends caught one another's eye, and with a smile, Rud expressed his feeling: "Good job, Boy."

Following which, Albion rolled right out of the ring. While he was very happy for Buddy, the fact remained. He, who had a 3-0 record coming into the quarter-final, had just lost. And it was the Bournemouth Boy who triumphed, finally snapping his streak of losing that had become quite the water-cooler topic over the last three weeks.

At the Broadcast Booth, Renaud Cardinal was amazed. Earlier in the night, he'd predicted Albion to go on and win the entire tournament. Now, he too had to live up to the reality; The Kingdom's Keeper had, just like that, been eliminated from the equation altogether.

True to his word, 'The One' Jimmy Reid begin to consume his expensive tie. Almost immediately, he choked. It was a funny sight. But in the ring, the sight of Buddy Saxon having his arm raised in the air by referee Li Mu Bai? It re-affirmed the shock of the night.

Buddy Saxon had advanced to the semi-finals of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament.

... And again, I kid you not.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Welcome To The Night Life

The camera headed back to ringside after commercials, catching a brief glimpse of the announcers before the camera steadied its gaze on them. Renaud Cardinal is, as ever, the consummate professional, glancing over his printed notes for the evening and making the odd additional notation in pen as he does so. 'The One' Jimmy Reid, on the other hand, looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but here as he stifled a yawn. Both gentlemen’s hands reached up to their earpieces, the messages from the production crew coming in loud and clear. Renaud put down his notes as both men turn their attention to the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been one heck of a night so far,” Cardinal spoke towards the loyal SlySports audience. “Tonight, we’ve seen some great action so far! Already, we’ve seen Buddy Saxon upset his own tag team partner, Rud Albion, and slink right into the KING OF AGES pay-per-view!”

“Pfft,” Jimmy Reid interjected, waving a dismissive hand. He was still sore about what happened, mainly because he had to eat his own tie precisely due to betting against the Bournemouth Boy. “Upsets happen in sports all the time. It was a stupid fluke…”

“--Buddy Saxon came through in the clutch! But to other matters, later, we’ve still got Masters/Sepiroth and Fejona Min defending her Scorpion Fighting Title against Arkady Rasputin, so we’ve still got lots of great action coming up.”

“Clearly, our definitions of ‘great action’ are vastly different,” Reid fired back. Sheesh. He was in a mood tonight.

“Reid, your whole idea of great action involves Playboy and your right…”

But Cardinal didn’t get to finish his jibe before he was interrupted by a blast of music pumping out over the sound system and the lights fading to pitch black. The announcers getting interrupted mid-sentence isn’t exactly a new phenomenon in ACW (hell, in wrestling period); both the announcers and the fans are somewhat used to it. What doeshave everyone in the arena confused is the song playing. Currently pumping out over the PA is “Heaven Scent” by John Digweed.

“What the…?” Cardinal shouted. “I… can’t say I know who’s using that music… nobody on the roster I know…”

“What the deuce?!” Reid cried. “What the hell’s going on up there?!”

Sure enough, both announcers turn their attention to one of the upper levels in the Forum Copenhagen. All eyes of the arena have been drawn to various dancing shades of lights, all swirling in numerous colors.

Reds. Blues. Greens. Purples. Oranges. Yellows.

The colors swaying in tunes to the rather eerie music being pumped out over the sound speakers. The music continued as the lightshow engrossed the audience, the camera now solely focused on what appeared to be six individuals responsible for the visual assault on the eyes. Swirling glowsticks shine brightly amidst the crowd, showing off all kinds of distinct patterns. Figure-eights, circles, and finger rolls mesmerize the fans.

The camera tries to get a closer look at some of the figures dancing about the steps, but only slight silhouettes can be made. The figures range from husky, short, muscular, a tall lean figure, and a young woman. Leading them is one odd figure, now taking themselves out of the festivities.

“What in the hell is going on up there?!” Reid screamed. “What is this garbage?”

“I think that’s… Well, I don’t know…” Cardinal spoke. “Whoever it is… they’ve turned this arena into some kind of… I don’t know… a rave?”

The fans in attendance don’t take too kindly to some sort of impromptu dance party ruining their good time, so they continue to boo, trying to drown out the electronic beats. As five of the six figures continue to wow the audience, another figure, clad in what appeared to be a black leather jacket and a black top hat raises both hands for all to see. He turns around, making sure the camera can catch what appears to be some sort of LED ticker scrolling across his back. With it, it scrolls…

THENIGHTLIFE

“The Night Life?” Cardinal aksed, incredulously. “Who are these people?”

“Weirdoes? Fruitcakes?” Reid fired back, still entranced by the lightshow.

Suddenly, all lights dimmed. The light show faded away. Even the music has stopped. Finally, power has returned to the arena and just like that, all six of the figures have disappeared from sight, leaving a confused and angry crowd.

“What was that?” Cardinal peeked up again at the section of the arena, but to no avail. “Could we be seeing the start of something new in ACW?”

“I dunno, but really…” Reid picked at his ear, trying to stop the electronic beats from ringing his eardrums any further. “What in God’s name was that garbage? My ears have both been raped.”

“That special comment and this disturbance notwithstanding, we’ve still got lots more show for you folks! In fact, I hear we're about to be joined in the ring by a special guest!”

And with that, we rolled on with the show.

Flashbacks and Fuck Bombs

   

FLASHBACK -- SEPTEMBER 19th, 1997

The glass lenses of Koschei’s gas mask stared down at the fallen body of Tyler Murphy, as the black and green haired warrior writhed on the canvas mat of ACW’s Pain & Pleasure supershow. Koschei breathed heavily, knowing he was victorious, and knowing that the Memphis crowd hated that fact… and he clutched onto his United States Championship knowing that he never wanted to let it go.

The face of this Championship… would be faceless.

Dirty Window by Metallica burst through the pipes, as Khristain Keller walked out to the amassed Danish crowd. They jeered the Bastard King of Ages, having not expected him to have come out… they were hoping KSZ or Jade Argent again, hell even Ryan Billows (believe it!) or Jesse Ramey.

With K2 though, they were in for a treat for the ears as much as the eyes. Which meant not much of either, at all.

Keller seemed to be a man possessed, however, as he made his way to the ring. Dressed in his trademark dirty jeans and BASTARD KING black t-shirt… he had a few things to say, and the look in his eyes meant that no one, not Carrion, Hunt or anyone would be stopping him.

JUNE 3rd, 2010 – POST-COURAGE 114

“What do you want Cunt? Your big fucking bodyguard has already tried to bullshit me.” Keller sneered, as he leaned against the stiff cinderblock wall. Jeremy Hunt had walked up to him with a gentle smile pasted on his overall cold demeanor.

“I simply wanted to thank you for bringing back your Koschei persona, Mr. Keller.” Hunt placidly stated, which only made Keller bristle.

“I don’t wanna fucking talk about that.”

Hunt kept pressing though, balling up his fists with a seemingly intense delight.

“This new Carrion facet of the persona is a particularly inspired twist.”

“A lot of you people, the fuckin’ ACW faithful, think I first entered ACW in the lead-up to the first KING OF AGES pay-per-view back in 2003. Few of you really know that I’ve been part of this federation for thirteen fuckin’ years.”

The confusion around the arena was palpable.

“Yeah that’s right, 1997. Thing is, you wouldn’t have recognized me back then. Not just because you Danish fucks have the collective IQ of a sack of dicks either..” The crowd jeered, because damn it, Keller couldn’t help it, “No you wouldn’t recognize me because I had kept my face covered early in my career… it made it easier to do sick shit sure, and as long as I looked intimidating a lot of you jack-asses simply assumed I was evil… so the jeers were easy.

Fuck, I miss the days when being bad was the easiest part of the job.”

Keller sauntered around the ring like he had a lot on his mind, but it was around this time that he was about to fire it into pieces.

“Maybe that’s why I brought it back… the old me…”

He kept them hanging.

“Maybe that's why I brought him back...Koschei.”

A collective fuckoff gasp sucked all the oxygen in Denmark as Keller just dropped a fucking bomb.

“Yeah, that’s right! I AM KOSCHEI THE DEATHLESS!"

Keller climbed the turnbuckle and looked around at all the shocked faces.

"Former United States Champion, ze German fuckin’ war hero… not that you Danish fucks would know anything about war heroes. That was when war meant something to a pack of ACW fans… but bringing Koschei back in Europe… he had to be a whole other animal… he had to be a totally different creature to what he was before.

No doubt you are all asking why? Why did you even need to do it K2? Why? Why? Why?

Simple answer. Money. Cash. Hoes. I was promised the World if I returned as the Deathless... but it seems that like everything in this World. Empty promises are a pain in the ass. For those that remember... I originally went as the term the Deathless.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t keep going as the Deathless, not in that damn stuffy gas mask at least. I’ve picked apart too many dead men..."

Keller replied to Hunt, with an expression of utter disdain. Mostly though, Khristain Keller hated himself though. Hell, it got him by at least. Hunt smiled, and it was this moment that even Keller could see something within this man from SlySports that scared him.

“It’s absolutely horrifying in the right light.” Hunt said, with that smile.

“Yeah, well, so are you my friend." Keller almost spat the words at Hunt, "I guess even you can see the fuckin’ beauty in that?”

“Speaking of seeing the beauty of the bigger picture. That’s why I’m here, Mr. Keller.”

“FIGHT NIGHT? I already said no... I won't change my mind.” Keller had enough of this conversation, and it's direction. Being Koschei again was one thing, but what Hunt wanted at FIGHT NIGHT...

Hunt stopped Keller before he could walk away, sticking his arm out to stop Keller but not touching him, “Then you won’t mind if I borrow your costume?”

Keller's face twisted, almost betrayed. Koschei was his. Even in its Carrion form. To have someone else ask to be in it, was almost like someone wanting to wear his skin.

“Yeah, I do actually.”

“Mr. Keller..." Hunt was suddenly very angry, "If you don’t concentrate on the objective at HAND, then I will be forced to explain what we can do to your daughter…”

Hunt could see that mentioning his daughter, caused even the King Shit of Fuck Mountain to tense up. He hadn't been a model father, but he was more a model father then he was a model citizen. For the Huntsmen to target his personal life... they didn't know who the fuck they were dealing with.

”We know where your daughter is, Mr. Keller,” hissed Jeremy Hunt, “And the Huntsmen aren’t afraid to take her for ourselves. Get us… The Black Title… off The Hero.”

A spot suddenly hit the rafters to reveal the bird man of ACW, microphone in hand looking down at a ring at the man who had just claimed that he was Carrion. Keller didn't look shocked for a minute... but everyone else in the arena did. The vulture nodded his head from the rafters, and growled one simple sentence towards Keller in the ring, “I know where your daughter is.”

Keller and Carrion were locked on each other... they didn't care that everyone else in the WORLD was confused AS fuck.

FLASHBACK -- JUNE 25th , 2010

Khrisitain Keller felt oddly claustrophobic within the clear plastic walls of the high security cell. He couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten put in this position, but he knew he was responsible… and that fucker was standing fifteen feet away on the other side of the cell walls.

As usual Kellen Masters said nothing.

“Don’t talk much, motherfucker?” Keller growled, even in a situation such as this he spouted grade A tough guy language.

“No, but then I suppose you never got a chance to know me in the few weeks we were both apart of ACW.” Masters spoke back, a scowl etched on his face. The order with which he was working with had helped give him a clarity… that kept him from going into the cell and beating Keller to death.

“Didn’t know you… but I knew all about him.” Keller replied, with a twist of a smirk, as he nodded on the blood of Masters’ hands. With eerie precision, Keller knew that the blood belonged to the Original Pulp Hero.

Masters looked at the blood on his hands, and balled his fists, letting the dried blood to flake ever so slightly… before he looked back at Keller.

“We want the Black Title. We want the Carrion mask. In return,” Masters deftly stated, as Keller began to stand, “We will protect your daughter.”

Khristain Keller laughed and shook his head.

Of course he knew where his daughter was, everybody fucking did.

“My daughter? Ain’t that ironic, but here’s the kicker… you can keep her.”

No one knew who they were dealing with, when they dealt with Keller. Cause with Keller, they where dealing with a man who didn't give a shit about the world. Not one bit of it.

A sneer etched across his face, as he threw his microphone to the mat, and slipped from the ring, into the crowd. He still had his King of Ages match to compete in… but first, he was going to join his allies… in Jeremy Hunt, to discuss things.

Crimson Beard

   

Talk about intense. How about a little sideline distraction?

Swell. We pick it up backstage as Vince Jacobs was throwing vicious kicks into the side of a trash can, caving it in on all sides until its human legs collapse beneath it.

“Think you’re pretty tough, eh?” Jacobs snarled. “Can’t light a CANDLE to me, kid.”

The Superstar pulled Jade Argent out of the trash can and used his ragged blood-stained hair as a handle to brutally swing the Australian into a soda machine, spider-cracking the entire glass panel from the sheer impact of Argent’s skull crashing against it.

“THIS is why I should be in the Hall Of Fame, boys!” Jacobs turned to the camera and gave charismatic thumbs up through his bloody grin.

Argent was on his knees, which gave a perfect opportunity for Jacobs to hit the…

STARGAZER~!! STEP-UP KNEE TO THE TEMPLE!!

And if the Australian Opportunist wasn’t out before, he must have been now.

But Jacobs wasn’t done, not by a long shot yet.

Argent could barely walk as Jacobs guided him down the corridor, a row of fans lining each side jeering at the evil SVJ as he flung Argent into the side of another vending machine.

The voiceover from Jimmy Reid was ecstatic, claiming that there was no reason this man should have been kept out of the first round of inductees for the Hall Of Fame let alone be a question as to whether he will be in the 2010 class.

Cardinal, on the other hand, reiterated simply that this was no longer a sanctioned match and somebody should put a stop to it before one or BOTH of the athletes get seriously INJURED.

I think it was too late for that now, with Argent spluttering bubbles of blood from his mouth as the camera came in for a close up of a huge opening on his lower lip. Jimmy Reid remarked that the days of the crimson mask are long gone; Jade Argent was bringing into fashion the crimson BEARD!

SINGLES MATCH - STANDING 15-COUNT SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Orlando Grant vs. 'Vicious' Greg Miles
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

For now, however? It was time for another match.

Ladies and Gentleman, allow me to introduce…

WHEN THE GUNS COME OUT.

…Orlando Grant.

Once his theme blasted amongst the forum, the fans began to jeer. Sheesh. Copenhagen didn't seem to like Orlando one bit. Orlando frowned, thinking more about the sequence of events that led to this moments since the arrival of his nemesis ‘Vicious’ Greg Miles. But tonight, he had high hopes of settling the score in a specially arranged Standing 15-Count fight that existed in the realm of Scorpion Fighting Rules.

And we would soon find out.

But first, as Grant prepared in the ring - ‘Rise Up’ cued in and all eyes were on the entry ramp. And moments later, out stepped VGM…with a baseball bat in one hand, and a smirk displaying on his face.

It was redemption time for the Baytown Badass.

Greg extended the bat and pointed it in Grant’s direction.

“You’re fucked.” he said and Grant sneered as he read his lips.

Miles walked to the ring and cautiously entered it with both eyes on the OG of ACW. Referee Trent Savage stood to the side waiting for Miles to bash Grant over the head with the bat, but instead Greg approached the OG and tossed him the bat followed by…

WHACK!

“OHHHHH SHIT!” Trent Savage applied as he watched the horrid blow to the ball sack.

VGM took the bottom of his boot and kicked Grant relentlessly until his back was to the mat. He hovered over him, pointing, and cursing still pissed off because of what happened the previous week. But once he was done ranting Greg backed up and waited for Grant to recover.

Why?

Because he wanted to.

So after several moments of coughing wildly, Grant slowly used the ropes to pull himself to his feet.

Meanwhile, Greg was seen popping another pain pill.

This match was about to get NAAAAAASTY.

Trent Savage signaled the bell once Grant recovered and the match had officially begun.

Immediately following the bell, both men darted towards the center, and fist began to fly. Grant connected with a right and Miles with a left. It was a back and forth for several seconds and the ACW fans screamed as it unfolded before there very eyes.

Grant blocked a left hook from Miles and quickly grabbed his arm in attempt to whip him across the ring, but Miles reversed it sending a hard clothesline across the OG’s throat. But Grant quickly rolled under the bottom rope avoiding anymore contact for the moment.

Greg roared in the ring.

Orlando paced around waiting for the right opportunity to get back into the ring. Greg motioned and took a few steps back allowing Grant to enter the ring once more.

SUPERKI-NO!

VGM tried delivering a standing sidekick, but Grant dodged it by dropping to the mat and sweeping VGM’s legs out from underneath him. Grant raised his leg and slammed in to the mat in attempt to smash VGM’s face. As Miles rolled away, Grant attempted another, but Miles rolled another time until he found himself standing outside the ring.

Grant roared as the momentum shifted.

Miles found the broadcast booth and ran his hand through the monitors and equipment of sorts causing them to crash in the floor as frustration began to linger in the air.

Orlando stepped through the ropes and VGM met him with a stiff kick.

Grant doubled over and…

VKO!-NO!

The OG of ACW pushed Greg forward avoiding the VKO. Miles turned around.

BOOT TO THE FACE!

VGM smacked the black rubber mat hard and was now seeing two of Grant as he looked up from his back. Grant was stomping on his ribs, his face, and his ribs again. He picked up Miles and whipped him into the steels steps at the corner of the ring.

CRASH!

The steps separated into three separate pieces and VGM grunted, luckily for him the pain pills removed the pain from the equation, and he was able to make it to one knee where Grant would meet him with a clinched fist before picking him up and rolling him into the ring.

As soon as Grant followed in behind him, VGM was quick to recover, and speared him into the corner turnbuckle. Grant fell through the ropes and tumbled outside the ring where he found himself for the third time in this match tonight.

Greg climbed the turnbuckle and without an ounce of fear he dove off and connected with a body splash. Miles rolled off of Grant holding his ribcage as Grant did the same from his back. Both men were down and referee Trent Savage decided to make the 15 count, at risk of having neither man answer.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

Both men fought to regain some strength as Trent continued to count.

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

Grant made it to one knee using the ring apron as leverage.

11...

12...

VGM grabbed a hold of the security barricade, trying to lift himself.

13...

14...

And finally both man stood up in unison. They turned to face each other with sweat falling from there face.

Grant charged at VGM.

VGM dunked, sending Grant over the rail and into the front row of the audience. Using one hand to help elevated over the barricade, Miles leaped into the air and sent an elbow across Grant’s chin busting it open and drawing first blood. Miles picked him up and sent another elbow to the chin causing more blood to spill and splash on a few fans nearby.

As all this unfolded, referee Trent Savage watched from a corner turnbuckle wondering what he was going to do after the show. As TS debated, Miles picked up a steel chair, and whacked it over Grant’s head.

He dropped the chair because suddenly he became dizzy.

So VGM walked over and placed a hand on the guard rail while Grant regained a portion of his strength back. Grant was now getting to his feet and Miles could barely see.

The concussion was getting the best of him.

Grant looked over at Miles and took the opportunity to dash at him, spearing him over the guard rail. Both men fell near the ring.

Grant stood back up and helped Miles to his feet.

He tossed him into the ring.

Greg was on his hands and knees trying to regain some eyesight, but Grant was quick to attack. He mounted Miles and unleashed some heavy blows. VGM had a strong chin, even with him in a daze, Grant was not able to knock him out.

VGM spat out a large quantity of blood as Grant stood up. He looked to his right and noticed the bat sitting alone in the corner - the bat ‘Vicious’ Greg Miles brought to the ring at the start of the match.

He walked over and picked it up.

He twisted his hands on the handle and tightened his grip.

And he waited.

Miles slowly stood up.

WHACK!

And just like the previous week, VGM crashed to the mat with blood spilling from the gash on his head. This time, he was going to need more stitches and it was quite possible it would be a long, long time before he would ever see the ACW ring again.

Trent Savage made the 15 count; after which, the medical staff quickly rushed to the ring to attend VGM as he laid lifeless in the center of the ring.

Grant left the ring, back peddling up the ramp as he witness the possible demise of a young man’s career.

C O M M E R C I A L S

conversations in a random hallway

   

Baaaack from commercials. Yay!

As the Scorpion Fighting Champion, Fejona Min knew she was a marked woman.

Oh, sure. The facade she portrayed was one of confidence. She came off to many as a no-nonense woman, who would do anything to live up to her threats. And although her rants and verbal threats were not as menacing as they should be, Fejona more often than not backed it up through her ruthless and brutal execution. This was, after all, the woman that stabbed Omega in the eye with a PENCIL just because she thought it'd help her beat him.

The Rogue Slayer -- walking down a random hallway with her title belt tightly fastened around her slender waist -- was also a woman that had a lot of external resources at her disposal. So there was always the sense that no matter what, Fejona Min was a woman who who was not to be trifled with. She would either make you pay through the nose on her own volition or she'd utilise her vast connections to weaken you up. And on this warm August night in Copenhagen, Fejona was contemplating something.

"I wish I could kick Jeremy Hunt in the balls and punch out every single one of his teeth."

Ahhh, yes. Fejona's relationship with the man from SlySports had taken a recent dive, what with the introduction of the Black Title and Min's feeling that it was overshadowing everything she was doing with the Scorpion Fighting Title.

Grumbling silently to herself, Fejona spotted a bench out of the corner of her eye and detoured towards the bench. As she sat herself down, the Femme Fatale thought about her upcoming fight with Arkady, the so-called Russian Wolf. She didn't think much of Arkady. Of course, considering she beat the returning Mark Weiler the week before (and thereby banished him for good), Fejona was in a confident mood.

Leaning backwards and resting the back of her head against the wall, Fejona decided to close her eyes and rest for a little while. Alas, mere moments later, the sounds of footsteps jarred her eyes wide open. Paranoid, much? Well, sure.

"Hi, Fejona!" chimed her visitor.

Min couldn't help but smile bashfully. "My, my. If it isn't the man of the hour."

Z placed his hands on his hips and beamed. He was a sucker for cheap flattery. Whore.

... Ahem. So, yeah, the Rogue Slayer crossed her legs and looked up at Z. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Z? From what I hear, you're an extremely busy with more than a dozen plans in play. And I'm pretty certain you also have a vested interest in how the quarter-final matches for the King Of Ages Tournament pan out."

"Ahhh, yes!" Z responded as he swaggered over to where Fejona was. "Truth be told, the most important quarter-final fixture has already come and gone. So I'm good on that front. As far as my hectic schedule go, you're not wrong there.

However, I'm never too busy to have a few cold ones. Which is why I'd like to propose that the two of us should go out for a drink after the show. I do, after all, have some interesting topics I'd like to run past you. Although, to be honest, I'd just be happy to have the pleasure of your company while I ingest huge amounts of either vodka or bourbon. I'm still undecided on that."

Fejona watched as Z took a seat on the bench next to her. Still smiling, Fejona leaned forward, looking deep into the eyes of the Masked Enigma. Z grinned. This was turning out far better than he expected. ACW's Original Femme Fatale was notoriously choosy with who she chose to speak to.

Tucking strands of her ethereal hair behind her ears, Fejona had a suitable response for Z. "A drink, huh? Sounds good.

... You do realise I'm one of the select few people who knows who you really are, right?"

What the what? Z clasped his hands together, considering Fejona's response.

"I'm well aware of that, my dear!" The Caped Crusader fired back, smug as ever. "Which is why I think it's high time the two of us get together. Just a drink. No funny nonsense. If you want a late dinner to go with the drink, I'm game. We can talk about how horrid that Black Title is, crack wise about just how bloody awful Khristain Keller is -- and then, I can share with you my plans. There'll be an invitation for the cabal somewhere in there, too."

ACW's Original Femme Fatale smacked her lips together. Z intrigued her. A lot.

And with how Z was looking at her, with puppy dog eyes, there was only one answer in her head.

"Sounds like a plan. Okay, I'm down for a drink." Min stated, batting her eyelashes in a flirtly manner. That made Z laugh.

The Dastardly Mastermind had to admit it; Fejona had been in sights for a long time. "Absolutely lovely. I'll text you later with the details. And trust me, you'll flip out when you hear what I have to offer you. In fact, I think you might just hit me for not approaching you much earlier."

With a wink and a wave, Z bade Fejona goodbye. Min bowed her head and watched as the Masked Enigma sauntered down the hallway. No doubt, up to more misdeed and mayhem. Z had built his reputation on being a master of tomfoolery after all, Fejona noted to herself.

Min also noted, once Z was out of sight, that she was still not alone. There was somebody else in the vicinity.

A creep who had been there for the better part of the last few minutes. Fejona frowned.

"You can come out now!" Fejona ordered, turning her head to the direction from which she originated. "If you run, I WILL catch you. And if I catch you, I WILL beat you to a bloody pulp. And believe you me, I'm jonesing to break some bones tonight!"

Silence. Fejona sighed and rose to her feet. This was a most unfortunate development.

... But just as she cracked her knuckles, the figure that had been hiding in the shadows stepped out. He wasn't stupid enough not to believe Fejona's threats, and gave in.

"S-Sorry! I didn't mean to be overhear everything you and Z talked about!" were the protests of referee Trent Savage. And he sure looked nervous. Actually, he looked as if he might wet his pants.

Fejona sighed again as she glared at Savage. "You sneaky little f**k. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Savage put his hands behind his back and looked down at his feet. He felt like a child, being scolded by his teacher. Beads of sweat began to roll down the side of his forehead, especially since the Rogue Slayer took two steps towards him.

Yet, for some reason, Trent couldn't help himself and just had to open his big mouth. "I'm sorry! I happened to wander past just as I heard you say you knew who Z was, and that caught my ear... so I stayed, thinking maybe one of you would reveal his identity! It's a bit of a mystery to all of us, and I... ah, I just couldn't pass up the chance to stick around and find out if it'd amount to something."

Oh boy. Trent Savage. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?

Fejona shook her head in mock disappointment. She could certainly understand Trent's motivation, but still. She considered Savage's actions a brazen violation of her personal space. Either that, or she just wanted to beat up somebody before her fight with Arkady. It would help unleash her frustrations regarding Jeremy Hunt and the Black Title. Mmm, yeah.

Folding her arms across her nicely-stacked chest (*koff*), Fejona surveyed the wrinkles on Trent's face. She looked at his head of hair, and noticed several white strands. She noticed his quivering lips. Fejona even spotted Trent's right foot nervously tapping against the floor. It was clear that Trent was very afraid at the moment.

And thus, Min decided to do Trent a favour. "Two names. Consider them properly:

Alias. Trevor Wilson."

"W-What?" Trent asked, dumbfounded. The insides of his mouth went dry. "What are you talking about?"

Fejona giggled. "You were extremely curious about Z's true identity, were you not? So I'm giving you two names to consider. Alias. Trevor Wilson. Think about whether you've ever seen Z and Alias in the same place at the same time. Hmmm? The same can be applied to Z and Wilson.

That's all I'm going to say. I'm such a kind-hearted person, aren't I? Not only am I letting you go scot-free for being an eavesdropper, but I'm breaking all the rules and giving you two massive clues as to the true identity of Z.

You're welcome, by the way."

The Rogue Slayer took several steps back with her eyes still fixed on Trent Savage, before she turned around and went on her way. All the while smiling thinly to herself, pleased with what she'd done.

And what of young Trent Savage? His mind was thoroughly blown.

Now, Trent had to process the information. Z was either Alias or Trevor Wilson? Could Fejona be trusted?

... The mystery deepens.

SINGLES MATCH - STANDARD RULES
Carrachio Salfuego vs. Chris Storm
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

'En Ontro Mundo' by Hombres G greeted the fans over the speakers, and out came Carrachio Salfuego. His European brothers have him a mild cheer, something noticeably larger ever since he stood up to Ryan Billows. He made sure to slap hands with the fans, saluting them for their warm reception. Approaching the ring area, the Spanish Boy launched himself into a full sprint and ran around the ring once before sliding in and raising his left arm up to acknowledge the crowd. Carrachio jogged on the spot, signaling for a microphone with a determined look on his face.

If he was going to say anything, however, it was going to have to wait. “Broken” by Seether kicked in and out came Storm. The man who was supposed to only have a one day contract last week was back again. Adjusting his protective mask, the Rock Superstar made his way down toward the ring. Despite being new, the crowd showed they had no love for his actions last week. Chris ignored them and kept his focus on the ring and his opponent for the night.

As Chris Storm climbed onto the apron and threw back his hoodie, Carrachio signaled for the music to be cut off and brought the microphone up to his lips. “You” he said as he pointed to Storm, causing the Last Great Technical Wrestler to stop on the apron. “What you did last week was wrong.”

While Chris Storm may have been rolling his eyes as he stepped through the ropes, the crowd was cheering for what was said. “I may not have beaten Senor Billows last week, but I proved that I will not allow such underhanded means from the likes of him.” His attention then turned directly to Storm, “and from you.”

Carrachio turned to give the microphone back to the ring hand, only for Storm to once again blindside his opponent to start the match. Nailing a forearm smash to the back of the neck, Chris had Salfuego against the ropes. Wrapping both arms around the waist, Chris looked for his devastating German Suplex. Instead Salfuego had enough sense about him to cling to the top rope and deny Storm any suplex.

A back elbow, followed by another, and then a third had Storm reeling as his grip loosened. With enough room now, Carrachio nailed a back kick that freed him from his opponent. Right there in the ropes, he springboards off the middle and came at Storm with a Twisting Body Press. Crashing to the mat, the Spanish Boy had him in an early pin.

Mark Shields groaned, taking his time with a count.

1…

The crowd booed as Chris Storm was easily able to kick out before even two thanks to the slow count. Shields didn’t care and just lit himself a cigarette.

Carrachio got back to his feet, but right behind him was Chris. Throwing a left, Carrachio caught nothing but air. Storm stepped behind him, grabbing around the waist, and lifted for a Belly to Back Suplex. Floating over, he kept his grip and followed up with an Olympic Toss that sent Carrachio to the opposite side of the ring.

The crowd groaned, watching as the Spanish Boy flopped over from his back onto his stomach in pain. Chris picked himself up and walked over to his opponent, peeling him off the mat. Slapping on a Side Headlock, Chris worked over his opponent, getting Carrachio to the center of the ring. Whipping him into the turnbuckle, Chris came in with an Avalanche Splash, but went away with only a face full of turnbuckle. At the last moment Salfuego ducked out of the way, leaving Chris to find nothing but air. Once Chris stumbled out of the turnbuckle, Carrachio hopped right into it and came flying back out with a beautiful Dropkick that caught Storm square in the chest. Flipping him over he quickly made another cover.

1…

2…

KICK OUT!

That one was too close for Storm’s comfort. The Rock Superstar scrambled back to his feet only to be met by a quick Clothesline. Rolling through, he again got up to a vertical base, but had Carrachio on him with Knife Edge Chops.

POP!

POP!

POP!

The crowd roared with each one, until Salfuego finally missed. Timing them just right, Chris ducked under the arm and came up behind him. Locking arms, he wasted no time. He arced back and let the Spanish Boy fly.

GERMAN SUPLEX!

It was the best in the business. No one did it better. No one made it hurt more.

But tonight, it missed.

Chris waited for the thud. For the bone crushing sound to echo through the arena. He wanted to hear the fans gasp at the sickening sound. Nothing.

“What a backflip!” Cardinal cried out, admiring the way Carrachio had used his grace and skill to counter.

Even Reid had to agree, “if he doesn’t avoid that, it’s over for him.”

Chris Storm turned around right into a Spinning Heel Kick. It nearly turned him out of his boots, dropping the Rock Superstar to the canvas. Carrachio dashed for the turnbuckle, grabbing the top rope and lifting himself into the air. His body soared, twisting as it came down on top of Storm with a thing of beauty.

PHOENIX SPLASH!

The crowd came to their feet. They were cheering, loudly rooting for their fellow European. He hooked the leg, causing Shields to have to change hands with the cigarette so he could count.

1…

2…

KICK OUT!

Back up, Carrachio looked at Shields, who merely resumed his cigarette and fumed over the count. The fans seemed to agree with him, getting louder at the referee. Pointing his finger angrily at Shields, Salfuego proclaimed “you bad referee!”

“You turn around!” Shields mockingly stated, causing Carrachio to do as commanded.

WHACK!

It’s the protective mask coming into play again. Chris reared his head back and unloaded a big headbutt right to the bridge of his nose. Carrachio stumbled back, his senses knocked from him, and when his back was exposed Chris pounced.

Arms tight around the waist. Lifting from the knees. Arcing back on the balls of the feet. A high and beautiful delivery. A bone-crushing impact. Chris Storm’s favorite move.

GERMAN SUPLEX!

Scooping his lifeless body off the canvas, Chris hoisted him up onto his shoulder and slid him into position for the Tombstone Piledriver. The Rock Superstar paused, allowing all of Denmark to see his captured prey so helplessly. Then he dropped to his knees, driving the top of Salfuego’s head into the mat without any mercy or remorse.

Mark Shields had enough time to finish the last of his cigarette before Chris bothered to go for the pin. The Bastard Referee of ACW slid into place as Storm set one foot on top of his fallen opponent’s chest.

1…

2…

3!

Chris Storm raised his own arm in victory, the crowd booing him all the while. “Broken” by Seether hit for the second time and the Rock Superstar made his exit with his second ACW victory in tow. They weren’t the most honest, but they were still two W’s in the right column.

Hunting A Lion

   

“You had a heck of a match out there tonight.”

These were the oddly comforting words of Jeremy Hunt, a man who seemingly always had an angle to play. The man from SlySports' current angle? Making sure he still had the former numer three seed, who also co-owned the best King Of Ages record in unique Matchplay phase with the World Champion, in the eye line of SlySports.

“I lost.” Rud Albion, the Bronze Lion intoned back towards Hunt. England’s Own didn’t look up at Hunt, but instead rubbed his hands together as he looked at the floor. At the start of the night, whispers could even be heard that he could win King Of Ages… but now?

“You still finished 3-0.”

“I appreciate the optimistic point of view Mr. Hunt, but I still lost.” Albion was quick to reply as he finally looked up. He rarely let match results get to him, knowing that there was always something to learn from a win OR a loss, but after tasting gold as a Tag Team Champion during the toughest six show run in ACW history, before making his unprecedented run during King Of Ages… Albion had expected more in a match he knew all too well.

Though in the end, not quite well enough.

“Do you think you still need to prove yourself to SlySports then?” Hunt asked Albion, as he let himself into the Brummie Bulldog’s locker room, “Because your interest in our part of ACW has been greatly appreciated.”

Albion nodded, Hunt made a good point.

“I should still prove myself, yes…”

“You could always retaliate against Saxon.” Hunt said with a shrug.

“Meaning?”

Hunt paused, and in those lack of words, Albion saw what he meant. The Gentlemen Grappler could only shake his head. “Heavens no. That is not my way, and even if it was… Buddy Saxon and his career is very important to me. I should have rather won against him, but if I was to lose to anyone… to lose to him… well, it almost made me proud of what he was able to accomplish.”

Hunt frowned.

“You really do need to prove yourself still, I didn’t realize you were so soft.”

It was now Albion’s turn to not only frown, but scowl. He was a proud, honest man, but he was still the Bronze Lion.

“It’s not being soft… it’s being loyal.”

“Like Saxon is to Z.” Hunt nodded, knowingly. Oooh snap.

“Excuse me?” Albion was surprised, and almost hurt.

“You know what I mean, Mr. Albion.” The business-like Englishman intoned with deadly seriousness, “And I also believe that you trust in Z’s intentions just as much as I do. With his cabal strengthening… to have you on the side of the new and improved Huntsmen would make me more comfortable.”

Albion looked at the enterprising Hunt, scanning the details of the bald-headed manipulator to ascertain just how much he could trust him…

“I’d still like to prove myself to SlySports. At the pay-per-view. I can't simply be given a spot.”

Hunt nodded, with a smile, “That can be arranged.”

An Unquiet Grave

Want a little buzz? Make a little noise,.

Want a gigantic fucking pop?

A LOT OF NOISE. For instance--

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

And here she came--

YEAH!
(yeah! yeah!)
You come tagging along...

And here HE came, and the ACW World Championship with him, and the crowd went gorilla crap for the resident Power Couple of ACW, the Zimmermans. Keith was nattily clad in a pair of Adidas pants and a Greendale Community College shirt whilst Allison had on a pair of jeans and a black and red shirt proudly proclaiming My Marxist Feminist Dialogue Brings All The Boys To The Yard.

As they took their spots in the center of the ring, it was all smiles as pyro came out of the turnbuckles at the same time that pyro fell down from the overhead rig. To the victors belong the spoils, and as Allison handed off the mic to Keith, you could see it from space: they ruled the roost. Keith let a smile loose as the KAY ESS ZEE chant that'd gone up in ACW for months and months was loud and proud even in Europe.

"Now I know things look off to you a bit, perhaps." started Keith. No, I don't know where he's going with this either. "You're like 'Keith! Nice Chuck Taylors! Hey, champ! Way to get the hot woman! KSZ! Nice shirt!' And so on and so forth. 'But you ain't in gear! What's going on?' Well, people, let me tell you the W to this TF: I've been rolling through the KOA tournament. Ramey shows up -- Ramey goes down. Keller comes forth -- Keller bites the dust. Z tries to get over on me..."

Zimmerman shrugged, shook his head, and let an evil grin spread on his face before bringing it up to the camera.

"And Z hits my music. So with that clean sweep out of the way, I'm in the semi-final of the tournament!"

And a mighty roar went up from the crowd.

"Two matches away from having ACW in the palm of my hand. I mean, not that I don't already," he smiled, holding up the World Title for a cheap pop. He handed it off to Allison, where it would glisten on her shoulder. "But that brings up an interesting question--you gotta figure, for most people who would win King Of Ages, their wish would be clear--give me a shot at the only World Title that matters." Keith looked at it again, specificially the nameplate --the last one -- his name. "I mean, unless you want to go to Philadelphia and rehash an angle (whaaat?) from five years ago, or go to New York and recreate an angle (whaaat?) from thirteen years ago, or Orlando and recreate an angle (whaaat?) from eighteen years ago? Sixteen? Is Orlando still even in business?"

Everybody laughed at this.

Even you.

"The point of the matter is, I've got the Rolls-Royce of World Titles. So what would I wish if--ah ah ah ah ah! -- what am I going to do with my wish WHEN I win King Of Ages?"

Zimmerman cracked his knuckles. "Since you asked so politely, I'll tell you. When I stand on the stage, scepter in one hand, World Championship in the other--"

The crowd was riveted. Keith looked around at the audience hanging on to every word, every man, woman, child, familiar looking neon yellow..

....and black...

...with a splash of red by the eyes mask-wearing...

The microphone fell from Keith's hands, and he stared out in the crowd, where the buzz was growing. Allison went up to Keith to ask WTF was happening, but when she saw where his eyes were going she almost dropped the title on the mat.

One man.

One very familiar man.

Seven letters.

Keith snarled, and dove out of the ring, Allison cinching up the title before following her husband out into the crowd. The masked man proceeded to flee from about the aisleway of the 10th row where he'd gotten everybody's attention, and ran for the exits.

Like that was going to stop them.

"C'MON, MOTHERFUCKER!" yelled Zimmerman over the broadcast, a familiar looking red-splattered black shirt with a big fat f in a circle indicating the masked man's retreat. The run went through the backstage, the masked man running briskly down the hallways a few seconds ahead of Team Zimmerman.

But that few seconds was enough; he opened a side door, jumped into a limo, and it sped away into the darkness.

From the loading dock, all the Zimmermans got to see were headlights. The snarl remained on Keith's face, and now he was breathing heavily from his unexpected jog. Allison looked fearful and irate all at once, her free hand instinctively reaching for her neck, sweating even in this cold area.

She'd been 5'6" once.

But that was last year.

She was 5'4" now.

Thanks to that man.

Keith spat out onto the ground, having completely forgotten about the promo he'd been cutting in the ring. In a small way, he'd been waiting for that moment all year. His New Year's Eve came rushing back in a flood of shame and powerless outrage. But that was then and there, and this was here and now. For this interloper to come back now meant KEITH held all the cards. Not his former mento--too light a term.

Not his former HERO.

The Zimmerman's evil glare and pointed eyebrows at the empty lot meant they had snapped into Defcon 1 at light speed, and he held his wife close to him as physics would allow with his left hand while pointing at the darkness with his right.

"This WILL BE your last farewell ride," whispered Zimmerman. And at this point, a crookeyed...MILESwide smile crossed the ACW World Champion's face.

"Because I'm going to BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK...

...

...

...

...

....

.

killjoy."

C O M M E R C I A L S

better late than never

   

Whew. Back from commercials.

Guess what? COURAGE backdrop. Blonde hair. Massive knockers. Oh yeah, admit it.

"Hiiiiiii, everybody!"

You've missed Jenna McMullen. I know I have. Hell, Jenna misses her. Then again, she's a ditzy quasi-slut. But anyways, ahem, yes. Jenna McMullen, not seen in a while, was seen waving at the camera. Some fans cheered, the others groaned. With all the shocking madness of the night thus far, they wanted to see MORE. More of KSZ chasing a ghost from his past. More of Argent and Jacobs brawling. More of Jeremy Hunt masturbating. Wait, that ain't right.

"It's good to be back. I know a whole bunch of you missed me terribly!" Jenna swooned, with one hand on her hip. Hello, nipples. You're out tonight, right on schedule. "Okay, so, I fell sick for a while, but I'm all better now and ready to bring you more juicy goodness! But hey, what about the night we've had so far, huh? In-sane in the mem-brane!

We've had Buddy Saxon beat Rud Albion in what's considered to be a massive shock. We've also had Vince Jacobs and Jade Argent throwing their chance at progression in the King Of Ages tournament away, and they seem to be brawling all over the arena. I'm not sure what the decision is on the result of that match; do they both qualify for the semi-final or not? Rest assured, I'll bring the news to you once I hear from SilverHAWK.

However, I'm here right now because I have a quick interview lined up with a certain somebody regarding a certain match at the upcoming KING OF AGES pay-per-view. Unfortunately, it seems as if this person... is... running late. Hmph."

Jenna frowned as she turned to her right, awaiting her guest. This was awkward.

With a sigh, Jenna turned to her left. Still nothing. There was audible jeering from the fans that were watching on the SlyTron. This was turning out to be boring.

Until, suddenly, Jenna turned back to the camera and snapped her fingers. "OH! I know! To pass the time before my guest joins me, I'll tell you all about something rather amazing. Duh, I should have started with this first. I can be really bimbotic at times. Maybe if I colour my hair red? Oh, then Paige Allen would be mad at me. Hmmm."

Instead of following up on her INITITAL train of thought, Jenna was now thinking about possible hair colour.

Christ, save us now.

"Whoops, sorry! Lost track of time there for a moment." Jenna suddenly came to, blushing slightly. Sheesh. "Okay, so, earlier tonight... way before COURAGE 120 began, the fans in the Forum Copenhagen actually had some wrestling action to whet their appetities. That's right; the return of the IN THE DARK match-ups! Yay! First of which saw Kati -- she with the green hair which SO wouldn't look good on me -- take on 'Brash' Betsy Lienhard from the All-Star Academy. Kati won after a very action-packed match, which saw Jack Harris come down to the ring and watch creepily. I don't know whether it's a cabal thing or something else rather disgusting, but yeah.

Anyways, after that, Iceman -- who was making his first appearance after getting owned by Sven Avsbern weeks ago -- took on a hometown boy by the name of Shenkar Rasmussen. Shenkar's one handsome young man from right here in Copenhagen, but Iceman was just too good for him. Pity. After the match, Iceman screamed at the fans in the front row and somebody dumped beer all over his head. That was hi-laaaarious. The last match was some Japanese guy from the All-Star Academy named MIS taking on 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao and surprisingly winning. I put two dollars on Zhang Tao to win. Darn it.

So, yes. There's your quick IN THE DARK update for the evening. Awesome stuff, right?

... And hey! Just the perfect timing; my guest is here! Whooooooooo!"

Finally. The camera panned to the right, in time to catch John Sarsgaard coming into frame. He was smiling sheepishly, obviously due to the fact that he was late. Nonetheless, the fans cheered big time for the man that was considered ACW's first true homegrown All-Star in a long time.

And man, was he looking dapper. That was part of his persona now, since he was rich (bitch!). "Ah, Jenna. Lovely to see you again. Accept my apologies, I had an important phone call that ran a bit long and lost complete track of time. I'm here now, though. Better late than never.

Shall we get this inteview underway, then?"

"Absolutely!" Jenna shrieked. Partly because of how hot Sarsgaard looked. He cleaned up nice. "Trouble is, John, I have A LOT of questions to ask you, and because of your tardiness which I will forgive if you buy me dinner afterwards, we don't have that much time left for the interview. What do you suggest we do now, Mr. I-Have-Four-Point-Three-Million-Dollars?"

Cheeky smile and a half from Jenna, which drew a chuckle outta Sarsgaard. He knew the score.

Sarsgaard also had a solution to Jenna's tricky situation. "Hmmm. Dinner is defintely doable. Oh, and let's do this interview lightning-round style. You spit out the questions, I fire back with the answers. It'll be like a gameshow. Sound good?"

Jenna cocked her head sideways and thought about it for a moment. That indeed sounded fantastic. So, she nodded enthusiastically at John, who turned to the camera and flashed a grin. More cheers. The man's charisma had increased tenfold ever since he first stepped into ACW nearly a year ago, and he was pretty damn charismatic to begin with.

At any rate, with an agreement having been reached, it was time for the interview to begin.

She who had huge honkers cleared her throat, while Sarsgaard folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, then, John. First question; do you know who exactly attacked you at COURAGE 118 before your scheduled tag team match with Midnight Cowboy against Kati and Malk Al-Haq?"

"Good question. The answer?" John speedily responded. "I unfortunately didn't see who my attackers were. They could have been Malk and Kati, but something tells me it wasn't them, that it was somebody else. Who? Like I said, I didn't get a good look; I was jumped from behind. The coward's position."

Jenna nodded. So far, so good. "Sweet. I mean, errr, sucky. Next question; have you fully recovered? Are you good to go?"

"My right shoulder's banged up pretty badly. Doctors say it'll take some time to fully heal properly, but I'm hunky dory other than that. I just have to take care of my right shoulder, which in ACW is much easier said than done!" John fired back, winking at Jenna as he did so.

In return, Jenna simply giggled. What a cheap, dirty flirt. "Which brings me to my third question. You have a match tonight against Ryan Billows, despite your self-admitted injured right shoulder. Why are you taking part in this match, and why is it you against Billows when everybody expected based on their confrontation last week that it'd be Midnight Cowboy versus Ryan Billows?"

"That's technically two questions, Jenna... but I'll allow it!" the Hands Of Steel clarified, making McMullen giggle a bit more.

John shook his head playfully. Jenna was cracking him up. "I agreed to the match tonight with the so-called Risen Lion because I thought it'd be a good warm-up for the pay-per-view. Billows has been running his mouth ever since he came to ACW, and it's about time somebody shut his trap up. You know how I feel about loudmouths, Jenna. As for why it's not Cowboy and Billows going at it? You'll have to ask the powers that be.

Personally? I'm glad. I want Cowboy to be in the best of shape for the pay-per-view. I'm sure he would have LOVED the opportunity to kick Ryan's teeth down his throat, but it was not to be. That's okay; I can take care of that. Cowboy already had his hands full with Malk Al-Haq last week and deserves to rest. I'm sure he'll be watching me take on Billows, though. I hope he takes notes, heh."

Oooh. Strong words from the Hands Of Steel, who merely shrugged at the camera. Jenna nodded. This was awesome stuff.

"And finally, since you brought it up, the big topic at hand: in two weeks, you and Midnight Cowboy will do battle for the Spirit Of ACW Championship. Are you ready? Do you think Cowboy is ready? What can we expect to see from you at the KING OF AGES 2010 pay-per-view?" Jenna queried cautiously, seeing how this was a loaded gun of a topic.

Sarsgaard's grin grew wider. It looked like it was permanently sewn on to his face. "Look, I've said it before. Cowboy and I have a mutual respect and understanding. Hell, he checked up on me after getting whooped by Malk and Kati on COURAGE 118. Told me to rest up and get back in fightin' shape soon. He understands that my chance at his Spirit Of ACW is the biggest thing that I've ever experienced. By the same token, I know that he's taking this very seriously.

Cowboy has been a spectacular Spirit Of ACW Champion. And the two of us? We have a blossoming friendship. We also respect each other too much to be naive to the facts; at the pay-per-view, both of us will give it every single drop of blood and sweat to ensure not only the best match that we can possibly deliver, but that there will be a conclusive winner and the winner wins in style.

If that's me? Great. If that's him, great. This is a story about two men who will be completely professional about their impending showdown. It'll truly be a case of 'may the best man wins'. And while it's easy to talk trash and say that'll be me, I don't know for sure.

... Alls I know? I will fight to the very death for my right to be the Spirit Of ACW!"

An explosion of cheers from the fans watching on the SlyTron summed it all up. John Sarsgaard was a man on a mission, but he was also ever the pragmatic sportsman. And that made him more endearing than humanly possible. Jenna was at a loss of words; what a scoop, what an interview. Her panties were wet. I'm just guessing.

"Incredible! John Sarsgaard, ladies and gentlemen!" Jenna gushed, using that as her closing for the interview.

The Hands Of Steel chuckled, did a little shadow-boxing for the cheap pop, and nodded at the camera. Tonight, he'd get the band warmed up against Ryan Billows.

In two weeks? A showdown with the one known as Midnight Cowboy. Wiiiiicked.

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - QUARTER-FINAL 3
Kellen 'Machine' Masters vs. Sepiroth Du Luc
REFEREE: LEON HURST

   

And now, back to ringside.

Kellen Masters walked down to ringside, taping his wrists as he did. It wasn’t that the timing of the match surprised him, he just liked that feeling of fresh white tape on his knuckles just seconds before he dirtied them up. Reaching the ring, he looked to the side, and with the first real glimmer of a smile that had been seen on his face in the last few weeks since his return… he tossed the tape into the crowd.

Sepiroth Du Luc bounced off the ropes readying himself for the match about to take place as Masters locked his eyes on SDL, a man he had not done battled with, ever. A man who had seemingly disappeared from wrestling before Kellen had even begun to train professionally, SDL was confident that he would be riding this momentum over Buddy Saxson last week over the King of Submissions this week. Masters then slid in the ring and the bell sounded as Leon Hurst took a good position on the inside of the ring.

Sepiroth Du Luc charged Masters but Masters did another roll to get out of the way of a big boot stomp by SDL. Masters was quick to his feet and Sepiroth Du Luc turned around, Masters went with a quick dropkick but SDL swatted it away.

MASTERS UP~!

SHORT ARM CLOTHESLINE~!

MASTERS DOWN~!

SDL was sure to kick it in the A, to make it to the Semi-Finals at King of Ages.

Masters got up quickly and SDL went for a lock up but Kellen ducked out of the way of it and SDL turned around to catch a right to his face. SDL then swung a hard left but it came up empty as Masters bounced around the ring ducking his every punch. SDL ran and swung and ran and swung numerous times as Masters just dodged and laughed maniacally doing so.

SDL went for a lock up and Masters ducked under it and then grabbed a hold of SDL and took him down with a Russian leg sweep. SDL got up quickly and Masters then grounded him with a headlock take over to the mat. Kellen Masters stood up and then SMIIZACK~! landed a thrust kick to the back of Sepiroth Du Luc.

Masters then yanked SDL up and SDL then gouged Kellen in the eyes making him stumble back. SDL then grabbed Masters quickly and snap suplexed him to the mat as the Copenhagen fans ooo’ed at the sound of the smack on the ring canvas. SDL walked over Masters and yelled down at him. “KING of Submissions eh? Young punk ass, you aint shit!” SDL said, and as soon as the words escaped his mouth Masters grabbed an ankle of SDL’s and flipped him over quick off his feet and flat on his ass.

Kellen Masters then jumped on top of SDL and pummeled him with some rights and lefts. Classic ground and pound that came from his mixed martial arts background.

Right ~ Left ~ !

Right ~ Left ~ !

Right ~ Left ~ !

SDL then rolled the move over and was now straddled on top of Kellen and then sent down some jabs of his own in more of a harsh angry fighters standpoint.

Left ~ Right ~ !

Right ~ Left ~ !

Left ~ Right ~ !

SDL landed the jabs with his unorthodox way of swinging.

The two broke up off each other and then rose to their feet. Masters grabbed the arm of SDL and threw him into the ropes. Du Luc bounced off the ropes and leap frogged over a back body drop that Kellen Masters was attempting. SDL hit the back ropes and Masters turned around and ducked under a clothesline by SDL.

Masters then hit the back ropes and SDL came off the other as it looked like the two were about to collide with a double clothesline Kellen surprisingly somersaulted underneath SDL’s legs only to pop back up and bounce off the opposite ropes as SDL turned around in confusion....

BIG BOOT TO THE GUT~!

The Red Headed Terror’s belly shook as he stumbled back and fell to one knee. The King of Submissions then showcased his vertical ability with a huge leaping jump...

OVERHEAD BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX~!

....

BOOOOM~!

Masters rolled towards SDL for the cover as Leon Hurst went down for the count.

One.

Two.

Kickout~!

Masters got up and didn’t argue with the referee and instead wasted no time to pick Sepiroth Du Luc back up and slung him into the nearby corner. The King of Submissions charged SDL and clotheslined him and SDL started falling out of the corner but Masters slammed him back in the corner with a shoulder ram. He then repeatedly rammed SDL in the stomach area with multiple shoulder rams.

ONE TIME~!

TWO TIME~!

THREE TIME~!

Kellen Masters moved back and SDL fell on his stomach and Masters then got on top of him locking on a cobra clutch but SDL was all tied up in the ropes already so the nights referee Hurst pulled him off of SDL.

Both men made it to their feet and SDL then swung a huge right but Masters caught it.

KNEE TO THE MIDSECTION~!

Again

and

Again

BAM-BAM-BAM-AGAIN-AGAIN-AGAIN~!

Pushing Masters away, SDL watched as The Machine stumbled. SDL ran up on him but Masters grabbed his legs and got on top of him in a mount again until SDL rolled over and then got up and stomped on Masters. Kellen rolled away but caught another stomp. SDL was now stomping left and right while Masters was rolling around to avoid said stomps.

stomp

stomp-MISS~!

STOMP

STOMP~!

STOMP-MISS~!

STIZZZOMP~!!~!!

Masters got hit with a stomp to the face which stopped his rolling for now as SDL then dropped a big ol’ leg drop on top of him. SDL went for a pinfall with the drop as Leon Hurst counted. However SDL was soon to find that we has not able to make the pinfall... because he didn’t have his leg.

Masters did.

Holding onto the leg that had dropped on top of him, Masters put it in a leg-scissors. The leg scissors is in no way, shape, or form was a painful proceeding, but what it led to was.

Achilles’ Heel!

Masters tore at the Achilles tendon of Du Luc, and the big man quickly thrashed about not knowing what to do. Much more time within the hold and SDL wouldn’t have a wrestling career.

Not that he wanted to wrestle.

…

He did not to walk though.

tap, tap, tap!

With the simple touch of the mat in quick succession, the King of Submissions would be moving onto the Semi-Finals of the King of Ages. Unlike the other half of the bracket, however, Masters did not know who he would be facing however… well, other then the World Champion.

Masters rolled out of the ring, making his way backstage. SDL was still unable to stand. Damn the World Champion though, and damn Jeremy Hunt, thought Kellen Masters. These men weren’t on the same side, KSZ and Hunt… but they both wanted the same thing. Power.

The King of Submissions didn’t want power. He just wanted clarity. Maybe, just maybe that’d come from the King chasing the Ages.

Showering With The Enemy

   

The action picked up backstage once more, this time in the locker rooms.

Jade Argent, a snarl on his rusted rouge face, throws Vince Jacobs against the tiled wall and follows it up with a BASEBALL SLIDE, landing Jacobs with a THUD against the corner of the shower cubicle.

“You stink!” Argent pushed the button on the shower, soaking his adversary.

As the water began to slow, Argent took Jacobs by the skull and cruelly thrust him head-first into the motion sensor, setting off the shower once again. The dried blood from Jacobs’ earlier wounds began to liquidize and rinse clear from his face, a familiar sight once again.

As the two tangled with a strange double headlock on each other, Argent’s blood also washed away but the wound was too large, too new, and the water did nothing to ebb the flow of the previously coined crimson beard.

The struggle slowly manipulated itself into a cobra clutch, as Argent wrenched back and tried to apply a body scissor to Vince Jacobs. The Superstar screamed in pain as the hold was tied in tight, but it wasn’t long before Jade Argent came to the realization that the match was LONG over and this wasn’t about scoring a submission!

He climbed down from his piggy-riding position and dropped Jacobs with a loud wet slap onto the bathroom floor with a COBRA CLUTCH BULLDOG~!

Looking mightily pleased with himself, the exhausted Argent slumped off Jacobs, victorious.

On his hands and knees, he tried to collect himself. Deep inside praying that SVJ would just stay down so that this could all be over, once and for all.

But in pro wrestling, it’s never that easy, is it?

As Argent ran a hand through his sodden blond hair, Jacobs cracked him with a double axe handle smash right between the shoulder blades~!

Mayhem galore! Just how would this conclude?!

A Lone Wolf

A scream broke the silence of another part of the backstage area and attention turned to ACW's medical station. Sitting on a table was the injured Arkady Rasptuin. The EMTs were taping up his right knee and trying to give it some support. Despite what one would think, the scream didn't come from the Russian Wolf. It came from his significant other. Aria Murphy was having her ribs taped up off to his left and she was anything but happy with it.

"For every rib you make hurt, I will peel a pound of flesh from your body," the former LoC Women's Champion hissed through gritted teeth. Like anyone was listening to her with her dress down and her body nearly bare.

They were not in great moods after what happened earlier, which of course was to be expected. Arkady was just bursting with anger and when the EMT was finished on his leg, he burst off the medical table. His leg was bothering him, but he could barely feel it. His mind was racing with millions of ideas of how he could rip his former associates limb from limb. The attack on him and putting his title shot in danger meant nothing to him. It was all about Aria. He didn't care about much, but the blond woman was one thing he cared for above all else.

"Easy, Arkady," the EMT advised him. "You’re going to have to take the night off."

"F*ck off," Aria demanded and shoved the EMT assisting her. "How about this, doc? You move our path, so my beloved can vent, and you won't have to have all these other EMT's figure out how to reattach your jaw."

"There is no 'our', Aria," Arkady spoke up and looked deep into her eyes. "You're going to stay here and have them finish up."

"There is no chance that I'm gonna-"

"It's not up for debate. Sit that ass down. I'll handle Fejona and anyone else that decides to get involved."

Arkady didn't chime in with what he wanted very often and Aria knew he really wasn't one to argue with, so she did as instructed. The Russian Wolf gave her a kiss and started towards the door.

"I'd hate to be that lesbian Min right now," Aria said to herself and then glared down at the EMT, as he tightened the wrapping around her ribs. "I'm going to enjoy bathing in your blood."

STANDING 15-COUNT - ACW SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE
Arkady vs. Fejona Min ©
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

This was the Scorpion Fighting Title showdown. It didn't matter how they entered the ring or what song was playing when they did so. This was about the right to be called the best fighter in ACW and perhaps, the world. A battle was to be waged and both the champion, Fejona Min, and the challenger, Arkady Rasputin were ready to go to war.

As soon as the bell rang, Arkady exploded towards the champion and Min's speed helped her escape an incoming yakuza kick. Min looked on with wide eyes, in shock at how fast the wolf had come towards her, while Arkady slowly pulled his foot down from over the top rope. Completely focused on his opponent, Arkady glared at her and motioned for her to fight. She cautiously stepped forward only to be smacked in the jaw with a right forearm.

Refusing to show fear, Min fired back with a reverse knife edge chop.

Arkady immediately struck back with one of his own.

Fejona surprised everyone by showing her toughness, trading chops with the larger challenger again and again. Her display was short-lived with Arkady rocking her head back with a spinning backfist.

With the champion dropping to one knee, the challenger sprinted to the ropes. Arkady soon found himself face down on the mat courtesy of a drop toe hold and Fejona tried her hand at bouncing off the ropes. Arkady hopped up to his feet to avoid a baseball slide dropkick, which left min seated on the mat. She hurried to lay down flat to avoid a huge roundhouse and her scurrying to her feet did nothing but give Arkady room to build up a head of steam and try for a sliding knee strike.

Narrowly escaping, Min backed up to the ropes as fast as she could, giving her room to breathe. Her heart was racing and she was still in shock at how the wolf was able to move so fast. Arkady's focus never left the champion, even when they simultaneously climbed back to a vertical base, with him stretching out his right leg. His leg was still sore from the attack earlier in the night, but he would never show it. The crowd chanted for both competitors, which was something new to Min, impressed by the speed of the pair.

The duo took only a second to circle before meeting in the middle of a ring. Fejona was no fool and as soon as she saw a chance, she kicked the outside of her enemy's injured leg. That was a bad move on her part, as the attack did nothing but enrage Arkady. The Russian roared and struck her three times on the outside of her leg. The force of the kicks spun her one-hundred eight degrees and allowed Arkady to clamp on a waistlock. Fejona's brains once again came to the forefront and she broke free of the hold as fast as possible, fearing a possible suplex. She spun to behind her foe and tried a waistlock of her own. A foot stomp broke Fejona's focus and a back elbow broke her grip. As soon as the hold was broken, Arkady turned and staggered the champion with a right elbow. A right knee caught the shorter Min in the chest and gave Arkady a chance to unleash a kick. However, the kick was caught and Min sent him spiraling to the mat with a dragon screw to his injured knee. The move was again another smart one by Min, but Arkady's drive blocked out the pain and he rolled to meet the champion at a vertical base and put her on her back with a roundhouse to the jaw.

Taking just a second to tend to his knee, Arkady looked to pounce on his foe, but she used the referee as a defense by clinging to the bottom rope. Knowing full well the rules of the Scorpion Fighting division, the wolf shoved referee aside and pulled Min up just so he could drive his knee deep into her chest. An Irish whip followed and the lightweight Min was gorilla pressed into the air. Looking as if the champion weighed as much as a feather, Arkady fully extended his arms with the lift and drove her down into the mat with all of his might.

Arkady was nearly bursting with rage and the people in the front row could hear him snarling. He pulled the champion up by her hair and utilized his clench to deliver a trio of knees to her chest. The third knee broke Min free of his grip and she dropped to one knee. Arkady looked to pull her back up, but his hands were knocked away and he found his knee hit with a low dropkick.

Hoping to capitalize, Min rolled to a seated position after hitting the mat. However, the only thing waiting for her was a falling Muay Thai style elbow that almost took her jaw off.

Min was immediately pulled back up with Arkady trying to work out the soreness in his leg. A snapmare put Min on her rear once again and Arkady stepped on her thigh while slamming his knee square in the back of the champion's head.

Seeing stars, the champion found herself put into a half nelson-crossface combination. Despite having trouble breathing, Min used her free hand to place Arkady's damaged knee over her's and she scissored it, torquing it awkwardly. A series of elbows with the free arm to the captured leg broke Arkady's hold and with her newfound freedom she used both hands to apply more pressure to the knee. Arkady fell to his back, slapping the mat in pain. With no other option, he started kicking away at the back of Min's head, eventually striking with a massive shot that broke the hold.

The numerous strikes to her head had rattled Min's brain and she was in no shape to stop Arkady from picking her up. She reversed an Irish whip and tried for a short-arm calf kick. Arkady caught her in midair and tossed her into standing release powerbomb.

Repeatedly using the leg had only enhanced the pain running through it, but it didn't stop him from kicking Min again and again until she found herself leaning up against the corner. The point of Arkady's elbow was driven into the top of her head and Min plummeted to her rear in the corner. The referee stepped in once again and the wolf snarled at him before pushing him aside.

Min was led out of the corner by her hair and knowing she had to act, she unleashed a trio of kicks to her opponent's injured leg. Arkady hopped back on his good leg, taking a second before unleashing what was becoming his trademark, a Muay Thai elbow. The champion hurried to sock the leg again twice more with Arkady growling in pain. He had to take a moment once again to fight off the pain and strike again. Another pair stuck Arkady's leg. Fejona's abuse of the well, made it easy for the challenger to step over a third kick. The power of the kick caused Min to spin around and just as she faced Arkady, he put her down in a heap with a koppo kick.

Never leaving the mat, Arkady tended to his leg, adjusting the bandage and kneepad before extending it again and again. Once the pain became manageable, he climbed back to his feet with Min in tow. He locked her in a head and arm capture, but just as he lifted her, an elbow rocked the wolf's jaw. A pair of them broke Arkady's grip and Fejona went crazy. Showing uncanny speed, Min let loose with a barrage of strikes, starting with kicks to the leg. Shots to the body followed and by the time Arkady had backed to the ropes, Min aimed everything she had at his face. A roaring elbow was deflected and Min had to do a back flip to land on the apron, as Arkady tried to suplex her all the way out to the floor. The champion slammed her foot into the back of her foe's knee and tried for the well-known shoulder between the ropes. However, the motion forced upon Arkady by her kick allowed him to spin around and drive his knee into her face, as she slipped between the ropes.

Arkady slipped out onto the apron and looked to suplex the champion. Min hooked one foot on the bottom rope and her other around his hurt leg, stopping the wolf from taking her vertical. Fejona's free arm turned into a piston, as she drover her fist into his ribs several times. She slipped free and kicked away with all she had at his damaged leg. The flurry was too much for Arkady and the knee buckled, dropping him to one knee. Min held onto the top rope and stepped up to the middle rope, so she could kick the taste out of the challenger's mouth.

The kick stunned long enough for Min to snag his leg and place it over her shoulder with Arkady behind her. She extended her leg forward and whipped it back as fast as she could, using the motion along with dropping down to the floor to drive his injured knee into the apron.

Pain coursed through the Russian's leg and he clutched at it, while his adversary took a moment to regain her strength. The cobwebs were gone and Min grabbed her enemy by the ankle. She wrapped it around the steel post and pounded away at it. She capped the flurry off with dropkick off the second tier of the steel steps.

With the ropes and turnbuckle in his way, Arkady couldn't reach his leg, so tending to it was out of the question. Min, on the other hand, was able to reach what she wanted. All she had to do was shove the timekeeper aside and she got her hands on a steel chair. She wasted no time in closing the chair smashing it against her opponent's injured leg.

Unable to block out the pain, Arkady thrashed and fell off the apron to the floor. Min made sure to take advantage of the situation. She relaxed in the corner, as he struggled to get off the floor. He could barely put any weight on his right leg and had to use the bottom rope to pull himself onto the apron. Once he rolled into the ring, he was met with a stomp to his chest. Min leaned down to grab his ankle, but found his left shin clocking her in the side of the head. Min retaliated by stomping on Arkady's face. Her second attempt at capturing his ankle got the same result and she fired right back. This time, Min stomped on his face repeatedly before hitting the opposite ropes and driving her feet right into his face with a baseball slide dropkick.

Her foe unable to stop the champion from dragging him into the middle of the ring. She quickly rolled him to his stomach and laced his leg around hers. With Arkady's legs locked up, Min violently whipped her body backwards, damaging his leg with an Indian deathlock.

And a second...

And another...

A fourth plunge to the mat finally came with a break of the hold and Arkady gripped at his leg in agony. Min wasn't done there, as she quickly rolled her foe over to his back and clamped on a spinning toe hold.

A second rotation, dug the hold in deeper.

A third did the same and Min immediately turned it into a figure four leglock. The submission was applied flawlessly and she gripped his ankle while pulling back again and again with all her might. Wincing in pain, Arkady sat up with the champion doing the same. The wolf huffed and puffed, hyping himself up to block out the pain. A right hand caught Min in the jaw and she responded with one of her own. The two started trading right hands with the punches fueling Arkady's rage. Soon enough, the number of Min's punches were none at all and Arkady just slugged away unchallenged.

While Min rolled away to check her mouth, Arkady tended to his leg. His leg was curled up and Arkady held it, hoping to somehow eliminate some of the pain. Min was anything but pleased with how he broke free and she marched over to her foe. She helped him up by his hair and had her arms shoved away, so Arkady to pop her in the jaw with a right forearm. Min was the fresher of the two and she fired back with one of her own. The battle of wills was on, as the two traded right forearms back and forth.

Five shots each...

Six shots...

Seven shots...

Min ducked Arkady's attempt at an eighth and unleashed a wicked kick to his chest that echoed through the arena. A second caused Arkady to double over, but instead of giving in, he stood back up and glared at his opponent.

"Again," the Russian wolf snarled.

He got just what he asked for and he just growled at her in defiance. Min stepped back in disbelief at how he just absorbed the kick, but she didn't focus on it for long. Her latest kick struck the damaged knee of Arkady, sending him crumbling to the mat.

The situation was back in Fejona's control and she hurried her adversary into the corner. Once putting his damaged knee over the middle rope and hooking his heel on the bottom rope, Min pulled down his kneepad and kicked away at his knee like a woman possessed. Again and again she stuck his damaged leg, connecting where the knee met the thigh. Arkady could barely stand due to the pain running through his leg and he could only watch on, as Min slipped to the outside. In no time at all, she pulled something the fans of the Scorpion Fighting division had come to know very well from under the ring. It was none other than Omega's beloved Barb.

The barbed wire-engulfed folding chair had become a staple of the division and seemed to change hands when the title did. With it in hand, Min hopped onto the apron and dashed along it towards her foe. She leapt into the air and dropkicked Barb into his exposed knee.

Arkady could not withstand the attack and fell to the mat with the agony more than he could deal with. The champion slipped back in and like a shark, she could smell the blood in the water. She locked in a heel hook and scissored his leg. The submission was clamped on and she hoped it would lead to her victory. Arkady pounded the mat in pain, as Min contorted his leg more and more. His leg was too sore to try and overcome the hold, so Arkady forced the two onto their sides and scraped the boot of his free leg across her face. Min broke the scissors around his leg and retaliated by kicking him in the chest.

Things looked to be a draw between the two when it came to this situation, but Min was able to think fast and use one disadvantage that Arkady had against him. She saw an opening and drove her foot down between Arkady's legs, trying to crush his testicles.

Min was growing increasingly frustrated and it was apparent, as she mumbled to herself while standing her enemy back up. She tried to Irish whip him, but he wouldn't budge. A second tug got the same result. Arkady pulled back and Min surprised him by leaping into the pull and took him down with a Shawn capture.

Like a pit bull, the champion's attack on his leg was relentless and she had him dead center in the middle of the ring. Arkady had very little to work with, as the hold was clamped on tight and he had no way to counter once it was applied. He wouldn't give in and submit when asked by the referee. Though, he couldn't break free of the hold. Off to his right, he finally saw his way to escape. Using all of his might, he dragged the pair towards the ropes. Instead of grabbing the ropes, he snagged Barb, which was laying under the ropes. He twisted slightly and whipped the chair at the champion, catching her with a glancing blow that was enough to break the hold.

A small cut had appeared just above Min's right eyebrow, but she paid it no mind, while shoving Arkady head first into the corner. A kick caught the Russian wolf on the outside of his leg and he was spun around, so Min could kick his knee once again. Arkady's leg buckled and he found himself crouched in the corner. He was cornered and had no way to avoid the champion's vicious roundhouse to his chest that once again echoed through the arena.

After catching the challenger with another stiff kick, Min tried for a whip. Arkady reversed it and sent her slamming into the corner. He hurried in after her and got caught with a boot to his face. The shot was a glancing one at best and Arkady tried once more only to get both feet, this time, driven into his face. The wolf stumbled back into middle of the ring and Min darted towards him. Across the ring flew Min due to a beautiful belly to belly suplex.

The champion hit hard and she clutched her back in pain. She climbed back to her feet and surprisingly found her opponent waiting for her. She hurried to keep things in her favor by kicking at Arkady's knee and quickly whipped him in to the ropes. The wolf exploded out of the ropes and put Min on her ass with a diving European uppercut.

In the blink of an eye, the duo were back up and Arkady knocked Min back down with a running elbow to the top of her head.

Min was on wobbly legs, as she stood back up and was instantly sent right back down to the mat by Arkady's flawless dragon suplex.

A single suplex was not enough for the wolf and he kept the full nelson intact. One both were standing, he picked the champion up and slammed her face first into the mat with a sitout reverse powerbomb.

Each move was a link in a large chain and Arkady held on to his opponent's waist and rolled the pair over. With Min's legs at his mercy, Arkady locked in a gorilla clutch and scissored Min's body. He tugged on the champion's leg with all of his might, trying to get her to tap out, but his leg was in no shape to keep the body scissors locked in and Min was able to force her way free. With nothing keeping her pinned to that mat, Min was able to extend her legs and escape the hold.

Arkady hurried to pull his adversary back up and clamped on a waistlock. A trio of back elbows struck Arkady in the jaw and Min slipped around to lock on a waistlock of her own. An immediate back elbow allowed the Russian to unleash a pair of right forearms before kicking her in the thigh and spinning into a solebutt to her gut.

The kick sent min stumbling back into the corner and once shaking out his injured leg, the challenger charged the champion, trying for a lariat in the corner. Min narrowly escaped and tried to return the favor by charging Arkady while he stood in the corner. He tried to kick her in the face, but she caught it and drove her elbow firmly into his kneecap. Arkady came back with a back elbow that backed Min into the center of the ring. A knife edge chip was waiting for the Russian when he met Fejona in the center fo the ring and he connected with one of his own. A second chop from Min got a roundhouse to the chest in return. Arkady tried for another, but had it caught and he was sent spiraling to the mat with a dragon screw.

Once again the tide had turned in Min's favor and she positioned Arkady in the corner, once again lacing his leg around the middle rope. The champion took the chance to redden her foe's chest with a pair of roundhouses. She was only sidetracked for just a second to pick up Barb before taking the weapon and slamming it against the inside of Arkady's knee.

Not a single second was wasted by the champion, as she hurried to the opposite corner. She built up a head of steam and leapt into the air, driving the barbed wire-wrapped chair into Arkady's head.

Min made sure to keep her rival from falling to that and she pulled him out of the corner. Showing her agility, Min ran up the turnbuckle and looked to drive Arkady's head into the mat with a hurricanrana. However, the wolf displayed some agility of his own, escaping impact by executing a front handspring. Unfortunately for him, his knee couldn't handle the strain and his attention quickly turned to it, which left him wide open for Min to connect with a sliding knee to the back of his damaged leg.

Arkady immediately sat up to clutch at his leg and he was at Min's mercy, as she tried to take his head off with a low spinning heel kick.

Instinctively, the challenger climbed up to one knee though he was seeing stars. Min was not going to let him up and met him there with a shining wizard.

The strike was on the button and Min allowed the referee to begin the count, while she sat in the corner, regaining her energy.

1...

2...

3....

4....

5...

6...

7...

8...

Refusing to stay down, Arkady battled back to a vertical base and started towards her with his injured leg being dragged behind him. Min charged and gripped him around the waste, driving him back into the corner. A trio of right hands found Arkady's jaw and Min once again put some distance between her and the challenger. She raced in and the Russian met her with a kick to her knee, sending her crashing chest-first into the turnbuckle. Arkady did just as his rival did and came stampeding towards her. A front dropkick to the rear end sent Min flying between the middle and top ropes and her head crashed into the steel post.

Min hung lifelessly between the ropes, as Arkady slid to the outside. The Russian positioned himself in the corner of the security barrier and took a moment to refocus himself. His leg was throbbing, but he wasn't going to let it stop him from doing what he had to do. Like a rocket, he flew out of the corner and leapt above the apron, sandwiching Min's head between his knee and the post.

No amount of Advil was going to end the pain in Min's head and she was ripe for the picking. Arkady used the top rope to pull himself back up and he used his good leg to climb up to the top of the turnbuckle. The champion's brain was rattled and she was off-balance, as she stood up. Seeing his chance, the wolf used his good leg for all it was worth and leapt off the top. A sidekick struck Min in the chest and the force sent her rolling backwards all the way to her feet in the corner.

Her situation didn't improve in the corner, as Arkady's adrenaline was pumping, allowing him to ignore the pain in his leg and catch her with a shining wizard in the corner. At full speed, he darted to the opposite corner and back again, so he could deliver another step-up knee strike in the corner that dropped her to her rear. He wasn't done, as he ran to the adjacent corner and almost tore Min's face off with a bootwash.

Arkady let loose a roar, his adrenaline overflowing, and pulled his adversary into a front facelock. In a flash, he took Min vertical and planted her with what his beloved Aria calls the best brainbuster in the business with many in agreement. Take that KSZ.

Min was motionless and Arkady slipped over to the corner, resting his leg on the middle rope. Blood dripped from various puncture wounds around his knee and just paid it no mind, as he pulled his kneepad back into place.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

If it weren't for the ropes, Min wouldn't have been able to get back to a vertical base, as her equilibrium was messed up beyond belief. She could barely stand upright when the challenger motioned for her to come to him. She stumbled away from the ropes and was met with left-right combination to the head followed by the same combination to the body. A back elbow caught Min in the jaw and Arkady left her out on her feet with a roaring elbow. The wolf hit the ropes and nearly took Min out of her boots with a busaiku knee kick with his good leg.

Looking to put Min down for good, the wolf locked in a crossface chicken wing. The product of good training, Min may have been out of it, but she knew when to go on the defensive. She elbowed away at his injured leg and escaped his grip. Arkady reversed an Irish whip and hit a short-arm version of an STO.

Momentum was still going his way and he was chomping at the bits. Arkady watched on, as Min got up to one knee. As soon as she did, he tried for a knee to her jaw. Min showed great speed by catching his leg. However, just as she stood up with the knee in her grasp, Arkady knocked her back down with a knee to the mouth with his free leg.

In no time flat, Arkady was back in the same waiting position and ready to pounce on the champion. She had gotten to a three-point stance when he charged. This time she exploded towards him and two steps in, she sent the challenger flipping to the mat with a devastating shoulder to the front of his knee.

The referee had no choice, but to count them both, as they lay on the mat.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

11...

12...

13...

An unlucky number to some, but to the two fighters, it was lucky. Both were in a lot of pain and they found themselves struggling to stand in opposite corners. Neither were willing to just give it up and they both walked out to the middle of the ring. Min was the first to strike. A thunderous kick struck Arkady in the chest and he shot back with an Muay Thai elbow strike.

Min kicked.

Arkady elbowed.

Kick.

Elbow.

Kick.

Elbow.

Kick.

Elbow.

Kick.

Elbow.

Kick.

Elbow.

The pace quickened and each strike was more powerful than the one before it. Min couldn't take much more damaged to her head and face, so she quickly went for Arkady's weak spot. A stomp to his kneecap paused Arkady's assault and she followed it right up with a dropkick to the same spot. The Russian would not fall and Min threw all she had at him with a sidekick aimed for his knee. The challenger knew she would go to the well again and he caught her leg. He stepped over her caught leg and drove his foot down violently to the mat, forcing Min face down on the mat. A STF was quickly locked in and Min had no where to go.

She was near the ropes, but they couldn't save her and she wasn't sure anything could. Arkady's legs weren't at one hundred percent, but his upper body was in peak form and he tried to break Fejona's back with the submission. Seeing no other option, Min forced her foe's hand up from her chin and over her mouth, so she could dig her teeth into his hands. Arkady snarled in pain and released the hold, allowing him to hold her in place by the hair with one hand, while the started smacking her with crossfaces.

A quartet of crossfaces connected and Arkady released the hold. He used the opening to shake off a tiny bit of lingering pain from his knee and once done, he turned his focus back to his opponent. He hoisted her up and sat her on the top rope. He battled his sore leg the entire way up the turnbuckle. The two rise to stand on the top and Arkady hooked her in a t-bone capture. A trio of elbows led to the champion's escape and she hopped down to the apron. A quick shot to Arkady's leg crotched him on the top, looking out to the crowd.

After taking a couple of steps back, Min used the top rope to steady herself while kicking Arkady in the side of the head with a makeshift martial arts kick.

Arkady fell backward with his legs locked in the ropes, leaving him dangling upside down and applying pressure to his already hurt leg. Min scurried into the ring and snagged Barb. A low sidekick to the face dazed the Russian long enough for the champion to gather some speed and dropkick the weapon into Arkady's face.

The champion didn't care if she won by knockout or by submission, so she pulled Arkady down face first on the mat to be counted.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

11...

12...

13...

14...

Arkady would not stay down and even with his head now split open, he was once again vertical. Min hurried over to him and started wailing on him with right hands, as he up against the ropes. A hand full of hair led Arkady to the center of the ring and after a bounce off the ropes, Fejona socked him in the jaw with a sick kick.

Feeling that the strike would not be enough, the champion rushed her opponent back up and straddled the back of his head, as he was doubled over. Using all the energy she had, Min leapt with as much force as she could, taking Arkady over with a Canadian Destroyer.

Min slid to the nearest ropes and started to climb back up, directing the referee to start counting the entire time.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

11...

12...

13...

14...

Min's jaw dropped and she couldn't believe that the modified piledriver had not done the job. Growing increasingly more frustrated, she kicked Arkady in the gut and positioned him once again. She leapt once again, but this time, Arkady countered by putting her into a fireman's carry. He looked to go for one of his favorite moves in the Go2Sleep, yet Min countered right back by floating back into position for the Canadian Destroyer. Arkady dropped to one knee to stop the move before it could start. He tried to backdrop his rival over, but she landed on her feet and struck him in the mouth with a sidekick. In the blink of an eye, she hooked him in a three-quarter nelson and charged towards the ropes. Just before she could get to the turnbuckle, Arkady shoved her chest first into it and dumped her on the head with a half nelson suplex.

Holding on, the Russian wolf pulled Min up and applied a crossface to go with the half nelson. A tazmission was applied, but it was only just so Arkady could spike the champion with a tazmission plex.

His tenacity was something Arkady was starting to become known for and it was in full effect, as he pulled her up for a second time and the final suplex was his favorite in the dragon suplex.

Exhaustion had set in and the two were both counting the lights. The referee started the count once again.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

11...

12...

13...

14...

Both narrowly made the fifteen-count and Min had to think fast, as Arkady tried to take her head off with a yakuza kick. She was off-balance and it made her fall to the middle rope. The wolf would not stop his offensive due to one miss. He hurried to her and drove his forearm stiffly into the back of her head. The ropes bouncing back from the force of the strike forced Min up to a vertical base. Seeing a chance to strike, Arkady hit the ropes and looked to go for another knee. Min expected it and just as he started to jump, the champion caught him in the knee with a dropkick.

Re-cooperating was on both fighters' minds and Arkady tore down his kneepad, as it was not helping his knee feel any better, while Min wiped some blood from her eye. The wound above it had grown dramatically with each attack from Arkady. The two met once again and Arkady surprised Min by striking her in the chest with a kick, sending her stumbling back into the ropes.

The ropes ricocheted Min right back into a second kick that sent her crumbling to the middle rope.

Once again she was bounced back into Arkady and he whacked her with a third.

The Russian growled, as momentum shifted further and further in his direction. He howled loudly and turned back to Min only to get struck in the mouth with a superkick.

Arkady stumbled back and fell to one knee. He tried to bounce up and brush it off, but Min exploded with a combination of lefts and rights of her own, capping it off with a step-up enziguiri.

A battle waged between Arkady and his rattled equilibrium, with him not wanting to fall to the mat. While he struggled not to collapse, Min motioned for Arkady to get up. She wanted to put him down for good and knew this was the time to do it. Arkady finally rose back up and caught the champion by surprise by catching her with a trio of elbows. He took off to the ropes and Min mimicked him. Upon noticing, the wolf stopped in place and tried to catch her running up with a yakuza kick, but the champion was able to slide under the kick. On the other hand, the referee was not so lucky. The kick caught him dead in the face, sending him tumbling to the outside.

Not one to focus on his mistakes, the challenger turned around and was struck by a picture perfect sidekick.

Arkady fell like a tree and seeing stars. Min knew she had to stay on top of him, as giving him any chance to fight back could lead to her defeat at this point in the match, so she pulled him up. The champion sent Arkady stumbling back, as she dropped to one knee, hitting a jawbreaker. She instantly bounced back up to her feet and put her foe back down with another sidekick.

With the referee no where to be found, Min went for the kill. She locked him for another Canadian Destroyer and jumped into the air. Half way through the motion, Arkady put a stop to the move and swung Fejona's body to the side. Before she could react, Arkady fell to his rear, delivering an Air Raid Crush.

Neither was in danger of losing the match, so they took advantage of the rest they could get from laying on the mat. Not wanting to be out-done by one another, they started back up at the same time and Min tried once again to be the first to strike. She swung wildly with Arkady dipping under the punch. He locked on a crossface chicken wing. Like with the tazmission before, the submission led to a more dangerous move. This time, it was the millenium suplex.

This was not just any millenium suplex. This was perhaps the greatest suplex Arkady had ever delivered.

The lifeless champion was easily rolled to her stomach with the hold still applied. Arkady shot his legs up and over, locking in his crossface chicken wing variation of cattle mutilation known as "The Mask of Voorhees".

Min's toughness reared its head, as most would have been out cold from the suplex. The champion battled for all she was worth and tried to escape. There was just no way. Min found herself at her limit. She just couldn't take anymore and she slapped the mat repeatedly with her free hand. Not hearing any bell, the wolf kept the hold applied. Min kept tapping and it was nothing more than a futile gesture, as Arkady would not let loose. In just mere moments, the space between slaps of the mat grew larger and larger until Fejona's arm didn't lift at all. The pain had taken over and put out the champion's lights for good.

Arkady had the match won and there was no referee to declare it. Then, things took a turn for the worse for Arkady. From out of the crowd came two unwanted intruders. Vago and Kroenen blitzed the ring and pounced upon their former ally. While Vago brutally punched away at the Russian's already bloodied face, Kroenen apprehended Barb. The huge Hungarian held Arkady up for Kroenen to wrap Barb around his head.

The shot from the chair was deafening and horrified the crowd. Kroenen was not satisfied, as he struck the fallen Arkady again and again with the chair, badly warping it. The damage had been done and Arkady lay face down on the mat with blood flowing from his face and head.

Kroenen directed his large disciple and Vago slipped out to the floor. The referee was rolled in and the dastardly duo took off through the crowd. Once regaining his wits, the referee stood up and began his count.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10...

11...

12...

13...

14...

15.

Both champion and challenger couldn't answer the count and the referee had no choice but call this one a draw. He noticed that they were not moving and motioned for the EMT's. As the medical staff of ACW flooded the scene, things turned elsewhere. A battle had been waged and Min was still the champion, but there was no victor.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Montreal Frog Looking for Spanish Boy

   

Carrachio Salfuego walked into the locker room area with a dejected look on his face. Sitting down on the bench, he leaned back against the cold metal lockers.

He had lost again.

For a second week in a row he tried to make a statement and again he came up short.

With his eyes closed he heard the door open.

“I thought I would find you in here.”

Now he opened his eyes. Standing in the doorway was JP Boudreau. The Montreal Frog sat down on the bench next to Carrachio, peering at him. “Not such a good night, eh?”

Salfuego just shook his head. Boudreau took that as a sign to continue. “These new guys, they strut like roosters. They’re dirty, though!”

That Carrachio would agree to, silently rubbing his face from where he could still feel the impression of Chris Storm’s protective mask.

“I talked with Mr. SilverHAWK.” Carrachio turned to Boudreau, now interested in what he had to say. “He seems to agree that it might be best if Mr. Storm was taught a lesson. So at King of Ages we will teach him that lesson.”

Carrachio shook his head, “no, I don’t do handicap matches. That’s no better than them.”

“I didn’t figure you would” he was told, “so I told Mr. SilverHAWK to make it a triple threat match!”

Though Salfuego wanted Storm all alone to prove he could beat him, getting a triple threat match wasn’t so bad. “Alright” Carrachio told him, “then at King of Ages.”

Carrachio extended his hand out for JP Boudreau, who accepted it. At the upcoming KING OF AGES pay-per-view... it would be Carrachio Salfuego vs. JP Boudreau vs. Chris Storm.

Chris just knew how to make friends, didn’t he?

Pride. Pssh.

   

Another week, another tough-as-nails title defense for her. This time, there was a difference.

Fejona Min didn't win. As a matter of fact, out of her three defenses for the Scorpion Fighting Title to date, I believe Fejona would be the first to admit that she was very nearly outclassed by The Russian Wolf. Oh, sure. She had her own chances to put Arkady away, but that man simply would not give up. He's a very good fighter. Perhaps the most all-rounded fighter in this company; a tag I'm sure Fejona would readily dispute.

I watch closely as she stumbles towards her locker-room. Another woman rushes out and catches Fejona before she drops to the ground. Friend? Lover? Business associate. I do not care. It is of no concern for me.

What is, however, is that the woman spends all of 12 seconds tending to Fejona's cuts and bruises before showing her a cellphone. Fejona swipes the phone and her eyes widened at what she's witnessing. Clearly, it is something distressing because Fejona stands to her feet and tries her best to compose herself. What a trooper. Battered to high heaven, and yet, she's putting on her brave front.

I have an idea as to what's given Fejona her second wind. It's simple, really. Has to do with the Black Title.

Admittedly, I know little about the Black Title. I was never in theAsylum, surprisingly enough. Heard about it, watched several of their events. Kenny Rock. Nerva. Borst. Rave Caprino. Steve Christ, whom people have said I resemble. The Freak. Kellen Kinkade. The list of supposedly incredible fighters and hybrid competitors that have dabbled in theAsylum goes on and on. And for a while in 2003, after its reintroduction, the Black Title was an object of much desire.

But knowing what she does about the Scorpion Fighting Title, I can't imagine why Fejona concerns herself with it. Oh, wait. Now I remember. Pride. Ego. The poor woman is continually worried about being overshadowed as Scorpion Fighting Champion. What silly thoughts.

She's on the move again. Fejona has just ordered her female accomplice back into the locker-room. Talk about a lack of respect. Definitely can't be lovers or friends.

Now, the important question. Do I follow her and find out what's going on? Or is it none of my business?

The answer is obvious. She's more enamored with securing her legacy as the toughest fighter in the company than the actual power of the Scorpion Fighting Title. I wonder if she's switched it out yet. I can't tell from this distance, and I didn't get too good of a look last week. I bet she's even forgotten about our brief encounter seven days ago.

No matter, Fejona Min. Soon, you will remember exactly who I am.

As a matter of fact, fourteen days of now, you will regret the day you decided to become Scorpion Fighting Champ again.

Run along, now. I'll be seeing you. Sven Avsbern has his eyes on you, Fejona.

Ha.

Hahaha.

Hahahahahahahaha.

Descent Into Madness

The scene faded to an isolated portion of Forum Copenhagen, where a lone camera man seemed to be slowly making his way down hallways of the arena. There was a purpose in his steps as he winds the corners knowing exactly where he is going. Passing by several members of the ACW roster whose eyes light up with the excited chance of thinking maybe that particular camera man is looking for them; only to have their dreams dashed as he quickly passes by them.

Finally reaching his destination the camera man paused for a brief moment and the sound of him catching his breath can be heard coming from behind the camera’s view. The door before him is nothing special, just the average wood polished locker room door, and no special tag affixed to it. He pushes the door open and the sight of several gym bags and street clothes are seen strewn about the room. The smell of smoke is very evident as well as the location of where the smoke is coming from.

Sitting in the far corner of the room rests the resident Anti-Star of All-Star Championship Wrestling, Jesse Ramey. Jesse is firmly seated in a black folding chair, his wrestling attire perfectly in place. The only thing he had left before being able to step before the fans was to tape up his fists and forearms. Jesse looked to be taking a break from the routine of getting ready though as he puffed away on his Pall Mall menthol.

“So, I’ve heard people talking,” Jesse started having noticed the camera man upon entrance. He slowly began to make his way closer to Jesse. “They think that I’ve got a few screws loose these days. That I’ve gone over the deep end. As far as I’m concerned they can call it whatever they like.”

Jesse paused as he brought his cigarette to his lips, and upon the exhale, “I, on the other hand, would call it bliss. My message used to be clear and simple; entertain the fans. Give the people something to be excited about. Make sure those people in their seats actually got what they paid to come and see. Hindsight is twenty-twenty though; and I was blind.”

Jesse rested his cigarette on his lips and his hand wandered down into his gym bag, he produced a roll of black tape and began taping up his right fist. “It doesn’t matter what arena I step foot in; those fans know that I am one of the most exciting, technically gifted, and best submission workers in this business. What I didn’t realize was just how much they wanted to see the violence. How much of a blood thirst they needed to quench.”

“So, you tell me what’s so crazy about wanting to fulfill their needs?!” Jesse quickly snapped at the camera, the length of grey ash hanging from his cigarette fell to the concrete floor below. He shook his head, regained composure, and continued wrapping his fist. “All of these other wrestlers who claim to be doing everything for the fans have no idea what they want.”

Jesse finished with his right fist, and viciously rubbed the tape to his skin. “You’re so wrong though; none of you know what the fans want. You’re all blind; you only think you know what they want and that’s good for a season. You have to get into their heads.” Jesse brought his index and middle finger to his head, the lit cigarette resting between and tapped his skull.

“You may go a little crazy in the process, but to fully understand what these fans want that is the bliss. When you can full fathom the extent that they want you to go in that ring.” Jesse paused as he began working on his left fist. “It’s something that men like Vince Jacobs, Khristain Keller, and Keith Scott Zimmerman have all come to understand. Each one of them has flawed their research though through their own greed.”

“Vince Jacobs has the power, he has the money; he could only connect with a certain few of you. He crossed the line because of that. Khristain Keller is a twisted mind fuck of a human being; he had the knowledge of complete power on the cusp of his finger tips. He crossed the line. Keith Scott Zimmerman, he could connect with the average man and yet one more that was finally on the brink of ultimate power, but his inability to act caused him to lose his chance as well.”

Jesse let the black tape swing from his wrist for a brief moment as he took a final draw from his cigarette before flicking it across the room. “So, what separates me from these three men? How exactly have I broken the code to ultimate power, but not crossed the same lines as these men?” Jesse grabbed hold of the tape from his wrist and continued with his work, “Call me crazy if you want, but I am not crazy. I have found the fine line that people so eloquently speak of where you flirt with brilliance and insanity. I have found the missing link that these people have wanted to see.”

“If I were to share that information with you,” Jesse finished with his left hand, ripped the tape with his teeth, and once again rubbed at the tape vigorously securing it in place. “Some things are better left kept from the knowledge of man. Much like the confiscated books of the Bible that the Vatican has locked away, never to be seen by the eye of man. If we were to reveal the secrets that we knew it would cause a worldwide epidemic of panic; and the streets would riot. Thousands would die, and millions would suffer.”

Jesse stood from his chair and looked directly into the camera, a crazy look within his eyes. “A selfish man would reveal what he knew and cause mass destruction. I am not a selfish man, however; I am selfless and I will carry this burden to my grave. And the fans will worship me because of this; they will cheer for me until the end of time. Because I have unlocked this secret, and soon; very soon the key fundamentals to this secret will help me to the top of this company.”

“One tiny step, by one tiny step we are making headway; and after tonight when I finally put the nail in the coffin of Khristain Keller we will walk into King of Ages. At the end of the night there will be a crown placed upon my head, and as much as Keith Scott Zimmerman would like to call this the Era of Zimmerman, we will just as quickly usher that era out as we ring in the Dark Ages. And mark my words, my loyal court will usher in that day with an air of great celebration. Are you ready? Or will you only be consumed by the darkness?”

Jesse’s continued stare into the camera seemed to send a chill down the camera man’s spine as his hands were visible shaken. Jesse’s head quickly jolted as if something had shot through his spinal column, and with a quick flinch of his lips he brushed by the camera man and we slowly faded back to the ringside area.

SINGLES MATCH - STANDARD RULES
John Sarsgaard vs. Ryan Billows
REFEREE: LEON HURST

   

“I Will Not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin brought a fair contingent of the fans to their feet. Distance had only made their hearts grow fonder of the man pushing the curtain to the side. Last they’d seen him, he’d been facedown in his own crimson puddle. Fallen by an unknown foe. He still had no face to attach to the party who’d left him bruised and battered and temporarily broken. Hell, he wasn’t going to kid himself--he was a ways away from 100 percent. The steady ache in his right shoulder made sure to remind him of that.

But he’d dealt with worse, and he knew that in order to survive in the business, you had to stay relevant. You couldn’t afford the luxury of extended rehabilitation for the sore shoulder, especially not when The Spirit of ACW Title was so close he could taste it. And it tasted just fine.

John Sarsgaard raised his good arm to the skies as he emerged out onto the stage, and the crowd gave him a healthy pop. The slight changes in his appearance weren’t lost on them, his clean-shaven face and hair pulled tight in a pony-tail, Sarsgaard had certainly acquired some fine improvements to his appearance. So, bad shoulder or not, at least he had that going for him.

Hands of Steel was a bit slower moving down the ramp than he normally was, he was certainly putting on a tough act, but a keen eye could tell that he was still pretty damned sore. Nonetheless, he climbed into the ring and began stretching as Leon Hurst gave him a quick pat-down for any foreign objects.

Then, abruptly, 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 boos increased ten-fold.

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

Billows stood in the entrance-way with his head hung, soaking in the disdain of the fans who once upon a time worshipped him. He’d been working hard for their hatred ever since he’d started his whole phoenix from the ashes act. Apparently, he yearned to take raining on the fans’ parade to another level, seems Billows was doing all he could to send a message to the current Spirit of ACW Champion, Midnight Cowboy. All that he could, including getting in the ring with John Sarsgaard tonight. Even if he’d said he was done beating up on the rookies, Billows didn’t mind beating up on Hands of Steel. While he would never admit it, Billows knew all too well how quick a young upstart could rocket through the ranks to outscore the rest in popularity. Once-Young had been that upstart once upon a time, but now…

This was the Risen Lion, the Reincarnation, The Watcher, The Salt in Your Wounds…

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. The spotlight managed to paint his features into something wicked as he smirked at Sarsgaard, who was doing his best to work out the kinks of a beat down from a few weeks past. Geez, whoever had done that number was out to prove a point…huh…

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

The Salt in Your Wound climbed up onto the turnbuckle and had a seat before crossing his arms. The Watcher stared out at the massive crowd with a chuckle as his music died down. Leon Hurst gingerly made his way over and began patting Billows down as The Risen Lion’s music died down.

Leon Hurst began doing something you don’t often see officials do too often anymore, he began about the process of explaining the rules of the match to the combatants, but he only got a few seconds in before Billows sneered and cut him off,

“This isn’t our first match, Hurst, come the fuck on!”

The dissenters laughed, clapping, Billows sneered out at them. They were the ones he hated more than all the rest, the ones who refused to stop cheering him. There was no extreme he wouldn’t go to simply for the sake of eroding all the cheers and building up jeers in their place.

Regardless, Leon Hurst sighed, defeated, and proceeded to call for the bell.

DING
DING
DING

The two men immediately began the age-old circling of the ring, but that only last one full rotation before Billows chuckled and let his guard down, sauntering to the center of the ring. He jutted out his chin, point at the left side of it for John Sarsgaard.

“Come on Johnny boy! Let me see that right hook from Mr. Hands of Steel! Deal me a deadly right-handed wallop!

The crowd booed as John Sarsgaard furrowed his eyebrows. Billows turned his attention to the crowd for a split-second, laughing at his own antics.

CRACK

Right as The Risen Lion had turned back to Sarsgaard, Hands Of Steel had caught him with a left hook that sent Billows to the canvas, clutching his jaw, staring up at Sarsgaard in surprise.

Sarsgaard stared right back at him, the adrenaline starting to surge through him, he offered Billows a tip,

“I throw a mean left too, sweetheart!”

The crowd roared. Potential John Sarsgaard tee-shirt? Definite possibility. He preached the truth though--his boxing background meant that his pedigree consisted of a mighty mean right hook, but nobody ever said to sleep on his left hook.

Billows had slept momentarily, and now he pushed himself to his feet before wiping the blood from his lip. He swore to fucking God, if that punch loosened any of his teeth…

Billows rushed forward, and the two men locked up.

It was a struggle for a moment, a grand jockeying for the advantage, but Billows was a master of the collar-and-elbow, and he managed to pull Sarsgaard into a Side-Headlock.

Sarsgaard made the mistake of flailing his arms in surprise, and with the fluidity that brought him to the game, Billows released Sarsgaard’s head, shoving him forward as he captured Sarsgaard’s right arm, using one leg to hook behind Hands of Steel’s, lifting his other leg…

And out of nowhere, Sarsgaard was all wrapped up in an Octopus Hold!

The crowd gasped as Billows started to pull back on the bum arm.

Whereas most people would do everything they could to go with the pulling, trying to relieve the enormous amount of pain being rendered in their shoulder, Sarsgaard had a different line of thinking. He was fucked if he didn’t get out of this move pronto, and the way he figured it--his shoulder was already fucked. So, he didn’t have much to lose when he put all his weight onto the leg that Billows didn’t have hooked.

Showing impressive strength, Sarsgaard propelled himself AND Billows up off the canvas, rolling over in an attempt to flip Billows off of him.

It was a bit sloppy, but it got the job done as Sarsgaard landed on top of a surprised Billows who had lost his grip on in the preceding.

Sarsgaard of Second City was immediately to his feet, not wanting to stay too close to the Risen Lion, knowing now how quick that cat could tie him up. That’s not to say that Sarsgaard could get his hands a little dirty with some technical wrestling, but it certainly wasn’t his comfort zone. He knew the man he was up against was a legend in the making, and not because he talked a mean game. Billows was, pound for pound, one of the best in the history of the sport. He was versed in all aspects, even the striking game.

But still, John Sarsgaard knew he could out-punch the guy, bad arm and all. No matter how many wrestlers had shown him offensive strikes, John Sarsgaard had Hands of Steel, and he’d sparred with some of the greatest boxers the world had known. A storied toughman competitor, John Sarsgaard had all the faith in the world that he would be able to take the fight to Billows so long as he kept on his toes in this match rather than trying to take it to the mat…

That was the plan at least, and you know…

Of mice and men, and all that.

Billows chuckled as he climbed to his feet, turning around, grinning a bloody smile at John Sarsgaard.

“The hell was that? You just fell on me?”

Sarsgaard shrugged with a look that said it all, ‘it worked.’

Billows shook his head before rushing towards Windy City’s Steel-Handed Son, but Sarsgaard knew it was coming, and he spun to the left, extending his left arm.

Billows’ own momentum provided all the impact as Sarsgaard connected with what could be called a Standstill Clothesline.

Billows started to get to his knees, prone on all fours for the time being, and Sarsgaard aimed his elbow for Billows’ back. He hated to do it, but every weakness is magnified ten-fold when you’re in that squared-circle, and you have to expose every weakness for all that its worth.

Sarsgaard dropped the elbow squarely on the six inch scar that was forever etched on Billows’ lower back. Billows cried out in pain as Sarsgaard turned him over and hooked a leg.

1...

YEAH RIGHT!

The Key of Keystone State kicked out with relative ease. This one was just getting started…

Sarsgaard rotated his right arm a few times, moving it a bit quicker by the third rotation. He bent over and grabbed Billows by the hair, tugging him up.

As Billows reached a knee, he gave Sarsgaard as solid punch to the stomach that caused Ace Steel’s favorite student to wheeze, but he didn’t falter as he came right back at Billows…

CRACK

The Knee-lift sent Billows right back down to the canvas, and John Sarsgaard once again wasted no time. He heard the fans cheering for him, but he was all business tonight. This was turning into quite a warm-up match for King of Ages, it was working its way into the realm of a battle. Sarsgaard wanted the win bad, to walk into King of Ages with the feather in his cap of being the man to give the Risen Lion his first loss since coming back--well, it would certainly help in a psychological aspect. Stuff like that got in opponents’ heads.

Hands of Steel lifted Billows to his feet from behind before wrapping his arms around The Watcher’s waist. Sarsgaard lifted Billows up and over, grunting as he felt the pain in his shoulder.

He tried to bridge the German Suplex for the pin…

1

But he couldn’t hold it, as his right arm screamed at him for pulling that move out, and he was forced to let go of Billows, sitting up, clutching at his shoulder with a grimace.

But the crowd was behind him, they were well and away in his corner, actually.

“LET’S GO SARSGAARD!” CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAP “LET’S GO SARSGAARD” CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAP

God how he enjoyed that sound.

And didn’t he deserve it? The fans had been subjugated to watching Billows dismantle his opponents thus far into his return. Finally, somebody was taking the damned fight to Billows. Just imagine if Sarsgaard was at 100 percent!

Sarsgaard climbed to his feet and moved over to Billows, standing at his shoulders. He bent over to pick Billows up, and out of nowhere, Billows set into motion!

The Risen Lion brought his legs up over his own head, flexible as ever, and brought them to a quick rest on Sarsgaard’s shoulders before quickly spinning his body, taking Hands of Steel down to the canvas with a rendition of a Spinning Headscissors!

The crowd booed, simply because they’d been vigorously into cheering for Sarsgaard.

Billows launched to his feet, his frustration with how this match was going written all over his face. John Sarsgaard was supposed to be just another simple stepping stone, instead his proving to be a big fucking boulder blocking Billows’ path.

Staying on the attack, Billows fell upon John Sarsgaard, nailing him with a Falling Fist-Drop that connected right smack with Sarsgaard’s rotten right shoulder.

Sarsgaard lurched in pain, rolling around on the canvas as he clutched his shoulder.

Billows was talking trash all the way to the turnbuckle, continuing to talk smack as he hopped to the top. He waited for a moment before getting impatient,

“Come on! Get up!”

So, Sarsgaard climbed to his feet, and Billows flew.

The Headache-Machine!!!

NO!

Billows leapt off, looking for the flying Enziguri Kick, but he’d clued Sarsgaard to his intentions, and Sarsgaard rolled out of the way at the last second before rising to his feet, clutching his shoulder with a grimace.

Billows pounded the mat in frustration before turning around and rushing Sarsgaard.

Without thinking, Sarsgaard caught Billows and lifted him, grunting as the fire raged through his arm. Spinning Billows, Sarsgaard went onto drop him with an incredible Tilt-A-Whirl Atomic Drop, the impact of which sent Billows a few foot into the air before he fell to the canvas, clutching at himself as Sarsgaard collapsed holding his shoulder for a moment before scampering over to Billows and hooking his leg.

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

If he were a cursing man, John Sarsgaard would be marking off the obscenities right now. But he wasn’t a cursing man, he was a calculating man, and he was doing his best to ignore the pain in his arm and think ahead. Time to break out the ol’ ground and pound.

He straddled Billows, using his bad arm to grab Billows’ head and pull it into a lightning-fast barrage of left-handed blows. Finally Sarsgaard dropped Billows head and climbed to his feet, pumping his left fist and giving out a war-cry that brought cheers from the crowd once more.

Billows was in a daze as he grabbed hold of the second rope and started pulling himself up.

Hands of Steel turned around to see Billows trying desperately to get to his feet. As Billows grabbed hold of the top rope, Sarsgaard sprinted at FANSbane Ryan Billows, but Billows saw Sarsgaard coming out of the corner of his eye…

Billows kept hold of the rope, collapsing back to the canvas, tugging the top rope down sending Sarsgaard spilling out of the ring!!!!

Billows remained sitting for a moment, arms rested on his bent knees as he took deep breaths, looking out at the booing crowd as Leon Hurst began the count…

1...

2...

Billows climbed to his feet and glanced to the outside.

3...

4...

Billows took a moment to smile his million dollar grin, drawing the ire of the crowd. Sarsgaard started to show movement, getting to his knees.

5...

Billows calmly arranged Leon Hurst out of the way before running towards the opposite side of the ring and bouncing off the ropes…

6...

Sarsgaard was on his feet, and he immediately noted Billows sprinting towards him…

Billows, cat-like, leapt up onto the top rope and the fans braced themselves for something amazing…

Sarsgaard spun out of the way, at least he’d believed so…

But Billows managed to balance on the top rope for a wobbly split-second before hopping down to the apron and sprinting towards Sarsgaard as he turned back around…

Billows leapt off, coming to a landing on Sarsgaard’s shoulders before adjusting his weight, flipping Hands of Steel over with a Hurracarana!

1...

2...

The dissenters were cheering, Billows stared at the ceiling, catching his breath and trying to ignore them.

3...

4...

Billows rolled over and climbed to his feet before rolling into the ring.

5...

6...

Once again, Billows had to move Leon Hurst out of the way. It was moments like these that had led to Billows mistakenly being called a spot-machine when he’d first appeared on the scene. It was moments like these that the fans loved though, or used to love. Now they hated to love these moments of Billows’…

He gained a running start before grabbing hold of the top rope, using it to flip himself over the top rope to the outside. He extended his leg, nailing the downed Sarsgaard with a Guillotine Legdrop, it was a crazy move that he called:

Suicide-Salt In Your Wound!!!

Leon Hurst jumped up in awe of the move, tugging at his hair, shocked for a few moments before remembering his role and initiating the count.

1...

And this match will continue after a word from our sponsors!

And we’re back!

6...

That move might have taken just as much out of Billows as it took out of Sarsaard as both men were currently working their way to their feet.

7...

Sarsgaard actually seemed to be fighting for his footing more than Billows!

8...

Sarsgaard pulled himself halfway into the ring…

9...

But Billows lurched up and grabbed hold of Sarsgaard’s leg, pulling him back out the ring, successfully restarting the count.

1...

Sarsgaard gritted his teeth with frustration as he turned to face The Risen Lion.

Billows was finally getting to his feet when he saw the right hand coming at him.

2...

It was a desperate move, but Sarsgaard had had all the faith in the world that he would nail Billows with the right hook, and the Risen Lion would find himself counted out, and Sarsgaard would find himself in the locker room icing his shoulder.

But instead, Billows would duck underneath the high-velocity right hook, coming up behind Sarsgaard, hooking him around the waist and lifting Hands of Steel up, apparently going for an Atomic Drop of his own.

3...

4...

But instead of bringing Sarsgaard down crotch-first on a knee, Billows simply ran forward a step, giving the front row fans a split-second chance to realize what was happening and go scurrying out of the way. The Risen Lion sent Sarsgaard flying into the first row as the crowd!

5...

6...

But Billows couldn’t give two shits about Leon Hurst at this point. He was sick and fucking tired of the tenacious John Sarsgaard.

Billows hopped over the barricade, threatening any and all fans within striking distance that’d he’d knock their nose of their fucking faces if they so much as breathed on him.

He bent over and grabbed Sarsgaard by his pony-tail, pulling him to his feet before grabbing a fan’s drink and throwing it in Hands of Steel’s face.

BOOOOOO!

7...

8...

Billows turned around and shoved a fat fan out of his chair before grabbing the steel chair and folding it up. He turned around, planning on a L.O.S.T. Kick into the steel chair into this punk’s face.

He tossed the chair at Sarsgaard, but Sarsgaard was on his toes, and he deftly caught the chair with one hand, his left at that.

9...

Before Billows could act, Sarsgaard three the chair back at Billows who caught it in surprise.

10!!!

DING
DING
DING

Sarsgaard reared back quickly with his right arm and drilled the chair with a colossal blow!

CLANK!

The chair smashed into Billows’ face, and The Risen Lion’s nose forehead busted open!!!!

The crowd roared for this moment, not caring that this match had ended in a No Contest. They’d just gotten to witness the newest asshole on the block get leveled!!!

Sarsgaard stood there for a moment, looming over a rocking Billows. Then Sarsgaard gave out a roar of adrenaline, raising his left arm and spinning around to face the crowd.

He’d never before received this level of cheers, it was nearly enough to bring goosebumps to his flesh. He spent a few moments cherishing it before turning back around and limping over to the barricade.

He started climbing over as Billows started stirring on the ground.

John Sarsgaard moved slowly and sorely towards the ramp, and his music started up. Although the match had seen no victor, he’d been the last man standing, and one could assume that’s why “I Will Not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin was blasting over the PA system at that point in time.

He reached the middle of the ramp, the fans still cheering, but that’s when they stopped abruptly.

Sarsgaard wasn’t ready for them to stop, and so he brought his fist into the air again and spun back around and the ramp.

They’d stopped cheering for a reason though. Billows stood at the barricade, a bit wobbly on his feet for the time being, at least until he locked eyes with Sarsgaard. Billows brought a hand to his bloody forehead, wiping a thick layer of blood off his forehead and smearing it on his chest before sneering and climbing over the barricade.

John Sarsgaard took a deep breath, and went about mentally dulling the pain in his shoulder once more. He didn’t know what was about to go down now, but he knew it couldn’t be good.

Billows seethed as he walked over to the ramp, reaching the bottom, he glared up to the middle of the ramp where Hands of Steel stood. Billows stood there for a moment, seething as he clenched his fist, dripping blood at the base of the ramp.

Then he gritted his teeth, and his eyes went wide, and he was sprinting up the ramp.

So much for the nice King of Ages warm-up match.

That was the last thing John Sarsgaard contemplated as he braced himself.

Then Billows was on top of him and the two men were trading blows back and forth as Billows backed Sarsgaard up the ramp.

To be fair, John Sarsgaard held his ground better than most men could with one arm. He certainly had the speed of a boxer, managing to land just as many blows with his left hand as Billows landed with two hands.

They reached the stage however, and Billows gained the upper-hand. The Risen Lion delivered a European Uppercut that had Sarsgaard staggering before he grabbed Hands of Steel by the head, going to smash him face-first into the set!

But Sarsgaard managed an elbow to Billows stomach, putting a fork in that plan. The two were trading blows once more, and they continued trading blows until they had fallen through the curtain leaving the fans to wonder exactly what kind of chaos was going down.

But maybe some things are best left to the imagination…

C O M M E R C I A L S

Just Desserts

   

They had been fighting since the beginning of the night, back and forth across the whole arena leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Jade Argent and ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs wanted each other dead and wouldn’t quit until they laid the last of the soil over their fresh corpse themselves.

So as they both stood on crooked legs, propped up by a set of steel chairs they had originally intended to swing at one another, we return to see a swarm of referees finally able to catch up with the unruly pair.

“Argent, Jacobs…” panted Acting Head Referee Paige Allen. “This stops NOW!”

“Wow…” Jacobs barely mustered the strength to speak, “Look who learned how to flex her power arm now that Irwonson’s out of the picture!”

“He’s not outta the pic-“ She was interrupted.

“It's…kinda… sex----“ SORRY TO INTERRUPT YOU MR. JACOBS BUT YOUR HEAD JUST GOT TAKEN OFF BY A STEEL FUCKING CHAIR

Paige Allen marched angrily over to Jade Argent and forcefully ripped the weapon from his hand, causing him to become unsteady on his feet.

“I’ve… lost alotta blood…” was all he could manage.

“Listen up!” Allen asserted as the other referees physically stood between the unsteady Australian and the unconscious Icon. “I should be getting ready to referee the MAIN EVENT, NOT DEALING WITH THIS CRAP!

“I’ve been told by SilverHAWK to let you guys know that as a result of your DESTRUCTION of the COPENHAGEN FORUM, NEITHER ONE OF YOU WILL QUALIFY FOR THE KING OF AGES SEMI-FINALS!

“You do not deserve it!” Allen exclaimed as Argent dropped to his knees.

The Australian thought that since he had the higher Matchplay ranking that he would advance in the case of a tie, but this wasn’t to be the case. His dream, shattered.

“As a matter of fact, you two will face EACH OTHER at the pay-per-view! NO HOLDS BARRED, FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE, PINFALL ONLY FIGHT TO THE FINISH CHALLENGE!!! THAT'S RIGHT, TRADITIONAL SCORPION FIGHTING RULES! YOU’RE GOING TO SETTLE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL!”

And with that, Paige Allen turned on her heels and walked away giving the order over her shoulder for the rest of the referees to keep their eyes on Argent and Jacobs.

Hell of a shock, eh? Not only did both men lose their opportunity to become the next King Of Ages... their bitter rivalry would now come to a head, in a match environment both men absolutely abhorred.

In two weeks time? One man will finally triumph over the other.

Vince Jacobs. Jade Argent. One last time!

Pandemonium

       

And yet, there was more bedlam elsewhere.

What a fuckin' night, huh?

The camera opened up shakily, wobbling scenes of the backstage corridors coming at us as the cameraman hurried to what sounds to be a raucous scene. Turning a corner, we see two grown men waging war as several members of the backstage crew rush to avoid being caught in the middle of the action.

The scene is, indeed, raucous, and you thought we’d leave it to your imagination? HAH!

Billows, the Risen Lion, had a nose that was absolutely leaking blood, and he knew from the way it felt that he’d be cussing out a trainer later in the evening as his nose was cracked back into position. This thought only fueled his anger as he reached back and leveled…

John Sarsgaard, whose right arm felt like a throbbing mess of torn ligaments as far as he was concerned. The blow from Billows leveled him, but he came back at the Risen Lion with a left jab that sent the Key of Keystone State staggering backwards a bit.

The motherfucker had just nailed him right in the nose, and Billows was seeing stars. He swung wildly, knowing that Sarsgaard was likely coming in for the kill, but Billows found nothing but an armful of air.

The stars subsided and Billows hated what he saw: Sarsgaard nowhere in front of him.

Billows whipped around and Sarsgaard was rushing at him. Seeing as how Sarsgaard wasn’t too used to delivering Clothesline with his left arm, Billows managed to duck underneath it.

Billows noted the agents and staff members rushing in out of the corner of his eye.

Fuck them.

He latched onto Sarsgaard’s right arm from behind and arranges just so.

BELLY TO BACK CROSSFACE CHICKEN WING SUPLEX!!!

At least, that’s what Billows saw in his head and had set John Sarsgaard up for, until he heard a voice behind him,

“I don’t recommend doin’ what you’re ‘bout to be doin’," he started, "Consider that ya’ done been through hell tonight, and a feller that has none too much reason to like ya’ these days is standin’ ‘hind ya.”

Midnight Cowboy.

The guy Billows should have been facing tonight.

“Ohhhh fucking hop and silver and ride away ranger, this doesn’t concern you!” Billows barked over his shoulder.

“I reck'n y' might be right-but I doubt it, son. All’s I know is there ain’t no call for ya’ to be endin’ anybody’s career tonight.” The Smooth Operator responded.

"I'd expect someone with a mouth like yours t'be talkin' it out."

Billows thought for a moment before grunting and shoving Sarsgaard to the floor and spinning around.

As the two men stood nose to nose, Cowboy realized how much he could have used a nice cold beer in his hand right then. He looked at a staff member standing nearby, and flashed a look. With a knowing nod, the staffer departed in search for some suds.

Billows stared at him for a moment, angry, full of rage. But his nose hurt, and as his adrenaline started to subside, so did the rest of his body.

The Risen Lion’s face smoothed over at first before submitting to a smirk, as if Billows had been hit with a wave of inspiration. He began nodding and backing away from the scene.

“Fine, we’re done here. For now.” Billows nodded.

Midnight Cowboy didn’t show it, but he certainly didn’t like those words, and as if sensing that, Billows reiterated his point.

“We’re done for now.”

With that Billows smiled one more time, the gears clearly turning. He spun around and left, going to find that trainer to cuss out. Midnight Cowboy watched him leave before looking down at Sarsgaard and shaking his head as the paramedics flooded the scene - an ugly scene that could have turned out a lot worse.

PSHTTTT! glug glug glug...

all's fair in love and war

       

And in another part of the backstage area...

"Hello, everybody!"

Hey, look. It was none other than intrepid Backstage Interviewer, Jenna McMullen! She who had huge knockers.

And standing beside her? Buddy Saxon, who was grinning away goofily. Jenna beamed. "It's been an intense night of absolute mayhemness, but ladies and gentlemen, there's a more important story to talk about here. Buddy Saxon, who I'm sure would be the first to admit that he's been lacking momentum over the last month or so, has pulled off quite the upset earlier tonight!

Buddy, how do you feel? Not only did you finally beat Rud, but in doing so, you're in the semi-finals of the King Of Ages tournament! I'm sure you harboured thoughts of POSSIBLY advancing tonight, but it's real now. You actually did it. You made it!"

A round of cheers from the fans, as Jenna watched the Bournemouth Boy twirl his microphone in his hands.

"Jenna, I can't express how bloody ecstatic I am! You're right, it really happened. I really did beat Rud Albion earlier today, and I'm really going to be competing in the semi-finals. While I'm gutted that it had to come at the expense of my best friend Rud, I'm thrilled!" Buddy exclaimed, beads of sweat rolling down his face.

In a nice moment, Jenna gave Buddy a reassuring tap on the shoulder. Saxon's grin grew wider. "And I have people like you to thank, Jenna. The support you've given me even when you were having your own problems has been tremendous. Speaking of, I'm assuming that the yeast infection's all taken care of? That's like two times this year, isn't it?"

Oh snap. Jenna's face turned white with aghast. That was SO not supposed to be revealed.

"BUDDDDDY~!" Jenna whined, visibly squirming. Saxon just looked at her, completely oblivious to the situation. "Ixnay on the yeast thing! I told you that in CONFIDENCE!"

The Bournemouth Boy blinked. He didn't really get it.

Awkward silence. Well, except for laughter. Hell, even the cameraman was laughing.

Until, of course, Jenna gave him the death glare. Clearing her throat, Jenna turned to Buddy. "Moooooving on. You're very much welcome, Buddy, for the show of support you mentioned earlier. I always knew that you could do it. Now, I have to ask you something very important.

Do you have any clue who you're facing in the semi-finals of the tournament?"

"Actually, no. I neglected to check out the brackets." Buddy responded, furrowing his brow. "Do YOU know who I'm facing?"

Jenna sure did, considering the bombshell that occured just moments earlier as it pertained to Jacobs/Argent. But before Jenna could spill the deets, there was a visitor to the scene. A familiar one at that.

And he had a massive grin on his minimally-exposed face. "You're facing ME, Buddy. In a nice bit of serependipity -- and also because Vince Jacobs and Jade Argent dropped the ball in a major way -- the first of two triple-threat semi-final contests is now a straight-up one-on-one battle between mentor and student. It shall be the two of us, Buddy, in that semi-final!"

There you go, folks. Official confirmation and all. Buddy turned his head sideways to identify the source. His mouth hung open, partly in shock.

Z, of course! Who else would it be? "But before we talk about strategy and all that hullabaloo, Buddy, I have to get something of my chest. Something I think is very apropos for the situation.

You sly dog, you. CONGRALUATIONS! You did it, Buddy! You dug deep like I told you, and you halted your losing streak! You've therefore proven yourself to be better than Khristain Keller and Rory Hayes, and a host of other scrubs. Hell, your win over Rud Albion forced Jimmy Reid to consume his tie in an early dinner surprise. I love me some Jimmy Reid, but man, he had that COMING. Come 'ere and give me a hug, you ginger-haired ball of surprise!'

The Caped Crusader extended his arms, and in an instant, teacher and student were embracing. It was a very manly hug, just FYI. Standing aside, watching everything was Jenna McMullen. And she was completely swept away by the situation.

"Awww, this is such a touching moment! You must really be proud of Buddy, Z!" Jenna exclaimed as loudly as she could.

Z and Buddy ended their bro-mantic embraced and separated, with the Bournemouth Boy completely thrilled at the show of validation from his mentor. It had been a tough couple of months for him, ever since England's Best was no more. And it was Z's words several weeks ago that proved vital at the right time. They didn't have immediate impact as based by Buddy's loss to SDL last week, but Saxon chalked that down to himself not believing in himself.

With an arm around Buddy's shoulder, Z turned to Jenna. "I truly am, Jenna. I brought Buddy here into ACW and right off the bat, I got him into deep trouble with Jack Harris. It was something of an initiation. After that, I've left him pretty much to his own devices. I had faith that Buddy would be able to make his mark. I blinked, and he became a Tag Team Champion. And might I add, he and Rud Albion defended those Tag Team Titles during one of the toughest periods in ACW history, bar none.

And now, after clawing his way back from back-to-back-to-back defeats, Buddy joins me in the semi-final stage of the 2010 King Of Ages Tournament. I've not been the perfect mentor to Buddy, I'll admit; while I left him alone, I've slowly been doing my own thing and forming a cabal with Trey Vincent -- who might I just state IS coming back soon -- and raising all sorts of hell. Yet, I made a little time for Buddy several weeks ago. Told him what he needed to hear. A pep talk of the highest order. Look at him now!"

Jenna and Z both shifted themselves to look at the Bournemouth Boy. He was happy as can be, no doubt about that.

But in a flash, the joyous occassion was not so joyous anymore. Z stopped smiling. There was something of a sinister scowl that formed on his face, and without warning, the Caped Crusader knocked Jenna's hand and the microphone out of his face. If you thought McMullen was confused, imagine Buddy's train of thought.

"What are you doing, Z?" the Bournemouth Boy asked, thoroughly perplexed.

It would be the last thing he would say for the evening. Z promptly punched him RIGHT in the throat, and followed up by driving his knee-cap into Buddy's groin. Jenna screamed and scampered away. What in the blue hell was happening?

Z and Z alone knew the answer to that. With his quasi-protege doubled over in pain, Z took two steps back and measured Buddy. Before springing into action, the Masked Enigma removed his trenchcoat. Buddy looked up at Z, tears in his eyes. He didn't understand the what or the why.

Nobody did. And as the image of Z kicking Buddy square in the face was beamed live on the SlyTron for all the fans watching on in the stands, there was only silence. Nobody could even muster up the energy to jeer. Z was a despicable human being, sure, but everybody figured that he had some measure of compassion for the man he regarded as his student. His protege.

Breathing heavily, Z watched Buddy's body twitch uncontrollably on the concrete floor. Before the Masked Enigma could do anything, a bunch of security personnel arrived on the scene with several EMTs and paramedics. Z backed away, hands raised up in surrender. He'd done what he had set out to do: beat up Buddy Saxon like he would whip a dog in the street.

For those wondering why, Z suddenly and abruptly turned to the cameraman. "Hh. Why did I just do that, I hear all of you asking. Why would I blindside Buddy Saxon after all the wonderful things I just said about him? Why?

... Because I can.

I'll see you all at KING OF AGES. Be prepared to bow down to your new King, ladies and gentlemen."

And with one last snarl added in for good measure, Z proceeded to retire to his abode for the night.

A strong and vindictive message had been sent out. The Caped Crusader did not care much for the feel-good story of the night. He in fact cared about one thing only. And that was ultimate victory in two weeks time in Stockholm.

What would Z do with the King's Choice? God help us all.

Stockholm Syndrome

           

And now? Time for the main event. Sort of.

The arena grew to a silence; the fans in attendance were all standing on their feet in anticipation of the next match to begin. That’s when the lights in the arena dimmed and the hard, fast paced guitar riffs of “Survive” by the sickPUPPIES began to blast. There was a mixed reaction from the crowd as they knew what that music signified.

The intense energy of the music seemed as though it was embodied in the man that came bursting from behind the curtains and onto the main stage. The man that had acquired the moniker “The Anti-Star”, tried to push his energy off onto the crowd fist pumping into the air and shooting at the top of his lungs. The bottom of his black trench coat flapping with every move he made, and the only thing keeping his long, wavy dirty blonde hair out of his face was the black bandana.

Jesse paused for a moment at the top of the entrance aisle, took a deep breath, and then tossed both arms out letting out a massive yell. It was almost like his battle cry before the beginning of the match; and if the crowd wasn’t pumped up by his actions before that sent them over the top as now everyone was standing and cheering.

Jesse darted toward the ring as the announcer began his introduction, “On his way to the ring weighing in at two hundred and five pounds and hailing from Harts, West Virginia. He is, JESSE RAMEY!” As the announcer finished with his momentum Jesse slid into the ring under the bottom rope and bounced back up darting toward the turnbuckles. Leaping up onto the second rope Jesse threw his arms into the air still yelling toward the fans and with a smile on his face he pounded his chest with his right fist and then did a back flip into the center of the ring. Jesse just smiled at the ref and made his way to his corner, he stood rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulder loosening up for the match at hand.

The main event, the final quarter-final fixture, was about to begin... and once again, for the second time tonight, "Dirty Window" by Metallica was set to play... but as the opening heavy metal notes hit, Khristain Keller came spilling out of the entrance way and stumbled towards the ring.

He turned, in a fevered pitch and yelled towards the entrance way as not only the Danish crowd stood to there feet but even Jesse Ramey, locked himself into just what the hell was happening...

When the Vulture dove through the crowd and into the entrance way, standing between K2 and the ring.

Carrion paused for a brief moment and waited for the Bastard King to turn around and clock him... and when he did, both men stood still. The arena went silent... nobody knew what was about to happen.

“Come on! Tear me apart! You’re supposed to be a monster! Not just a man behind a mask you vulture piece of shit!"

A camera man braved his way between the two so that the World could hear what they were discussing.

“Monster? The monsters that’ve held this Black Title are responsible for more monstrous things then YOU have the stomach for. You aren’t READY to hold the Black title…. And that’s why it belongs to Carrion, and not Keller.”

Both men began to circle one another... this was about to get violent as the noise levels in the arena began to lift. Forget the last match before King of Ages, KSZ and Kellen Masters might just have to fight each other, just as Buddy Saxon and Z.

They also shot up when two figures could be seen coming from either side of the arena.

Coming in from behind Carrion, down the rampway, was Fejona Min, the Scorpion Fighting Champion, who like a lioness pounced on the bird man. Carrion had evaded her violent tendencies because of a seeming alliance of violence between Carrion and Omega, once they had bonded through a Black Title fight. Now though, Min would have her pound of flesh from the vulture.

However from the other side cheers and roars could be heard as Omega made his way from the other side. Being patted on the back and pushed towards the ring, by those brave enough to touch the God of Fight, as they wanted to see a war to finish off the night... but one man in the arena didn't.

No, not Jesse Ramey. He paced in the ring, still taking all of this in.

“STOP THIS MADNESS!”

SilverHAWK stood at the top of the ramp with a microphone in hand... screaming at the top of his lungs before anything got out of hand, but it seemed that he didn't have any control over this as the tron lit up once again and Jeremy Hunt sat in his office directing things like a puppet master.

“No, continue…”

HAWK was enraged.

“I want that Black Title gone! Now!”

Hunt shook his head.

“Sorry, SlySports has other plans for it Mr. HAWK. We see the business appeal with that title and would like to announce that at KING OF AGES 2010... we will have a unification match!”

The Danish fans blew off the roof with their screams.

Carrion roared as Min was pushed away by Omega, who stared at Keller. All four stood-off against one another and gritted their teeth and beaks.

Min and Omega exchanged glances filled with hatred.

Things were about to explode. And the main event had yet to start.

"It will involve the four of you." OH FUCK YEAH.

“In something that I would like to call a Stockholm Syndrome Match. Not only is it a nod to the city in which King of Ages will be taking place, but... you will have to care for those you'd much rather see torn to pieces.... as the four of you will be divided into two pairs by a six foot long chain around your waists.”

It was one of the most gruesome and tantalising matches in ACW history!

"Can you guess who you will be paired with?" Hunt the Cunt smiled.

“The pairs… THE BLACK TITLE HOLDER Carrion and Khristain Keller.”

RUAH!

“And the Scorpion Fighting Champion Fejona Min and Omega!”

RUUUUUUAH!

“First fall wins. One catch. You won’t be able to take that fall from the person you’re chained to. I suppose you could call that the syndrome.”

OOOOOOO!

“One of you will become the Black Scorpion… and then I suppose we’ll all go from there.”

2010 KING OF AGES TOURNAMENT - QUARTER-FINAL 4
Jesse Ramey vs. Khristain Keller
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

Even with Hunt’s stellar announcement for the KING OF AGES 2010 pay-per-view, the three participants standing on the entrance ramp were going to have at each other. Fejona, Carrion, and Omega were all trading blows while Keller looked ready to make his way back up the ramp and join as well, he forgot one important thing.

Ramey slid out of the ring under the bottom rope and quickly walked up behind Keller, he knew that if the bald bastard never set foot in the ring he couldn’t even win by count out. That wasn’t his style anyway though; as he grabbed Keller by the shoulder and twisted him around he was met with a sharp fist right under the chin. Keller stumbled back a few steps, but Ramey latched onto his arm and whipped him toward the ring.

The Bastard King of Ages’ back snapped off of the edge of the ring apron and Ramey came rushing in. Keller sidestepped whatever maneuver Ramey was going to attempt, but Jesse used the momentum to quickly step up onto the apron. Keller smiled toward the crowd as he brought a finger to his skull letting them know he thought he was smarter than that. As Keller turned to see the damage done Ramey came running off of the apron landing on him with a senton that took both men to the mats.

Referee Paige Allen was at a complete loss with everything going on within the arena, Hunt making an appearance, and the fact that both men still hadn’t found their way into the ring. She leaned through the middle and top rope and began yelling at both Ramey and Keller, “If you two don’t get your asses in this ring I’m going to disqualify both of you!”

Ramey was the first back to his feet and he heard exactly what the vixen ref had to say, and that was the furthest thing from what he wanted tonight. Ramey grabbed Keller by the ears and helped him back to his foot, “Come on you bald fucking bastard! I’m not fucking losing this match because your ass wanted to get in on the action with those fucking twats!”

Ramey flung Keller into the ring under the bottom rope, he rolled near the center of the ring and Jesse quickly followed behind rolling into the ring as well. Allen finally relived the two participants were finally in the ring signaled for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Keller had made his way to one knee by the time that Jesse popped back up on his feet and a double leg takedown later the Bastard King of Ages had mounted the Anti-Star dropping him back to the mat. Keller began wailing on Jesse with very vicious left and rights.

“Maybe you would have been better off if you had let me join in that battle Ramey, because now I’m going to kill you once and for all.” Keller’s remarks fell on almost deaf ears though as he lifted Ramey back from the mat and whipped him off to the ropes.

Keller attempted a clothesline, but Ramey ducked under. The King Shit of Fuck Mountain wasn’t quick enough to get turned around and Ramey went with a leap frog over top of him, planting his hands in the bald skull. This infuriated Keller. Off the ropes once more went Ramey, but Keller was so pissed when Ramey came back through and attempted to dodge another move Keller snapped him up and brought him down to the spinning body slam.

1…

SHOULDER UP!

Ramey shot a shoulder up before Allen even had the chance to reach a two count, but Keller didn’t look pissed. He smiled despite the damage he had been taking over the past few weeks. He knew the score with Ramey was one he already had the advantage on, and he knew exactly how to get into his head, and exactly how to dissect him in the ring.

“Let’s see you pull off one of those fancy fucking high flying moves on the mats you piece of shit!” Keller exclaimed as he wrapped his arm around Ramey’s skull placing him in a head lock. The fan in attendance booed heavily with the nature of this hold, both men sprawled out on the mat. There wasn’t going to be much action from the mats, but Keller only continued to smile.

Paige dropped to a knee and began checking on the Anti-Star, “Do you want to give up Ramey?” The muffled sounds of Ramey yelling, “Fuck you!” were the only thing Allen could hear, but there were other choice words in there. Just couldn’t quite make them out considering Keller began pulling his arm back and forth across Ramey’s face.

The fans all began yelling, clapping, and stomping their feet trying to give Ramey the support they thought would help him fight out of the hold. Jesse slowly began forcing Keller back to a standing base, but once back to their feet he tried to shove Khristain off. The move had no effect as Keller put on the breaks still holding the move in tight and causing Ramey to drop back to his knees.

“It doesn’t matter what I’ve been through you piece of shit, I’m still stronger than you’ll ever be!” Keller shouted at Ramey, but moments later they were both back to their feet. The crowd still going crazy trying to rally behind Ramey, and instead of going for another attempt to push Keller off Ramey planted his feet and wrapped his arms around Keller’s waist. Keller’s face went from a smile to that of shock when Ramey lifted him into the air for a side suplex driving Khristain down on his neck.

Jeremy Hunt seemed to be enjoying the action from the ringside area, where he had found a front row seat. Amongst the crowd Omega, Fejona Min, and Carrion continued to battle driving fans out of their seats and stealing the chairs they had left behind. It was almost as if they were dueling with swords at this point in time, but just replace the swords with chairs.

Ramey slowly made his way back to his feet, took a second glance over his shoulder at Keller getting back to his feet and darted toward the turnbuckle. Jesse quickly climbed each individual pad on his way to the top and just as Keller was turning around Ramey came flying off of the top rope with a moonsault.

THUD!

Keller had managed to sidestep the move at the last second sending Ramey to the mat face first. The impact caused Ramey to bounce over onto his back as he grabbed at his chest and midsection. Keller once again looked at the fans and brought a finger to his skull, “I’m smarter than you will ever be Ramey, and I’m smarter than every fucking on you too!”

Keller grabbed hold of Ramey’s hair, which met much disapproval from Allen; Keller ignored it though. He wrapped Jesse’s head up into another headlock, but this time made his way to the ropes. Khristain then wrapped his arm around the turnbuckle and began grinding the top rope into Ramey’s face.

Despite the fact that this may not look like it hurts to most of you in the real world, if you’ve ever stepped foot inside of that ring you’d know those ropes have no remorse. Keller released the hold just before reaching the turnbuckle padding, and before Ramey could drop to one knee Khristain grabbed him by the hair once again and smashed his face into the turnbuckle padding.

The Anti-Star staggered several steps backward, but Keller once again grabbed him by the neck and dropped him with a reverse falling neck breaker. Keller rolled over on top of Ramey’s body and shoved an open palm into his face as Allen dropped in for the count.

1…

2…

FOOT ON THE ROPE!

Keller looked completely pissed off at Allen as she stopped the count and pointed toward the ropes. Keller turned his attention to the foot she was pointing out. He grabbed hold of the leg and pulled it in for another attempt, “Count you fucking cunt!”

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Keller quickly jumped back to his feet and got in Paige Allen’s face, “You could just fucking disregard that foot, or have fallen into a position like any other referee that you wouldn’t have seen it, could you bitch?”

Allen’s face turned from that of calm to sheer rage hearing the “bitch” comment resonate from Keller’s mouth. She began shoving her finger into Keller’s chest slowly back him up, “I’ll call this match down the fucking middle Khristain! If you don’t like it you can fucking leave, but I swear to God the next time you call me a bitch I’m going to rip your nuts from their fucking sack!”

Keller turn to realize that the fans weren’t going crazy for the action that was still going on amongst them, but the fact that Ramey had made his way back to his feet. Keller’s eyes had widened for a brief second until the boot came flying into his midsection. The massive blow sent Keller dropping to his hands and knees, Ramey bounced off of the ropes and came back through grabbing Keller and rolling him up in an Oklahoma roll pin attempt.

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Keller shoved Ramey off with the little strength he had, causing Jesse to back roll back up to his feet. Keller twisted around back to a seated position only to be met with a basement dropkick from the Anti-Star. The fans were going crazy and Hunt just looked on rubbing his hands knowing that tonight Keller was going to be ended.

Jesse back to his feet rushed the ropes once more and came back through with a rolling senton onto the prone body of Keller. He quickly got back to his feet and grabbed hold of Keller’s arm and leg pulling him close to the nearest turnbuckle. Jesse jumped holding both the ropes across from the turnbuckle and came crashing back down to the mat with a split-legged moonsault.

THUD!

Keller rolled out of the move attempt at the very last second and once again Ramey came crashing down to the mat face first missing his target. No matter what he tried it seemed as though if it pertained to a top rope move Keller had him check and mate every single time. If he couldn’t utilize his high flying nature how would you put Keller away or even get him close to being able to put away?

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain slowly made his way back to his feet holding his midsection from the senton that Ramey had landed on him. And the thought was rolling through Keller’s mind as well, how was he going to put Ramey away? Every time Keller was able to amount some kind of comeback off of Ramey’s botched high flying attempts Jesse would find some way to kick out of his moves or mount a comeback of his own.

Keller once again grabbed the Anti-Star by the hair and lifted him back to his feet; he whipped him off into the ropes and looked to attempt a sidewalk slam. Ramey only continued with the momentum swinging up Keller’s body and latching his legs around Keller’s neck. Jesse brought him lifting down and forward with a hurricanrana that sent Khristain back first into the turnbuckles.

The Bastard King of Ages rested leaning against the bottom turnbuckle, but not for long as Ramey ran toward the corner. He lifted himself straight up into the air and dropped back in driving both boots into Keller’s chest. Though the move brought more damage onto Khristain the move also had an effect on Ramey as well as his head bounced off the mat.

Jesse slowly made his way back to his feet via help from the ring ropes, and directly across from those ropes was Jeremy Hunt. Hunt could be heard yelling, “Finish him Ramey! Finish that bald bastard!” Jesse very winded from the match that had taken place so far heard the shouting coming from his left and turned to look at Hunt. Jeremy brought a thumb up and then dropped it as if he were a Roman emperor giving Ramey the signal to kill his opponent.

Jesse looked across the ring at Keller crawling from the corner on his hands and knees barely able to keep the momentum up to even struggle out. His hands and knees were so wobbly that he nearly slipped and fell a few times on his way to the center of the ring. Jesse turned his full body to look at Hunt, and without saying anything the fans went into hysterics with his response to Hunt as Jesse reared back and spit in the direction of the SlySports representative.

Jesse’s face quickly turned from that of a smirk though into a look of “what the fuck” as a hand slipped up between his legs and rolled him up into a school boy pin attempt. Ramey had wasted so much time verifying Hunt at the ringside area that he had lost track of where Keller was in the ring, and the Bastard King of Ages looked ready to win this match now as he held tightly onto the handful of tights. It just so happened that this time Paige Allen had fallen just out of the view of something for a change.

1…
…

…

2…

…

…

ROLL THROUGH!

Jesse grabbed Khristain by the head and used the force that Keller was pulling his tights with to roll him through into his own pin attempt. Jesse somehow managed to wrap his legs around Keller’s on the way through and used whatever strength he had left to hold Keller down to the mat.

1…

…

2…

…

3!

Keller pulled his legs free from Ramey and shoved him off of his body, but it was a split second too late. “Gallows” by Atreyu began blasting over the PA system once more as Jesse quickly rolled out of the ring. He began slowly walking backward up the entrance ramp smiling at Keller in the ring, as if to say “I just saved you from being completely destroyed tonight” and then shifted his eyes toward Hunt who looked as pissed off as ever with his arms folded staring at Keller in the ring.

Jesse threw his arms into the air and the fans went even crazier, as they knew too that tonight Ramey had cemented his continuation in the King Of Ages tournament. KSZ and Kellen Masters? Watch out.

The rest of yous?

See ya in two weeks, natch.