• SLAM! EPISODE 83
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    s80

    No Brand Wrestling Presents: SLAM! Episode LXXXIII
    Live from The Epic II Arena - St. Louis, Mo.



    Intro

     

     

     

    V/O - “Over ten years ago a small-time promotion out of Reading, PA came to existence. Over the years superstars have debuted and grown, some have retired, and others are still around today. Owners have changed. Locations have shifted. But one thing has always stayed the same. The name. Three Initials that have survived through the thick and the thin.”

    The NBW logo is shown as it fades in and out showing the various designs from past to present. The voice-over by Trent McKnight continues.

    V/O - “Those initials represent the past, the present, and the future. No Borders. No Boundaries. No Bull. Nothing But Wrestling. Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to the NBW!”

    A video package rolls showing past wrestlers and on-screen talent from the original promoter Alex Styles to Xander Napoli onto the current: Thaddeus Boyle. Three different men with three different agendas, all of which were responsible for the success that is NBW.

    V/O - “Many athletes have paved the way for the current generation entertaining the fans every week.”

    Shots of Jason Kain, Maximizer, Frost, Rey Campbell, Cal Roberts, Blake Gray, Rejection, Uncensored, Jade Greene and Alan Helms filled the screen before being replaced with shots of macWICKED, Ali Amore, Lunatic, D-T, Max Hopper, High Flyer, Sam Potright, Dream Warriors, Rik Bone, Callie Urban, Heaven and Hell, Shawn Jessica Hart, Remy Leroux, Brock Metzer, The Gordon Brothers, Andrew Martin, Mat Walton, William Arthur Reagan, Nightlife USA, Sweet Daddy K, Techno Dragon and numerous others as the clips speed up to a blur.

    Side to side ‘Special K’ Keegan and ‘the Colossus’ Spike Saunders fade into view before being replaced by an imposing image of the former Double Champion, ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs and his Cheshire-like smile.

    His image is replaced by clips of the members of his Upper Echelon; Judasbleek, Warren Spade, and the Son of Malta.

    They are soon replaced by the likes of Vic Gravender, Chris Moliano, Derecho, Judasbleek, Son of Malta, Torment, RaVage, Tremoid, Lexia Hart, Benjamin Jones, For The Win, Johannes Antonious de Castonovo and Aleczander of Family Keeling, Handsome Man Modeling School, Supersquad, Zed, and more as the clips speed up once more.

    V/O - "The time to break the mold is now. To be somebody. To make a mark. To be..."

    The NBW logo spins to life once more and fades out to the simple initials before the opening video for SLAM plays and then the initials return with the logo once more.

    N.B.W.

     

    Welcome to SLAM!

     

    As usual the opening video package faded out to the view of the fans cheering with all their energy. Anticipation for another exciting night of action coursed through the air. The drone camera took stock of the fans and their signs as they thrust them in the air for attention. If you had to pick a few out to showcase them, you'd miss out on the rather heavyset fan and his obviously custom done up crayon drawn shirt saying: I Believe. Of course on top of his head was none other than a tinfoil hat which would sure to be causing his neighboring ticket holders some disgust come later in the evening.

    That out of the way, the focus came about to the commentators booth.

    "Welcome everyone to another night of Wednesday Night SLAM! As always I'm Melissa Vanderart and with me is the silver tongued C.G. Gains." Vanderart greeted the viewers.

    "Getting better at those introductions Mel! Folks, what a night we have for you! Including a MASSIVE Main Event that will pit one half of the Unstoppables against the Mid-South Monster."

    "First however as we can see our ring announcer Brent Williams is standing at the center of the ring, it looks like we're getting straight into the action tonight!"

    "Oh well, go for it Brent." Gains added, "Steal the spotlight."

    "Ladies and Gentlemen, your first match of the evening is scheduled for one fall and will have a twenty minute time-limit." Williams looked around at the audience before adding: "And will be for the Keystone Championship!"

    That got quite the cheers as one would expect .

     

    Keystone

    Keystone Championship

     

    On Slam 82, Alfie asked Ali Amore, who he'd trained with under Keegan's tutelage in Britain, for a crack at his Keystone crown.  The game champion said yes, as long as it was here on Slam 83 and not that night, so here we are.

    Two high-flyers who know each other very well indeed.  This could have the makings of a great bout.  Let's find out.

    Brent Williams formally announced what was at stake and on that note, 'Let Me Entertain You' brought the British challenger out, running down the aisle and full of energy, some he should probably preserve.

    Brent:  "The challenger....from London, England...weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...ALFIIIIE BUTTTTON!"

    Once he was in the ring, he pointed at our Epicentre screen:  "Ali...BOMAYE your title reign.  Sorry, buddy."  Would his prediction prove prophetic?

    'That's Amore.'

    Understandably, this potential hall-of-fame inductee, following in the footsteps of Keegan, got an even greater reaction, though that might change in the future.  After all, The Entertainers had developed a terrific rapport with the fans and were noted for their extraordinary athletic gifts and natural likability.

    Here and now, Ali smiled, exchanging high-fives with spectators and taking his time - possibly a sign of his experience compared to the Cockney -  ahead of this title defence.

    "His opponent...from Bogota, Colombia...weighing in at two hundred and twelve pounds...ALLLLLI AMOORRRRE!"

    Time to show off after ascending the steel steps...

    Ali's customary somersault over the top.

    A handshake was respectfully offered by champion to challenger and it was gratefully accepted.  While never close friends, they'd shared a ring on countless occasions while training with their mentor, Keegan, and had never spoken out of turn concerning the other.  There was massive mutual respect for their oodles of athletic ability and agility.

    Everyone in the audience sat down as the bell tolled and Ali pulled on the ropes.  Alfie, exerting nervous energy, kicked his right heel with his left foot, eager to get going in what was unquestionably the biggest singles outing of his career to date.  How would his close-run quests for tag team titles, only to come up short, aid him in aiming to upset Amore and the current nbW applecart?

    Ding, ding, ding.

    A traditional C & E Tie-Up, not their normal style, went in Ali's favour.  From there, the champion applied a Side Headlock.  Alfie's attempt to shove Ali off didn't work, Amore wrenching on Button's head and retaining the hold.

    Three stiff shots to Amore's ribs brought about a change in circumstances and when Ali had been pushed away, Button dropped down.  Amore anticipated the Londoner's leapfrog, not buying it in the slightest, and made Alfie seem somewhat silly as he leapt up and down up on the spot prior to being floored by a Dropkick! 

    Alfie knew he'd been outfoxed, rolling out and visibly giving himself a telling-off.  He rejoined us a bit wiser.

    The proof was in the second slice  of Collar-and-Elbow pudding, Alfie taking the lead with, you've guessed it, a Side Headlock.  The Brit brought the South American star down to the mat with the elementary hold intact.  Button read the predictable Headscissors attempt, shifting his body a little to the left.

    Anyway, Amore still got to his feet, shoving Button off this time and when Amore dropped down...

    When he stood up, Alfie was waiting for him...

    SUPERKICK!

    And Ali is out of there up and over the top rope!

    Button hadn't budged.  He'd stayed put and when Ali came up for air, it wasn't a bird or a plane that cleaned his clock, but the Cockney's customary Superkick.

    Watching Amore carefully, the quicker-than-a-hiccup Briton hopped through the bottom ropes...

    JUMPING THE SHARK!

    The Suicide Dive-cum-Tornado DDT struck Ali for six!!!!!!

    Alfie let the official do his job.  Once he reached 8, the Brit, concerned his Colombian co-worker wouldn't make the count, broke it up by heading outside himself and rolling his parched training partner back into the battleground, where he could lose his Keystone crown.

    It looks like Alfie had again misjudged the situation.  When he followed suit, Ali had recovered and kneed Button on the button - the temple.  A follow-up punt threatened to give Alfie a migraine. 

    1...

    2....
    That won't do; though Button appeared to be dizzy.

    Once Alfie was up again...

    Ali scored with a Spinning Heel Kick.

    Uno

    Dos.


    Try again.

    Amore picked his young pretender up off the canvas, not out of the goodness of his heart either.  No, he sent the mouthy member of The Entertainers to the opposite side of the ring, searching for a Hurricanrana on the rebound.  The British boomerang didn't play ball as he caught the Colombian in mid-air.  Ali wasn't dead in the water though, tipping the initiative in his balance with a pair of powerful punches.  Still, the pendulum was swinging until Ali's third and final blow paved the way for the Hurricanrana to come off. 

    And the victory?

    One...

    Two..
    .

    The South American, noted for his speed, took Alfie down with an Armdrag, make that another as the enthusiastic Entertainer popped up.  With what's happened recently, maybe it should be Alfie who's adopting this approach.

    Whether it was for that or not, Button was frustrated with himself thus far.  He had tried to utilise his pace, but Ali was no slouch in that department obviously.  Alfie initiated a third Tie-Up and that went to Ali, who steered the Cockney back to the North East side of the squared circle.  A clean break was complied with.

    Button slid through Ali's legs; Ali had enough about him in terms of speed and savvy to catch the challenger like a child attempting to escape a parent's clutches.  With Button in a wheelbarrow position, he ate the canvas via the former World champion's emphatic Facebuster!

    1...

    2...


    2 and a half.

    Ali didn't rest on his laurels and a Standing Moonsault was sought.  Instead, it was the titleholder's turn to taste the mat.  Remember, Alfie had seen his partner, Darren Best, do that move on many, many occasions.

    Button regained his vertical base.

    "I PITY THA FOOL!
    "I PITY THA FOOL!"

    Two thunderous European Uppercuts allowed the audience to interact, and more importantly, Button the chance to build a case to be champion.

    A Slingshot Floatover Suplex, otherwise known as Survey Says, resulted in a straight two.  These fan favourites had divided the masses.  They were the true winners here, but who would be triumphant in this title clash?

    Alfie was focused, which he can't always be accused of, whipping his respected rival to the buckle with authority.  A Running Forearm had Amore reeling, so much that the South American slumped down in said corner.  Alfie was away, turning on his heels before coming back with a Commercial Break!!! (Hesitation Dropkick, delivered delectably.)

    Button brought Ali a bit to the left.  It was he, not Ali, who would head north for the maiden voyage in this contest.

    Alfie Button...

    COME ON DOWN...WITH A CRASH!

    Alfie had missed; Ali had moved.

    Ali was not only up - he was awake.

    A Snap Suplex set the table...

    A Standing Ghetto Stump threatened to rid the Brit of his lunch's contents.

    1...

    2....


    No, it wasn't time for a celebratory sip of champagne.

    Amore shot Button into the North-West region of the ring...

    His turn to miss!  A Handspring Elbow, possibly re-injuring his arm, though those thoughts were blasted out of mind as he staggered towards a grateful Alfie...

    SUPERKICK!

    ONE...

    TWO...

    TH.
    .AT'S CLOSE!!!

    This had started out with a handshake and respect; there wasn't much of that on display as Alfie dragged Ali up by his hair...

    Cliffhanger!  (Hair-Pull Hangman)

    While the Colombian coughed up his spleen, Button was perched and on the prowl, propelling himself back onto apron and top rope...

    I'm Alfie Button, BITCH (Superb Springboard Forearm Smash.)

    1...

    2....


    Not quite.

    The Englishman Irish Whipped Ali from left to right, only to see it reversed.  Alfie came back at the Colombian with a Hurricanrana, just as Amore had done earlier.  And, as Amore was fixed to plant the pretender with a Powerbomb...

    Only to suffer an unexpected RATINGS SLUMP!  (DDT.)

    One...

    Two...


    Getting closer.


    "I PITY THA FOOL!
    "I PITY THA FOOL!
    "I PITY THA FOOL!"

    And, the audience did as Ali didn't know where he was, staggering into the top right-hand corner.

    Out of nowhere, Amore booted Button in the abdomen, swivelling the unsuspecting Englishman around and wailing away with 'Seven Punches.'  The Cockney, in control mere seconds ago, was on his arse and deflated after a marvellous run of momenum.

    Wait a minute...

    As Ali picked Alfie up, Button returned the favour...

    "I PITY THA FOOL!"

    Chop by Ali!

    "I PITY THA FOOL!"   

    Chop by Ali!

    Chop by Ali!

    SUPERKICK BY ALFIE!

    Eh?  Let's rewind.  Wait, fuck it.  I think it's self-explanatory.

    Both competitors crashed to the mat in exhaustion as the audience stood applaud to their early efforts.  This was simmering nicely.

    Once Alfie had regained his senses, he headed upstairs.  By the time he set himself, longer than normal, Ali had done the same and stood on the second rope.  The two of them were trading rights...

    Ali's two Chops cut Alfie's weaker blows off.  He was a leftie, you know.  Ali grabbed Alfie's colourful tights and cleared it with his imaginary cabin crew for landing...

    Superplex!!!

    From Superkick to Superplex in seconds!  Wow.

    1...

    2....


    It'll have to wait.

    Or will it?  Amore chanced his arm with an Inside Cradle.

    One...

    Two..
    .

    Make that two twos in two seconds!

    The couple, not like that, were on their feet.  Ali sensed another Superkick coming and blocked Button's bullet, just as Benjamin Jones had done to him at Legacy.  He tripped the tag team specialist and went for a bridge, recording a two.

    Button tried to reverse it into a Backslide, but he didn't have enough in the tank to hold Amore, who converted it into a Backbody Drop.  He fell forward, clearly fatigued as this match was beginning to take its toll on its contestants.

    1...

    2...

    3...

    4...

    5...

    6...

    7...

    Ali scooped Alfie up...

    Button escaped via the back door...

    SUPERKICK...DUCKED!

    A kick by the Colombian winded Alfie, but when he ran the ropes...

    Button unleashed Match of the Day!  (An outstanding Overhead Kick.  Fuck Pele and his limp dick.  Wait, isn't that an oxymoron?  He's a moron!)

    One...

    Two...

    Thr...
    Bugger, Button shouted.  But, he believed and so did the people, who admired champion and challenger alike.

     Wait a minute.  Just wait a fucking minute.

    Or a second with the tempo these two guys set.

    Button is out on the apron...

    And he's perched again.  He can't be, can he?

    SEASON FINALE!

    Ali set Alfie straight, refusing to comply with the 720 DDT that would've ended this match and his spell as Keystone champion.  No, he brought the eager Button down to the mat, and his feet wouldn't be planted there for long...

    Fisherman's Suplex!

    One...

    Two...


    The champion almost had it!

    It had seemed like curtains for Amore; then he'd almost wiped his opponent out.  Talk about back and forth.

    "I PITY THA FOOL!"

    Chop!

    Nobody pitied the crowd though.  They were bang up for this.  Alfie BANGED Ali with a chop of his own, similar to the ones lighting his chest up.  As Button backed the Superstar of Bogotá up into the top-right corner, the Colombian took a side-step and smacked the Cockney with a cracking punch to the side of the head.  If that weren't enough, he rammed Alfie's head into the corner to compound the misery and add to the migraine.

    Monkey Flip is just what you need when you're wobbly.

    And then it dawned on us.  It was primed to pave the way for That's Amore - the champ's patented Frogsplash.

    But, just as Amore turned away from his victim, the motionless challenger's  hand emerged from a mucky crypt, figuratively obviously, to give Ali nightmares.  Well, maybe not, as Amore looked to kick...

    Small Package by Alfie!

    Advertisement paid for by Mr. Button:  He wants you to know while he can pull off Small Packages, he has a large package.

    Wait, he can do what?

    Moving on...

    ONE...

    TWO...


    THAT'S not going to do it either.

    Ali stopped his young, hungry lion of a training partner-cum-challenger with another Side Headlock, which served him well earlier.  Alfie's patience had worn thin and he pushed Amore off and dropped down...

    FROGPLASH TO THE BACK!!!

    Fuck me, where did that come from?  Amore didn't ask any questions.  He rolled the splattered Entertainer over from back to front...

    UNO...

    DOS...

    TRE...
    MENDOUS NEAR-FALL.

    These two foxes weren't adhering to conventions with the crossroads/drop-down sequences and that almost sealed it for the South American.  If he'd had the height of a 'normal' Frogsplash, there's no doubt Button's back and chances would've been squashed there and then.

    Ali cemented his handiwork with a Backbreaker...

    The cheeky Cockney kicked the Colombian in mid-flight and that caused the champion to relinquish his grip...

    God, Alfie's FAST!  Even against Alfie, all he needed was a heartbeat and BAM (Springboard Reverse Elbow.)

    One...

    Two..
    .

    No!

    Near-fall of his own. 

    Button was back in it though, and as he whipped Ali into the southern set of ropes, he unloaded with a similar spot...

    WHEEL OF FORTUNE!  (Corkscrew Elbow.)

    Would that roll of the dice prove to be fateful?

    1...

    2....

    3?


    No.  Crucially, Button didn't dwell and he couldn't afford to.  Season Finale had been tried and untested here...

    How would THE RED BUTTON DO?

    It wouldn't get pressed.  As Alfie set off, Ali followed him and brought Button down with an awe-inspiring, stamina-sapping LUNGBLOWER!

    Alfie's eyes were wide open; he was captured on camera staring at the ceiling, seemingly incapable of pulling himself up.  Amore would do that for him, bringing him towards the turnbuckles, more specifically the summit...

    Reverse Tornado DDT!

    He wasn't done there.  The champion, perhaps smartened up over the years of competing in the singles ranks and at a high level, went  back to the corner for you-know-what as Button lay there static, stationery and essentially a sitting duck.

    Heartbreakingly for Alfie, he wasn't able to offer anything ; perhaps a lethal cocktail of pain and tiredness.

    Ali was moving gingerly.  There was time to get out of this rocket's path....

    Amore, with thousands behind he and Button, let out a huge breath and unleashed a spectacular...

    FROGSPLASH!!!

    THAT'S AMORE!!!!!

    And, surely, it is still Ali's title!

    It took Ali several seconds to recover from the almighty blow he had dealt Alfie.  What chance did the cheeky Cockney  have?  We were going to find out now that Ali had used whatever he had left to crawl and get an arm across Button's heavily-breathing chest...

    ONE...

    TWO...


    THERE'S NO WAY!!!

    ....

    .....

    There isn't, you know....

    THREE!!!

    The crowd rose to their feet.

    Hey, wait a minute! 

    As Ali retrieved his prize - the Keystone title - he was attacked from behind by Freddie and Todd Rich, the two senior members of The Rich Family with flailing boots and arms peppering the tired titleholder and forcing him to crawl.

    Meanwhile, Alfie was woken up by Donny and Declan pounding his face in from point-blank range.  Was that really necessary?

    Todd held Ali for Freddie, who'd seemingly recovered from those rib injuries, and he was dishing out punches to that particular section of Amore's anatomy.  Donny and Declan double-teamed Alfie, slinging him out of the ring.

    Darren Best was distressed in The Entertainers' changing room, unable to get out and aid his partner.  We, the viewers, could see an actual locker barricading him in the locker room.

    Yes, this had been pre-planned.

    Why? 

    As Freddie stuck it to Ali with the SICK Kick, AKA Freddie's Nightmare, he called for a microphone in a rather abrupt fashion, we were set to find out.

    Disrespectfully, 'The First' stood over the fallen South American, slapping him:  "My dad always taught me that you don't pay your dues or wait in line - you go to the front and take what you want.

    "We did that to The Unstoppables.  Sure, we failed, but we've learned our lessons.  The Rich Family is still a family and we seek gold.  All for one and one for all is our motto and I'm here, we're here, to take your title.

    "Darren Best in the back and Alfie, you were collateral damage.  We weren't here for you, this would've happened to anyone in here with Ali tonight.  He's our target.  So, don't take it personally and don't get involved.  This is between us and him."

    Boos greeted Freddie's words, who now shrugged his shoulders and looked down at Ali:  "Hey, it's not even personal with you.  But, you've got what we want and we're gonna take it."

    At that point, Alfie Button was crawling back into the ring, Donny pointed at himself all excitedly.  Declan and Todd laughed and then looked at Freddie, who nodded and smiled wryly.  As Button, believed to be assisting Amore, stood up...

    SUPERKICK!

    Donny folded his arms and looked at the camera, like he had just boned a bevy of broads:  "AY!"

    Talk about insult!

    Darren Best was doing exactly that - his best - and had just kicked the door down and pushed the barricades down.  He was on his way out here.

    Unfortunately, it would be too late.  The Rich Family all joined hands and raised them, receiving jeers for their handiwork.  On Freddie's cue, they took off through the masses, security ensuring nobody got close to the quartet.

    Despite grave problems last week, they'd put their heads together, carried out a perfect plan to execution and were no longer nursing an Unstoppable-inflicted headache.

     

    Stick It

     

    Alfie Button staggered to his feet and Ali was now up on his feet.  Suddenly, Darren ran in.  Button wasn't best pleased:  "Aw, 'iya Dazza, 'ow's your night goin'?  Enjoyin' it back 'ere while I get my arse kicked, are ya?  Where were you?"

    Best put his arms around Alfie:  "They barricaded me in the locker room.  I kicked the door down to get out here." 

    Ali shook both of their hands, still hurting, and pointed at both guys, principally Alfie, asking the audience to bestow The Entertainers with the accolades they deserved.  Button tore away from his discussion with Best to grab Ali by the hand, his good one this time, and drag him into the centre of the ring for a deserved cheer.  The former sparring partners shared an embrace.

    Amore admitted:  "Great try, Alfie."

    Button responded:  "Great match, Ali.  Until next time..."

    A handshake came and Ali waved to the crowd appreciatively on the way out.

    Alfie was tired, but he wasn't expecting what came his way:  "I can't believe you didn't work the arm, Alfie."

    Tilting his head, Button scowled:  "What?"
    Darren delivered a damning assessment:  "His arm has had a bullseye on it for weeks and you totally ignored it..."

    Alfie waved him off:  "Save it."

    Best tried to remonstrate with Alfie, who turned around rather hurriedly:  "Nah, Dazza.  Nah.  I've just 'ad an 'ell of a match and you come out wiv that after missin' your cue.  So, if you're not gonna talk about 'ow we're gonna stick it to The Rich Family, you can stick your words of advice up your arse."

    Alfie clapped the capacity crowd and jumped over the top rope.  Best soon followed, but Button wasn't going to hang around for him.  For the first time in nbW, there seemed to be a bit of dissension and tension between The Entertainers.

    And, for all of Freddie Rich's remarks ordering The Entertainers not to take it personally, it seemed The Rich Family had better gear up to fight on two fronts.

     

    At Your Funeral

     

    "KEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAALLL~!" came the booming voice of the nbW General Manager, Jack Harmen. He had a flier for tonight's Slam 83 card raised and shouted toward the hallway. He wore his pink bow tie and custom three piece suit.

    Quickly, Richie Keal appeared in the doorway, dressed in a "How Would You Like Your Coffee?" t-shirt and tearway jeans.

    "What the BEEP is this BEEP?" Harmen shouted, shoving the match line up into Richie Keal's chest.

    "It's..." Richie stammered. "It's the card lineup." Richie rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, for the show?" Richie blinked. "Wait, did you just beep yourself?"

    "I know what it physically is," Harmen said, pacing in his own office. "Why is it the way it is Keal. Why are YOU, in the Keystone Tournament?" The nbW crowd quietly popped.

    "Well," Richie continued to rub the back of his neck. "You told me to book the tournament, and I figured what better chance would I have? You told me I should seize opportunity, like, months ago Ja-" Off dagger stares from the GM, "Mr. Harmen, so I... I'm taking a shot."

    Harmen sneered, "You're guaranteeing your short and sweet demise Keal. You know how hard it is to find someone to do your job?" Harmen blinked. "Actually, you know what, good luck. If you die, I'll call a temp agency."

    "So..." Richie squinted. "You're okay with it?"

    "Abuse of power? Nepotism? Suicide?" Harmen shrugged, slinking back into his comfortable office chair and kicking his feet up on his desk. He picked up a copy of Y the Last Man and began reading. "It's your funeral." He turned the page. "Just, don't walk in here bleeding. I had the carpets cleaned."

    Harmen didn't look up as Keal slowly slinked out of the room.

    "OH! And Keal?"

    Keal reappeared at the doorway. "Yes?"

    "Seven sugars please."

     

    His Campaign Has Begun

     

    The shot transitioned further backstage, with Trent McKnight standing in front of the nbW banner. The ace of the backstage staff was dressed impeccably with black wingtips, and slate slacks, into which was tucked a black oxford with orange piping around the collar. He gave a nod to someone off camera and brought the mic to his mouth.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight I have for you the man that walked out of Legacy having sent a very strong message. And to explain exactly what that message was, please welcome my guest,” his hand gestured to camera left, “Xiang.”

    Entering frame with that near constant shadow behind him, Xiang made a curt smile as he refused William’s welcome. He wore a three piece suit of black with red shirt and no tie, whereas Wall was dressed ready for a fight at a moment’s notice. “You are privileged to have earned my time in these early days of my campaign of glory.”

    McKnight tried to push past the arrogance that was flowing from the Artist of War. “Xiang, the last time that no brand Wrestling fans laid eyes on you, you and your hired thug here,” brief pause for the camera to pull back enough to get the Great Wall into frame with them,” were blindsiding Quinlan after the ten person tag match at Legacy. Were you trying to injure him? Or simply send a message?”

    “And which would be a better message? A message to this locker room of fools that I can take out the lowly trash that our esteemed head office has prostrated themselves for while ignoring the talent they had wasting already under contract?”

    “Well, I…” was about all McKnight could get out before getting cut off.

    “I lament how often I need to use base words to make you Americans understand me. At Legacy, I launched my new year with a renewed focus to prove my superiority over this locker room, and to the management that have underestimated me for the final time. Avenging the shame of losing to that filthy, simple…” and he paused, as if choking on the bitterness of the words as he tried to speak them. “... Canadian... that was recipient of a miracle the day he defeated me: that was just the first step.”

    Ever the professional, McKnight wondered, “And where does this plan take you, exactly?”

    “It takes me to where I belong, at the top of this industry. Not like all of these pathetic, simple Americans. And most certainly far and above any degenerate, useless Canadian.”

    “I beg your pardon,” came from off screen.

    The shot turned to see the Paragon of this Industry, Zed leading the always intimidating Rune through the corridors. Rune had grabbed a bottle of water that he made quick work of and tossed somewhere down the hall, out of view.

    “Would you care to clarify just what exactly you were saying, Xiang?” came the barbs from Zed, already annoyed.

    “You were always a little behind weren’t you Zed?” Xiang greeted his once former stablemate. “I was merely explaining to Mr. McKnight and our viewership my desire to be nothing like the weak, lazy, gluttonous North Americans that otherwise populate this roster. For instance, you,” Xiang said with just a little too much glee.

    “Measure your words, Xiang,” Zed barked.

    “Fine. Let’s contrast how we each have started this year, shall we? I have taken the first steps in my campaign toward glory, whereas you,” Xiang dismissively pointed toward Zed. “You have stumbled at nearly every turn and have proven yourself quite the defeated lemming.”

    Zed’s face turned some shade of red, thinking of any number of terrible things he’d wish would visit Xiang in this exact moment.

    “Any reaction to what he just said?” McKnight poked the microphone in his face.

    “Xiang seems to have forgotten his place here,” Zed sneered. “Like Yulan, I, and let me stress that, I, brought the two of them into the spotlight and even let them bask in it alongside me.”

    “Well Eric Yulan did end up capturing championships after the XYZ Affair had dismantled,” remarked McKnight.

    “That trash is long gone,” Zed informed Trent while turning to focus on Xiang. “This Made in China trash thinks he can follow Yulan’s brief rise by taking cheap shots here and there.” He looked him over, head to toe. “Pathetic,” with a bitter scoff.

    “Zed, oh former glorious leader-” He grinned at his choice of words, “tell me, when was it that you last held a Championship here? Or how about had any type of glory? Or significant victory?” The answer was a moot point, and went unspoken.

    “Watch your words Xiang, or I’ll send you here on a one way trip back to the orient in Wall’s carry-on.”

     “Cute, Zed. It’s been awhile since we last met in that ring, and if I remember right I do still owe you a receipt for your assault which disbanded the XYZ...”

    Zed laughed, which was rare. “Your mistake, but you never were bright. You want it, you'll get it.”

    He stepped up to Xiang, looking down into his eyes before bashing his shoulder into his own, and continuing on down the corridor. Xiang shucked it off and went the opposite direction with Wall in tow.

    “Well you heard it here first folks! Tonight, Xiang versus Zed!  Two thirds of the former XYZ Affair clash in what will be quite the match!”

    Off to black, into an advert we go.

     

    rocketjump

     

    Good Samaritan

     

    A tall, rather round man with bleach blonde hair was sat on a park bench reading a book.

    To his left, a dark-haired man, quite handsome in fact, with plenty of stubble was talking to his son, who was around six or seven years old:  "Joseph, Mommy and Daddy still love each other.  But, it's more complicated than that."

    "Why, Dad?"

    The father placed his hand on the little boy's left shoulder:  "Sometimes, adults have arguments and they don't see eye-to-eye.  It doesn't mean that they don't love each other, but they need their own space, to meet new people and see if they still feel the same way as they did before."

    At that moment, the son nodded he understood when the aforementioned rotund guy, complete with red headband, put his hand on the other shoulder, much to his dad's bemusement:  "Who are you?"

    "Leave this to me:  Joseph, what your dad is trying to say is it's not your fault."

    "Exactly Joseph..."

    "It's your dad's.  You see, he's probably met another woman, younger I'd say, who makes him feel alive.  He's bored of your mom, she's gained some weight since having you, which is technically your fault, and this girl has all the bumps in the right places rather than cellulite crawling up her ass."

    While Joseph started to cry inconsolably, his dad shocked to the extent that he could barely speak, let alone comfort his son, our good Samaritan walked away:  "My name's Chris Smith and I'm keeping it real...for the kids."

     

    Keal vs Little Ricky

    Keystone Championship #1 Contendership Tournament - Round 1

     

    The time came for the next installment of the first round in a tournament to crown a new number one contender to the Keystone Title! “My Name Is Ricky Keal” by Richie Keal (as performed by Richie Keal and composed by nbW’s music department) came over the speakers. Richie Keal emerged through the sliding doors and the curtain behind them, wearing an oversized Member’s Only jacket he dug out of the lost and found and a black singlet that was a little too small, upon the seat of which he had bedazzled “RK.”

    The General Manager’s personal assistant didn’t receive much of a reaction from the crowd, not even when he pointed at the bedazzled “RK” on the seat of his pants, stuffing his butt right up to the camera. He did not let this deter him, and he used a Sharpie™ he had brought with him to sign anything he could his hands on, including one fan’s forehead.

    Keal made his way to the ring, milking this moment for all that it was worth. He had dreamed of being a pro-wrestler, and now, thanks to Jack Harmen putting him in charge of arranging the tournament brackets, found himself with a great opportunity to not only wrestle, but maybe, just maybe, come out with a shot at the title that Max Hopper wanted most, the Keystone Championship! Of course, this was only the first round, but in order to punch that ticket to Pride and ultimately win the title shot, Keal needed to win tonight, first.

    Once he entered the ring, Richie Keal took off the Member’s Only jacket, dropping it in a corner, and then tried to throw his Sharpie™ out into the crowd. This was unsuccessful, however, as the marker accidentally hit the top rope, fluttering instead to the ringside floor.

    Brent Williams introduced him to the nbW crowd. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall. It is a first round match in the Keystone Championship Top Contenders Tournament! Introducing first, General Manager Jack Harmen’s own personal assistant, ‘Real Deal’ Richie Keal!

    “And his opponent, from Queens, New York,” Brent continued, “being accompanied to the ring by the ‘Biggest Man in Town’ Big Rick Strongbern, weighing in at 297 pounds, he is Little Ricky Strongbern!” 

    That was the cue for “I Will Be Heard” by Hatebreed to play next. The nbW faithful booed the arrival of the Strongberns. “Little” Ricky Strongbern, who had become the unwilling sidekick to “Big” Rick Strongbern after losing to him on Slam 58, lumbered to the ring. He sported a “Big Rick Strongbern: Biggest Man in Town” t-shirt. Big Rick followed him, shouting instructions at him the whole way. Big Rick managed to nab a Brock Newbludd sign from a fan along the aisle and ripped it in half!

    “Little Ricky demonstrating that there’s no love lost between him and Brock Newbludd,” Melissa van der Aart commented.

    As Little Ricky entered the ring, Big Rick took a seat with the commentary team, donning a headset to add his expertise to the match.

    “Big Rick! Great to have you here tonight!” C.G. Gains kissed up to him. “We saw two weeks ago you cleverly outfoxed Brock Newbludd, and now you’ll have a Blitzkrieg Title Match at Pride!”

    “THAT’S RIGHT, GAINS,” Rick Strongbern replied, “AND IT WAS EASY TO DO, TOO. BUT TONIGHT, LITTLE RICKY IS GOING TO DO HIS PART TO GET ME THE KEYSTONE TITLE! JUST THINK, GAINS, AFTER I WIN THE BLITZKRIEG CHAMPIONSHIP AND LITTLE RICKY WINS THE KEYSTONE TITLE SHOT AT PRIDE, I’LL BE SET UP TO LEAVE 25 TO LIFE WITH TWO BELTS AND A SHOT AT THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP! I COULD END UP WITH ALL OF THE GOLD IN nbW IN JUST A FEW MONTHS TIME!”

    “Don’t you mean Little Ricky could leave 25 to Life with the Keystone Title, Rick?” asked Melissa.

    “HELL NO. LITTLE RICKY IS IN THIS TO WIN THE TITLE AND BRING IT BACK TO ME. HE’LL PLAY HIS PART, BUT I’M THE ONLY ONE IN nbW WHO HAS WHAT IT TAKES TO BE A GREAT CHAMPION!” Big Rick rebutted.

    Meanwhile in the ring, the referee had finished checking the combatants for foreign objects. Satisfied that everything was kosher, he ordered the timekeeper to ring the bell.

    DING! DING! DING!

    Time to start the match, and Richie Keal made the rookie mistake of entering into a collar-and-elbow tie-up with the much larger, much stronger Little Ricky Strongbern. The Artist Formerly Known as Tremoid quickly shoved the smaller Keal to the canvas. Keal spent a moment on his keyster while Little Ricky showed off his guns to the crowd. Harmen’s personal assistant showed his determination and got back to his feet, going in for another tie-up. Again, he was casually tossed to the canvas by the Unwilling Pawn. More showboating ensued.

    “YEAH LITTLE RICKY! SHOW OFF THAT STRENGTH!” Big Rick cheered on his employee.

    R.K. decided to try a change of tactics and ran up behind Strongbern, grabbing him by the leg. This afforded him no more success than the lock-up attempts, and Little Ricky stomped his leg and sent Richie Keal tumbling to the mat again!

    This time, instead of showing off to the crowd, Little Ricky seized the advantage. His hands enveloped Keal’s head, and he yoinked Harmen’s personal assistant to his feet! Little Ricky pulled his left hand back, unleashing a behemoth chop to Richie’s chest. The chop left a big, red welt where Keal’s bedazzled singlet left some skin exposed. Real Deal covered his chest, but Little Ricky shoved his arms away and loaded up for another big chop!

    *SMACK!*

    The welt grew a deeper red. Keal once again covered up his chest, leaving himself wide open for what was next. A looping southpaw punch took Richie Keal right off his feet!

    “STAY ON HIM NOW, RICKY!” Big Rick hollered from the announce table. “USE HIM AS A DOORMAT. I THINK YOU STEPPED IN SOMETHING ON THE WAY TO THE RING.”

    Little Ricky begrudgingly obliged, walking across Real Deal Keal’s abdomen. The fans in the arena cringed, and so did Melissa van der Aart in her play-by-play. Ricky reached down and grabbed Keal by the head, helping him up the hard way again. This time, he sent the General Manager’s personal assistant into the corner with an Irish whip.

    The Real Deal hit the turnbuckles back-first with such velocity that the poor little guy almost broke the ring post! Little Ricky lumbered plodded toward Keal, who sat on the middle turnbuckle with his arms holding him up by the top rope. Strongbern straightened his opponent up and let loose with another vicious, open handed chop! The blood rushed up beneath Richie’s skin, making his chest look like a beet. Richie slunk back and was promptly propped up again by the persistent Strongbern. Amidst the protests of the referee, Little Ricky grabbed hold of the top ropes on either side of the corner. He took a step back and then drove a huge knee right into Richie’s chest! Another step back was followed by another huge knee! And another! Poor Richie Keal, all he ever wanted was to be a wrestler, and now he was getting the stuffings knocked out of him!

    After a fourth knee strike, Strongbern decided it was time to take it out of the corner… and into another one. Little Ricky hoisted Richie up onto his shoulder and carried him across the ring to the opposite corner, where he dropped the Real Deal face-first into the top turnbuckle with a snake eyes. Richie Keal stumbled backward to the center of the ring, and Little Ricky nearly took his head clean off his shoulders with a big boot! The Artist Formerly Known as Tremoid went for the cover.

    ONE!

    TWO!!


    Kickout by Richie Keal!

    Having enjoyed control of this match since the outset, Little Ricky had no shortage of confidence. He climbed back to his feet and taunted the fans by flexing his left arm. He backed against the ropes for momentum and jumped into the air with a big elbow drop. Nobody home! Richie Keal rolled out of the way!

    Little Ricky Strongbern had spent too much time posing, and now it was Richie Keal who had the opening while his monstrous opponent nursed a hurting elbow. Richie was sucking wind, but he knew he had to carpe this diem if he wanted a chance to wrestle on pay-per-view, let alone win a shot at the Keystone Championship at 25 to Life. So Richie forced himself back to his feet and hit a quick running leg drop. He went for a cover of his own!

    ONE!

    Kickout… WITH AUTHORITY!

    The Unwilling Pawn powered his way out of the pin attempt, sending Richie Keal to land on his hands and knees several feet away. Keal was quick to his feet and ran up, stunning his opponent, who had just sat up, with a kick to the chest! Little Ricky’s face squished up, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Richie shot off of the ropes. He came back and dropkicked Strongbern right in the mush! The Real Deal then headed to the ring apron, where he waited for Little Ricky to stand up. Keal took a deep breath and leaped to the top rope, using it as a springboard to get some hang time for a big cross body press!

    PUMPKIN LATTÉ PRESS!

    Keal stayed on top for the cover, this time hooking the leg.

    ONE!

    TWO!!


    Another kickout by Little Ricky Strongbern!

    Richie Keal was heartbroken, burying his head in his hands. He stayed that way for a few seconds before mumbling something to himself and trying to pull himself together. Meanwhile, Little Ricky was trying to shake off the effects of the Assistant to the General Manager’s recent offense. Real Deal Keal picked himself up and bounced against the ropes. When he came back, he was snatched up by Little Ricky Strongbern and planted into the mat with a Black Hole Slam!

    WHIRLING STRONGBERN!

    The move came from nowhere and definitely caught Richie by surprise, which magnified its effect. Richie was flattened like a pancake. Little Ricky made the cover, hooking the leg.

    ONE!

    TWO!!

    THREE
    - NO! Shoulder up! SHOULDER UP! BAH GAWD!

    Richie Keal dug deep and kept his chances alive by shooting his shoulder up from the mat, just before the referee’s hand contacted canvas for the third time. Little Ricky took a minute to argue with the referee and Big Rick cursed the official, in all caps, for ineptitude and bias from the announce table.

    The Artist Formerly Known as Tremoid scooped up Real Deal Keal from the mat, dropping his victim across his knee with a backbreaker. He transitioned this straight into a sidewalk slam! Another cover by Little Ricky.

    ONE!

    TWO!!


    KICKOUT!

    Little Ricky was showing signs of frustration. Big Rick jumped up, yelling at him from the commentary position he had commandeered. “PUT THIS NOBODY AWAY!”

    The much larger Strongbern hauled Keal to his feet by a fistful of hair and whipped him into the corner. Instead of colliding with the turnbuckles, however, Real Deal Richie Keal jumped to the top rope! He was in position for a high flying attack, but Little Ricky was soon behind him, sticking his head through Richie’s legs and lifting him onto the big man’s shoulders. Strongbern had Richie sitting atop his shoulders, in prime position for an electric chair drop, or maybe some other innovative move, and carried him to the center of the ring.

    Richie Keal fought back as best he could, raining punches down onto Little Ricky’s exposed noggin to slow him down. Real Deal Keal then folded his body forward, wrapping the Unwilling Pawn into a pinfall attempt with a victory roll!

    ONE!

    TWO!!

    THREE!!!


    DING! DING! DING!

    A stunned Brent Williams conferred first with the referee before making the announcement. “Your winner and progressing to the second round of the Keystone Championship Top Contenders Tournament, REAL DEAL RICHIE KEAL!”

    Out of nowhere, Richie Keal snatched victory from the almost certain jaws of defeat, shocking both of the Strongberns and the ENTIRE WORLD in the process!

    “WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?” Big Rick questioned from the announce table.

    C.G. Gains echoed his confusion. “That’s what I’d like to know!”

    “Well,” Melissa van der Aart postulated, “it looks like Richie Keal just punched his ticket to Pride! Maybe he really IS the real deal!”

    “WE’LL APPEAL THIS. I’LL TAKE IT TO THE SUPREME COURT IF I HAVE TO!” complained Big Rick.

    Melissa responded, “Good luck trying to get the Supreme Court to get involved, but in the meantime, Richie Keal is moving on to round two!”

     

    They Might be Giants

     

    The camera shifted gears and took the audience to the backstage interview set with Trent McKnight standing at the ready to announce his next guest.
     
    “Hi, everybody,” said Trent. “I have a very big guest with me at this time. Please welcome the man that will be in a very huge main event tonight – and I do mean huge - the Number One Contender for the NBW World Championship - “The Monster of the Mid-South” Warren Spade and his manager Fenton Woods.”
     
    The crowd responded with a very big chorus of cheers for the reformed big man Warren Spade and his manager as the two approached Trent. Fenton offered him a hand and Trent took it.
     
    “Trent!” said Fenton. “Getting ready for a big scoop! Well … you ready?”
     
    “Trent,” said Warren.
     
    “You’ve asked for a main event match tonight with either member of the Unstoppables and you have that tonight against a former NBW World champion in Vic Gravender. What made you want to issue this challenge in the first place?”
     
    “Throwing us a softball, eh, Trent?” said Fenton with a twirl of his mustache. “The Unstoppables have been nothing but hot shit when it comes to the tag team division and main events. They’re a main event-calibur team that’s carried the division on their back and they’ve beaten just about anybody in their path … and unfortunately one of those victories is against my giant. We can argue about Spike Saunders and Warren Spade’s miscommunication all day when it came to that Dynasty Tag Team title match but at the end of the day, they pinned Spade. Before he faces Derecho, Warren needs to erase any doubt whatsoever.”
     
    The One-Man Stampede craned his neck.
     
    “They’re a good team,” Warren added, “but I’m looking for singles glory and I’m not going to let anybody walk around here thinking that I can’t get it done against Derecho at PRIDE. When I heard that loudmouth Vic wanted to fight me, I signed on the dotted line. I’m ready for Vic and after I beat him, I’ll be ready for Derecho at PRIDE.”
     
    “Speaking of … last week, Derecho was watching your match closely. Do you have anything to say about Derecho in regards to your match tonight?”
     
    Warren snorted. “He thinks I’m weak because I stopped being the piece of shit I used to be … he found out wrong when I not only dropped Rune, but I almost dropped his ass trying to jump me. I only have this to say … if you want a fight, Derecho, you know where to find me …”
     
    Warren and Fenton were stopped in mid-thought because both members of the Unstoppables had walked onto the set.
     
    “Warren,” said Tyson.
     
    Vic smiled.
     
    “You’re too polite, you know that?” Vic said, critiquing his own partner. “And you … I couldn’t help but overhear that you’ve got a problem with us being better than you? That what I heard, kid?”
     
    “Good to know,” said Fenton.
     
    “What’s that, short-shit?” asked Vic.
     
    Fenton smiled. “That your hearing hasn’t failed you yet. When my giant says something, he means it. He’s ready for you, Vic.”
     
    Tyson smiled at his partner like he couldn’t believe what Fenton said.
     
    “Look we’ve got all the respect in the world for you, Warren. You’re going after the big game like Derecho and that’s commendable, but we didn’t win these Dynasty Tag titles and we haven’t held onto them for as long as we’ve had by being pushovers for anybody that wants to make a name off of us.”
     
    “Let me say it a little less diplomatic,” said Vic. “You might be a giant and I can respect you wanting to get ready for that shithead Derecho,, but I’m a Beast, you feel me? I’m a Dynasty tag champ, former Infamy and former World champ. I’ve done it all, kid and I didn’t do it by letting somebody come in and punk me out. Tyson’s gonna show VIP that lesson and tonight, you’ll find that out the hard way, too.”
     
    Warren smiled.
     
    “You’re right, Vic, I am a giant … but you’re gonna find out that right now, nothing is getting in my fucking way of winning the NBW Championship. Not you, not Tyson and not Derecho. NOBODY!

    Fenton tipped his cap with a smile to the Unstoppables before he and Warren walked away to leave Tyson and Vic with Trent. The Unstoppables went their own direction before the explosive main event happened later.

     

    Zed vs Xiang

     

    Back ringside, we were greeted with a short interchange between announcer and referee as the nbW fans waited on the next match. Frontline by Pillar kicked over the PA with snares and electric chords.

    Camera feed cut to the ramp way as the self professed Paragon of this Industry slipped through the curtains. In short order behind was the monstrous mountain of crimson latex that went by the name Rune. Ignoring the fans, as per usual, Zed seemed to carry himself with a little more contempt and focus knowing that he was about ready to settle an old score.

    “Weighing in at two hundred and sixty pounds! From Parts Unknown!” announcer, Brent Williams did his best Buffer impersonation, “Zed!”

    Zed leapt to the apron and spared a moment to look around at the gathered masses before shaking his head back to focus. Trademark back tumble over the top rope in was only slightly upstaged when Frontline was cut out in favor of Born in China

    The Artist of War was flagged by his hired muscle, Wall, as the duo appeared on stage. If Zed’s march to the ring was ignoring the fans, then Xiang’s seemed to welcome the chorus of boos bellowed at him as proof of his core beliefs; mainly that he is better than every one of those American blowhards.

    When he noticed Rune was standing at the base of the ramp, the Great Wall made his way first. The two behemoths made an awkward display of staring eachother down at uncomfortably close quarters, until Xiang insisted Wall stand aside. With a cute little grin, Xiang passed Rune and took the steps up to the ring apron.

    “Weighing in at two hundred and fourteen pounds! From Beijing, China! Xiang!”

    Xiang took his spot in the corner and flippantly dismissed the trash talk Zed slung at him from half a ring away. With a enforcer at opposite sides outside the ring, and everything nearly calm, Tai Nedrick called for the bell to start this contest.

    DING! DING! DING!

    Xiang took his first steps out of the corner with a hand outstretched. He wanted to give Zed the opportunity to shake his hand, and admit how much of a mistake this challenge really was. The larger competitor opted to take his hand upside Xiang’s head and end all pretense of civility.

    With Xiang flustered, Zed pressed the early advantage locking his arm beneath Xiang’s armpit to open him up for a short series of knees to the stomach. The flurry of offense was finished by smoothly taking that arm out and pointing that elbow over Xiang’s jaw. Near the ropes, Xiang slid between the top and second, and begged Nedrick to do his job.

    Zed stepped back to the center of the ring, but closed quick when Xiang did finally get his entire body into the ring. Xiang’s instinct clicked as he redirected Zed’s momentum to send him shoulder first into the nearby ringpost. Xiang was sure to get a few kidney shots in before Zed was able to turtle, sitting in the corner. Blocked or not, Xiang was contempt to ring in with a few kicks before berating the official for doing precisely what he asked him to do moments before as he was backed away from his competitor in the ropes.

    Finished with the verbal barbs, Xiang’s mouth is met by Zed’s forearm as the Paragon exploded out of the corner, more than a little perturbed. Xiang’s return is ducked, and Zed takes rear position, dumping the Chinese import backward with a German. Hanging on, Zed bridged up and the pinfall was started.

    1!

    2!


    Kickout!

    Xiang had rolled enough to break the count and the hold. He was first to his feet, and the expression of disbelief flashed over his face. Xiang laid in a forearm to Zed as he was on one knee. Then another, before he took off to the ropes looking for a clothesline that Zed managed to turn around into a swinging neckbreaker.

    Zed got up and rained down a hell of elbow drops, each one hitting a little tighter and more forcefully. Leaping to nail in the final elbow strike, Zed made a cover, pressing his forearm across the forehead of Xiang.

    1!

    2
    !

    Kickout!

    Zed nearly didn’t look so disappointed, knowing that he hadn’t exactly taken every pound of flesh he was owed out of Xiang’s body. He’s quick to notice Xiang trying to roll out of the ring, reaching through the ropes to grab him on the apron. Bringing Xiang to his feet, Zed connected an overhead strike with Xiang’s back that echoed through the EpiCenter II. Zed vined around Xiang and brought him up and back into the ring with a suplex attempt, but Xiang somehow managed to slip out and tumble safely to some distance.

    Zed used the near ropes to get back up, not really sure where Xiang was until Xiang had him by the waist, driving him into the ropes, looking for the roll up. Zed managed to hold on to the top rope, turn and take off at, and then through Xiang with the wicked spear he called Downcast.

    Zed took the cover and Nedrick hit the mat for the count.

    It was broken at one when Wall reached into the ring and pulled Xiang out from under Zed and clear out of the ring. He may have taken a little long than others would have, but Rune made his way, stomping around to confront Wall. The two exchanged grunts and pulled the attentions of our dear adjudicator to the outside.

    Xiang had crawled away from the scene where hamfists were about to be traded, and grabbed a sack of something from underneath the ring apron. When Zed finally spotted the top of Xiang’s head, he made it over and he leaned through the ropes to try to grab at him. Instead, he got blasted with a face full of whatever it was in that bag; salt, powder, ground glass. Whatever the case, Zed recoiled and tried to wipe away from his eyes the irritant.

    Xiang confidently made his way to the apron, and then the top rope. He lined up the now blinded Zed, looking for some form of high impact offense, but Zed was moving too erratically to lock on. Until he had backed into the ropes and caused Xiang to crotch himself in the corner.

    With one eye clear, Zed blinked his way to the now venerable Xiang but takes too long. Xiang had recovered and tumble over, taking Zed down with the Sunset Flip. Xiang stood to maximise the leverage on the pin attempt. Nedrick slid into position, and then Xiang grabbed the tights just to be certain.

    1!

    2!

    3!


    DING! DING! DING!

    The boos filled the arena as Xiang had his hand raised. Not lingering in the ring, he rolled away and retreated back up the ramp, Wall joining him.

    “The winner of this matchup, by pinfall! Xiang!”

    The pair of duos exchanged looks of outrage and contented smugness as the broadcast took elsewhere.

     

    Philosophical Debate

     

    The Epic II arena is known for hosting the bi-weekly program SLAM, as well as LIVE events and Meet & Greet’s for the fans. All of that takes place in the frontside of the arena. There are also the training facilities and corporate offices and more on the upper levels. On the backside of the arena however were the diner and food court-esque area (separate of the catering), fitness center with an olympic sized pool, as well as the game room.

    That very room currently having its doors swung open as two men walked out in deep conversation as the cameras opened up backstage.

    “I’m telling you, Qui-Gon Jinn was evil.” The remark was from Chris Noid, the red-haired half of For The Win. “Just look at what he caused.”

    “He did discover the chosen one.” Came the reply by the blue-haired wonder, Tony Spark.

    “Who would end up causing the death of nearly all the Jedi. Upon his own death resulted in Dooku turning to the Dark side. And did I mention, Darth Vader.”

    “You have a point but Qui-Gon can’t be held responsible for the actions after his death. Can he?” He looked at his partner who shrugged as the two continued down the corridor unaware that they had a camera crew following them, yet --as was common when deeply involved conversing. “And even if so, by discovering Anakin, he would come to lead to the greatest Jedi of the Light side in Luke Skywalker.”

    “If Qui-Gon would have followed the Jedi council’s advice, Order 66 would never have been allowed a time to be carried out. He was too emotional and nearly defected, himself. And besides-”

    “Besides, Qui-Gon would amount to more power in death, leading to him training Yoda and Obi-won. Now you can’t tell me that he was evil and still those two would train under him?” Spark argued, “and he did lose a woman he known and loved since his pre-teen years. Love can do that.”

    “Right.” Noid laughed and bumped his friend's shoulder as they turned the corner down another corridor. “Speaking of, how’s that girl in PULSE you’re dating? Sally, was it?”

    “Samantha, and we broke it off. Nearly a year ago.” Spark stopped and looked his tag partner in the eyes. “You knew this!”

    “I did?” He shrugged and laid a hand on his shoulder, “Tell you what. The twins are coming down tomorrow for the week. Why don’t you join us and it’ll be like old times?”

    “No thanks. Not interested.” Spark continued on in silence for a few seconds as Chris was opening up a can of Monster he pulled from his cargo pocket. Tony had pulled his phone out of his pocket and was replaying a video from a few weeks prior. A young woman in the middle of a wrestling ring was pinning someone to the mat.

    “Hey hey, wait up.” Noid caught up, as did the camera crew, and caught some audio from the phone.

    “-ann was able to pull herself together and thanks to that she was able to pull off a victory here tonight”

    Noid glancing over his shoulder from behind: “Don’t tell me you’re interested in her?” Spark ignored him and Noid pushed: “She’s outta our league man. Not to mention in a different class as the Legacy of Champions Flyweight Champion. Being a champion being something neither of us have been able to accomplish in NBW since setting foot here. Doubt she even knows who you are.”

    “So.” Tony stopped, pocketing his phone and looking over at his friend. Suddenly enthusiastic. “Let’s do it! We could change that. The Rich Family have been usurping the championship opportunities around here. And while The Unstoppables have been indeed impossible to stop, I think we could do it. We just have to show the powers that be that we deserve it.”

    “Not gonna argue that, just a second though.” Noid answered, before chugging down the rest of his can of Monster. He shot his arms out straight, tilted his head back and shouted out: “LEVEL UP!”

    Tossing the can in the nearest waste bin, he placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We have a match against our old foes coming up in two weeks. A victory there, with some added entertainment value, could be just what we need.” Noid smiled and slapped his partner on the back, “I’m game!”

    “Awesome! Besides I’ve been thinking about our entrance and had some ideas on a revamp to pump up the crowd.”

    The two finally arrived at another closed door, which once pushed open revealed tables of food and drink with several of the talent enjoying their meals inside catering.

    “Tell me about it while we eat.” Noid dashed inward, politely, and not so, shouting out: “Operation: Get Tony a Girlfriend and out of his dry spell, officially commences!”

    A few of the guys and gals inside laughed as the scene cut out.

     

    VIP vs Tyson XL

     

    With A-List turning The Entertainers over and The Unstoppables running through The Rich Family at Legacy, those two triumphant teams are now set to meet each other at Pride.

    It stands to reason in the next fortnight, we'll see all four of them in action and tonight, it's the turn of Tyson XL and Victor Ingram Price.

    Cee Lo Green's 'Bright Lights Bigger City' was given an airing for a change.  Victor, sans Principe for a change, would still come out in a limo.  All the more room for him!

    "From Hollywood, California...weighing in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds.  He is Victor Ingram Price...V.I.P!!!"

    The driver parked up near the ring, not before opening up for Victor, and reversing out.  Ingram, unlike Alfie Button, wasn't extending himself.  He skipped up the stairs, sough accolades that weren't forthcoming and slowly disrobed while waiting for the Walking Tank.

    Here he comes!

    'A Warrior's Call.'  Tyson, no fuss nor frills, strutted out to a superb reception as Brent introduced someone who didn't really need it:  "From San Diego, California...weighing two hundred and ninety-six pounds...one half of the Dynasty Tag Team champions and former ACW Heavyweight champion of the world...TYSSSSON X.L.!"

    A fitting intro and greeting from the masses for this mammoth, a proper competitor, who was game as a bagel, glaring at VIP, who immediately stood up straight as if he'd been caught fighting by the headmaster.  In fact, Vic and Tyson had that effect on plenty of people, just ask the tag division, as the bell tolled.  We were ready to go.

    Vic didn't seem to be, taking his time to walk around the ring repeatedly, hardly keen to lock horns with the rhino in front of him. 



    Tyson stalked VIP to persuade a reluctant Price to tie-up.  Vic, rather intimidated by the former ACW champion's aggressive stance, ran to the right side of the ring avoiding an incoming Tyson and jumping out between the middle rope to the outside.

    Receiving boos for his lack of bravery, VIP ordered some of our supporters to 'shut it.'  He had his back to XL, who was close to the ropes Vic had just vacated the ring through.  When Price turned round all of a sudden, he pulled the rug from underneath XL's near 300-proud frame and pulled him clean out of the squared circle.

    Ingram slapped on a Side Headlock and stuck Tyson, ironic given his name, with three rapid right hands to the forehead.  Rather than stick to the task at hand, Price interacted with the audience, dubbing his outstanding opponent 'nothing.'  The A-List member changed his mind when he turned round to see that not only had one half of The Unstoppables recovered, but he had totally overcome any of the effects Ingram's trio of shots had.

    Upon realising this, Price, freaked out, and slid straight back into the battleground, funny given how he didn't really want to do battle with the big man on equal terms.  That was emphasised when Tyson followed suit and Ingram cut his opposite number off with a kick to the forehead and two sharp, stiff knees to the back.  Axe-handles rained down on XL, who wasn't terribly affected by the William Morgan (unlike the rest of us who remember him) and climbed to his feet.

    Ingram backed off again, continuously yelling 'NO' to the point of bailing out again on the south side of the squared circle.

    While being urged to return to the ring, Ingram decided to bide his time and do it on his terms, ignoring everyone in the few front rows and telling the official to calm down.  When he was within reach, Ingram stupidly turned round to goad the fans who'd been doing it to him, by saying he was now going to teach Tyson a lesson...

    In which time XL leaned down and grabbed Vic by the hair.  Dare I say it, the expression on VIP's face was PRICELESS.  It gave a few of us a chuckle.

    He had the last laugh by reacting accordingly and hanging Tyson out to dry on the top rope!  He literally CACKLED and ran back in to take full advantage.

    Sitout Facebuster!

    That's a start, but will it be the finish?

    1...

    2..
    .

    No, it wouldn't.  You knew that already, didn't you?  Price didn't stall, like he'd done at other times in this outing, and picked XL up, seeking a Hurricanrana.  For all of his ego, it was impressive given his 6'4 height and 248-pound anatomy...

    POWERBOMB!

    Uh-oh.

    Rather than go for a cover, XL, who must've been dying to get his hands on the pretender, readied himself for a Back Senton Splash!

    Price had enough about him, thank God, to roll out of the way.  He actually got up earlier than his rival and with a boot to the quad, set up...

    Red Carpet Treatment.

    Vic's patented Flatliner.

    He raised his right hand rather than just executing it.  Would it prove costly?  No, it wouldn't.

    Price had just given XL the Red Carpet Treatment cleanly!

    This could be over here and now!  What an upset, and with only a few minutes on the clock.  Price's hit-and-run plan had played out to perfection.

    Or it would have, if he'd actually gone for the cover and not done his best Shawn Michaels Playgirl cover impression, lying on his side with his arm leaning on his head.  Price was revelling in the attention of the audience and proud of himself for laying XL out with relative ease.  You'd think he was at the beach looking for ladies as opposed to facing one of the most dangerous competitors to ever set foot in nbW.  Most other athletes would've covered Tyson if they'd had the chance to get the powerhouse out of there, especially this early on.

    Vic didn't see himself as an average man nor a normal wrestler.  Perhaps falsely, he thought he could do whatever he wanted to Tyson, and Gravender I guess, at any given time.

    To be fair, Tyson was still OUT.  Price stood up, performed a curtsey and CACKLED again:  "How easy was that, fatso?"

    Moving back to the fans that had been agitating him from the outset, he leaned over the top rope and pointed back at the large carcass:  "THAT is a former World champion?  ACW must've been an even bigger joke than nbW.  What did it stand for?  Anyone Can Wrestle there?"

    Some spectators actually found humour in Vic's tasteless remarks.  The sleeping giant started to stir.  VIP called for another taste of Red Carpet Treatment.

    Instantaneously, he was shoved back...

    RUNNING SPEAR!

    Time for the fans to really lay into Vic, who couldn't hear a thing right now.

    There was a breather for both combatants.  The referee's count got to six.  Price had done a great job on his fearsome foe thus far and got up first.  He quickly stabilised Tyson with a Drop Toehold and Front Facelock combination, but foolishly thought he could complete the normal set of holds with a traditional Snap Suplex.  Tyson had had enough and reversed it effortlessly.  Now, the monster was up and that alone was scary for Price, and drew cheers from our crowd.

    Tyson fired Price into the opposing set of ropes and put him down with a Bossman Slam on the rebound.

    Again, like earlier, Ty went for the spectacular finish with a Body Splash and Ingram still had enough mentally and physically to get out of Ryan Harms way again.

    Vic, not Gravender, was keen to roll out that RED CARPET TREATMENT again, but the Flatliner didn't get off the ground, the idea I mean, and XL countered it with a basic but effective Backbody Drop.

    Could he follow it up with a second Spear?  No, Price Leapfrogged the rampaging rhino...

    But, The Big Gun was faster this time, firing with a devastating Discus Lariat that almost beheaded poor Price!  The camera captured some sarcastic supporters replicating Ingram's curtsey.  Good luck doing that, Victor!

    Now, you sensed VIP was in trouble and Ty affirmed that with a Belly-to-Belly Slam.  Strangely, Tyson seemed hell-bent on nailing Ingram with a Splash of some kind and headed north, which caused thousands of fans to join him on his ascent,  just in case this 300-pound missile found its target.

    Third time unlucky, Vic got his feet in the way and prevented a catastrophe in this match and their future tag team tilt.  Time for another break. 

    1
    2
    3
    4
    5
    6
    7

    Tyson was up first this time, but missed with a right hand, which was promptly punished by Ingram slapping on a Sleeper!  Eager to bring the big man down to size, Price leapt on for a piggyback...

    Electric Chair Drop!  And I bet it resembled going to Death Row.  Okay, that might be going too far.  It fucking hurt though!

    One...

    Two...


    Vic wasn't dead - yet.  He might be shortly.  The Walking Tank was on him and it didn't get any lighter or easier momentarily...

    A Fireman's Carry Slam was about to be complemented by an Elbow Drop!  Price rolled around, not to avoid contact in this instance, but out of the damage done to his ribs. 

    Ty didn't rest on his laurels nor did he try to flatten Price with a Splash of some description.  He flung Price towards the Eastern set of ropes and when Ingram, offering no resistance, rebounded back into his path...

    XL BOMB!!!

    The Pop-Up Powerbomb ROCKED Vic's world.

    Ty dropped down to hook a leg...

    One...

    Two...

    Three!!!


    The first psychological blow had been struck, and yet, it could have turned out so differently.

    Price had FLOORED the former number one in ACW, in spite of the Zip Zap chants, and had him right where he wanted.  There were positive signs for Price and Principe if they could keep their egos in check.

    In the end, Ty had tanked Price in just over five minutes though.  He won't lose sleep over facing either A-List member in the immediate future, Pride or beyond.

    But, even for a moment, The Unstoppables had looked vulnerable.  When you've got one of them down, you'd better cover them though.

    Or you'll pay the PRICE at PRIDE.

     

    rocketjump

     

    A sit-down with Ravage

     

    Returning back from the break to ringside, Trent McKnight stood at the ready, microphone in hand. Behind him were two arm-chairs with a small table at the foot containing bottled water. The ring mat had been draped with a blue top. 

    “At Legacy we all witnessed two men fight for everything they are worth, atop the dangerous Laddervault. One man would go on to secure the Blitzkrieg championship while the other took a near twenty foot drop.” The fans cheered for Brock Newbludd’s mention. “That was four weeks ago and at this time I would like to introduce my guest. He is a former multiple-time Blitzkrieg and World Heavyweight Champion. He is the human steam-engine, the Savage of the Ring… please welcome - RAVAGE!”

    ‘Wanted Man’ by Rev Theory.

    As would be expected Ravage got quite the jeers and boos tossed his direction as he walked out of the center. Dressed up in slacks and an expensive shirt and cover jacket, which wasn’t his style, they did well hiding whatever wrap was on his body.  Standing to look out at the crowd, he cranked his next to the left then to the right, before walking down to the ring.

    Ravage stepped up the ring steps and on in the ring, acknowledging McKnight before taking a seat, to which Trent then did the same.

    “Thank you for this time Ravage. You and I have known each other for quite a few years now. So I know you respect honesty.”

    “Yes.”

    “So let me just get straight to it. The question on everyone’s mind has been in regards to your daughter… that girl-”

    Ravage shot his hand out and stopped him.

    “Let me stop you there McKnight. I’ve heard the rumblings in the back. I’ve read the posts on social media from the outcasts of society. Everyone wants there to be this deep dark secret and plan-” He smirked, “-which I suppose you all fell for. Especially Brock.” Smiling he continued, “Trent, I’m a father. Now what kind of man could call himself a father and put his daughter in harm’s way?”

    “Well you did-”

    “No. But how telling of their hero, the Blitzkrieg champion, that he would dare to assault a young girl?” Ravage expertly distanced himself from answering.

    “Brock never did that!” Trent interrupted, which wasn’t quite wise. “Ms. Renolds is the one that finally got some payback on her.”

    “Publicly humiliating her in the process, Trent. Doesn’t matter by whom the hand belonged. Now do you think I would have subjected my own flesh and blood, my little girl, to that punishment and humility?”

    “You did just that! In fact Cassie was quite the bitch! How you can be proud of a girl like that-”

    Again Ravage’s arm went up, hand out to stop him.

    “Careful McKnight. That’s my daughter’s name you’re dragging through the mud.” Trent nodded, “Good. Now look, I’m getting up there in my age. I’ve been champion multiple times in this company but nothing recently. Some would say to hang up the boots and retire. Let these new kids shine, like Lucky Carter.”

    He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

    “I have no interest in retiring. However I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines. When you’ve got these fresh kids coming up from PULSE or outside the NBW, you need to remind everyone, and those that matter specifically, you’re here.”

    “So you used your daughter-”

    “Notice how Newbludd acted with a little girl smitten by him and causing trouble?”

    “Yes.”

    “Well, he clearly had no interest in defending his championship after Scorched against the man sitting beside you. Even after I sent his body into the truck’s bed with a massive cannonball straight out of the caribbean.”

    “”Well yes, but what’s that have to do with Cassie?”

    “I’m getting to that Trent!” Ravage spoke but his volume had raised. “Brock Newbludd needed influenced. And you saw what happened Trent. I got my title match. I got the Laddervault. Anything and everything I asked of him, he fell in line -- all because the man thought he would have me trapped.”

    Ravage smirked.

    “When in fact it’s the former army ranger that fell within my trap. And that’s just how it goes Trent. A means to an end.”

    “So Cassie-”

    “Geez, stop interrupting me!” Again, his volume raised. “As I was saying, I got Brock right where I wanted him. Unfortunately the outcome wasn’t what I had planned for. To be honest I don’t remember much after seeing the Laddervault’s top growing in distance before my eyes snapped shut.”

    “Well according to the doctors you suffered a concussion.” Trent responded accordingly.

    “It wasn’t my first, and won’t be my last. I spent the past four weeks recuperating and still not one hundred percent, Trent. I’m thankful for having two great nurses in my wife and daughter, to which they’ve helped get me back here.”

    “Which brings us back around to your daughter, sir. We all saw what happened after the match when you were being loaded into the ambulance. What was that all about?”

    “Hm?” Ravage shrugged, “I’m not sure  I remember what you are talking about.”

    “Your daughter was there. You even called her a different name. Bethany.”

    “My daughter’s name is Cassie, Trent. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

    “We ALL saw it Ravage. So enough fronting. What exactly is going on with you and that daughter of yours? Why did you call her Bethany?”

    “Look Trent, I don’t know what you’re getting on about. I was concussed, maybe I slipped up. Maybe you heard wrong. Now I have things to do so are we done?”

    “We all saw- Look, we’re just looking for answers- And-” Trent sighed, reluctant at first but as the professional he is he let the matter drop. “Then, with your failure to win the Blitzkrieg championship at Legacy, what’s next for you?”

    Ravage laughed, finally.

    “Oh Trent, believe me. I’m not at all done. I told you, I’m not sitting back and waiting anymore. The way I see it at PRIDE Newbludd’s going to defend that championship once more - and it’ll be against the only person that could be a contender, the Savage of the Ring.” He stood from his seat and pointed at his chest, “Me.”

    “NO, NO, NO! NO!” The loud bellowing voice belonged to one ‘Big’ Rick Strongbern, as he stomped out on the stage and down the ramp, microphone in hand… unfortunately. “NO, NO, NO! I’M NEXT YOU OLD MAN! THAT SHITSTAIN ALREADY AGREED TO THE MATCH!”

    Ravage palmed his forehead and shook his head: “Go home kid, the adults are speaking.”

    “I’M NO KID! YOU’RE THE KID!” Strongbern shouted as he pulled himself up on the apron and worked to step over the top rope like fellow giants Spike Saunders, Warren Spade, and even his cohort ‘Little’ Ricky Strongbern, were keen to do. The sight was rather… hilarious.

    “First I’m old… then I’m a kid.” With a heavy sigh Ravage shrugged and waited for Rick to complete his middle rope bound and hop to cross the top rope a few feet from him.

    Rick strolled right up to him, standing chest to chest. Which wasn’t that difficult. Ravage was after all five foot nine.

    “LISTEN HERE SHORTSTACK!” Rick roughly tapped him on the chest, while McKnight backed away from them both. “BROCK CHEATED AT SCORCHED. I’M OWED A REMATCH. I WILL GET MY REMATCH!”

    Ravage grabbed his wrist from near his chest, holding it tight.

    “I can tell you’re dead set on this. So tell you what. I’m not medically cleared tonight otherwise I would have already planted your face into this mat.” He swung Rick’s arm away from him. “So here’s what we’ll do. In two weeks at SLAM, we’ll settle this out. The winner will get their rightfully deserved shot at PRIDE.” He turned back towards Trent, “What do you think McKnight, sound good?”

    “I have no complaints.”

    “See.” Ravage turned back to Rick, stepping forward and brushing his shoulder with his own, before rolling out of the ring. He continued up the ramp and as he neared the entrance curtains, “Two weeks Rick.” Back still to the rng, he waved with one hand and dropped the microphone with the other. No longer interested in the verbal tirade Rick surely had planned.

    Trent stepped up to the center of the ring, “Well you heard it here first folks! In two weeks it’ll be Ravage against ‘Big’ Rick Strongbern to determine the number one contender for the Blitzkrieg championship!”

    “IT’LL BE THE BIGGEST MAN IN TOWN!!!” Rick shouted as he took a seat in the chair Ravage had been in, kicking his legs up on the table. Ignoring him McKnight stepped through the ropes and dropped to the outside while the cameras cut away elsewhere.

     

    All Hallows' Eve

     

    Meanwhile as 'Big' Rick argued with the crew trying to take away his confy chairs, the cameras returned to ringside with Melissa and Gains.

    "How about that Melissa! A Legacy Main Event for SLAM in two weeks! The Savage of the Ring versus The Biggest Man in Town!"

    "It'll certainely be something. I would put money on Ricky being there, and Ravage has shown that he's got his own colleagues so it'll be interesting to see what kind of match we get to witness before the winner goes on to face the Blitzkrieg Champion at PRIDE."

    "What do you think they'll wear for their match? Think Ravage will be a bad father?" Gains questioned with a knowing smirk, "because you know, he's a great father!"

    "Folks, what C.G. here is alluding to is that in less than two weeks time, thanks to Hulu Plus, we're going to have SLAM on a special night. That night is Monday the 31st. Halloween. All Hallows' Eve."

    "While I would love to explain this to you at home, actually no I rather not... so Adria, what you got for us?"

    The EpiCenter II lit up with the smiling form of Adria Hoyt.

    "Thanks! Well folks on the 31st SLAM will come to you from the Epic II Arena for a veyr special night. It's sure to bring the kid in you, out to the front." Her eyes twinkled in anticipation. "Your favorite stars will surely be taking part in this festive night but that's not all! No!" She shook her finger at the camera, "Nope. In addition all of you, the NBW's faithful from the very beginning, are encouraged to come to the EpiCenter in your own costumes! And that's actually not all!"

    She waited for the fans a few seconds.

    "We're going to hold a special Halloween Costume contest!" That got some cheers, "That's right! And the winner of that contest is going to win some extra cash! One Thousand Dollars extra, that is!"

    Her smile beamed bright, but not as bright as the eyes that were now shining in the arena that filled with an explosive cheer.

    "So put the effort it. Put together some great costumes or cosplay, for those of you in the know..." she winked, "because even if you don't win the grand prize we'll have plenty more to hand out! This is going to be a fun night for everyone to enjoy, even the most crabbiest of crab-babies."

    She looked up slightly to the left in deep thought then returned her focus at the camera with a shrug: "Well, maybe not the grumpy cat Derecho."

    With that she waved and the EpiCenter II went to black, returning the focus ringside once more.

    "Incredible!" Vanderart exlaimed, "I can't wait to see what the men and women in the back come up with... or these fans that support NBW every week, in and out."

    "Knowing our general manager the rules of this contest are going to be such a mixed bag filled with holes... He'll declare himself the winner!"

    "Well I look forward to it! Still that's in two weeks, and we've still got our Main Event coming up here!"

    The cameras cut on away from ringside and onwards to elsewhere.

     

    Biting Off Something to Chew

     

    In the bowels of the EpiCenter, you can find many a thing. This day, we found a set of employer and employee. Mastermind and grunt. Artist and monster.

    Xiang and the Great Wall walked past row upon row of grey cinderblock in the midst of conversation. Really, it was a debriefing on the genius of Xiang’s victory over Zed earlier.

    “It went nearly, entirely according to plan. Do you understand what it is we can achieve with a little vision and foresight?” Xiang fanned his own hype machine.

    “But…” the first word we’d heard from Wall in some time, and it was to question the impeccable vision of his overboss. “Won’t those two be looking to get even?”

    Xiang stood still, a little hurt that anyone would lack faith in him and his superiority complex.

    “You mean, will they seek revenge upon us? I am counting on it.”

    “I don’t know much about revenge,” came a voice from off screen. “Is that the thing you do after someone blindsides you after a match?” And finally the owner of that voice stroud into frame, arm in sling.

    “Ah, Mr. Quinlan, so very good to see you and looking so,” Xiang let his words hang in the air as he feigned a search for a sincere message, “defeated.”

    The tension mounted with each step Quinlan took further toward the pair. Wall cut off Quinlan’s path to Xiang and imposed over the man in his civies.

    “I am many things, X, many. Defeated however?” his free hand tapped his pursed lips. “Nope, can’t cop to that one. I think inspired might be the word you sought.”

    Xiang perked up. “I have been known to be quite inspirational. Only, I imagined you far too simple to pick up on it.”

    “A real hero to every bully and coward out there, I am sure.” Maybe it was his satisfied grin, or some unspoken and unseen cue from Xiang, but Wall stepped closer still to Quinlan. If it were a cartoon from the 50’s, he’d been breathing steam out of his nose and it’d be flattening Quinlan’s hair.

    “I would manage my words carefully. You could ill afford to get my associate so enticed to violence. Especially in your condition.”

    “And now, here is where I lay down my challenge. You obviously weren’t all that happy with me knocking you out cold in our first little meeting out there. Maybe the second round would go your way?”

    ‘Now, please don’t think I am so low that, for the sensation of victory, I would need to beat on a crippled man,” Xiang started to pontificate, only to be cut off.

    “But I didn’t think you’d the set to finish what you started. So, what about you, Sunshine?” Quinlan turned a burning eye toward the Wall.

    Laughter was Xiang’s response. “I suppose I cannot stop fools from striving for their own certain demise. Well then, what do you say to this man, Wall?”

    A short grunt and a head nod was all Wall would give him.

    “Great. Fantastic, really.” Quinlan started backing a few steps away. “Next Slam, you and I, eh? Oh, but there was something I keep forgetting…” Quinlan looked down to his left arm, crossed his chest and held in place. “That was it.”

    Quinlan bowed his head and slipped the sling off. He clenched his fist a few times to get the blood going. Then to the dismay of Xiang, demonstrated a full range of motion.

    “It seems you didn’t quite do a good enough job back at Legacy.” He laughed and continued back down the hall. “Next Slam, let’s make this something of a Monster Mash.”

     

    You Want Answers?

     

    The scene opened up to the gruff face of the man that made his return with a emphasized bang, courtesy of a particular giant being man-handled with ease. Still wearing his hoodie, Johannes let the hood fall back and stared forward.

    “I know you were all expecting some answers tonight. Answers like: Why did you attack that sack of shit?”

    He held back his smile while the fans booed.

    “Or answers like: Where has Johannes Antonious de Castonovo been? And why isn’t he there now?”

    With a huff Castonovo pulled his hood back up, zipping the hoodie.

    “I know that Colossus is waiting for me to turn around the corner. But see, I’m smarter than you Saunders. And the rest of you. I fight on my time, not yours. So if you want your answers, tune in to SLAM in two weeks for the first of it’s kind. A true ratings grabber. SLAM: Johannes Antonious de Castonovo Appreciation Night.”

    Finally with a smile: “See you there.”

    He turned and headed off camera, but a split-second later pulled into the camera close: “And bring gifts.”

    Fade.

     

    What I Say Goes

     

    “It has certainly been a crazy night,” said Melissa Vanderart. “We’ve still got our massive main event to come when the Number One Contender “Monster of the Mid-South” Warren Spade takes on Unstoppables member and former World champ Vic Gravender!”

    “I can’t pick a winner there!” said C.G. Gains with an excited squeal. “Two super heavies bashing into each other for my personal amusement! That’ll be fun!”

    “That I can agree with, Gains. Now we’ll …”

    Melissa was cut off right away when somebody approached her and took off her headset!

    “Hey!” shouted Melissa.

    The individual that stole her headset was a very tall man standing about around six-five and appeared to be chiseled out of granite. With blonde locks going down to his shoulds and a tan most men would be jealous of, the man in question took the headset and put it over his ears.

    “Sorry to interrupt whatever stupid crap you were probably going on about, but this show needed a damn shot of adrenaline right to the heart! We need something that’s actually buzz-worthy, so here I am!”

    Melissa took offense to the man stealing her equipment but he did not seem to care.

    “Girl, I’m the type of guy that doesn’t NEED any hype! I don’t need any video package or some stupid music video that your crappy production agents threw together on their stupid little MacBook. Probably something by some whining emo band. If you want something done right, you get out here and do it your damn self!”

    The blonde man looked into the camera.

    “It’s time for all you cross-eyed window-lickers to pay attention to a little self-promotion. My name is Jake Tockwell! I just signed on the dotted line with No Brand Wrestling earlier today and I’m here to tell you that from now on, what I say goes! You want more? Tune into Slam next week. You’ll see that I’m a man that’s All Talk and All Action! Okay, now you can cut to some stupid crap these fat little kids are probably gonna buy ..."

    Just as quickly as the man arrived he threw the headset back into Melissa’s lap and strutted on back to the ramp to a chorus of boos. He basked in the jeers and raised his hands for the crowd before he disappeared behind the double doors.

    “Wow … that man was just rude …” said Melissa.

    “That … was … awesome!” said Gains. “I’ve wanted to see somebody come out here and shut you up for a while.”

    As expected the show cut away to a Hulu paid break.

     

    rocketjump

     

    High Steaks Negotiations

     

    Slowly fading in, the camera revealed the backstage catering area that NBW provided for the wrestlers and staff for every show. As usual, the perennially popular area was buzzing with people, ranging from NBW referees to guests of the wrestlers themselves. This included duo's such as For The Win who entered earlier, and trios like the Handsome Man Modelling School and Couli and the Hellion Sisters. Most people were sitting down at the large plastic folding tables that took up the majority of the area, and small bursts of laughter and conversation were heard in the background as they enjoyed the free meal together. Night in and night out, this was usually liveliest place in the back. 

    The camera then shifted its focus over to the long table that was setup with the buffet style catered food, and the live audience let out a roar as it stopped to rest on NBW Blitzkrieg Champion ”The Innovator” Brock Newbludd and his good buddy, Different Breed defacto leader “Fat Tuesday” Davey LaRue. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the proud champion Newbludd had the Blitzkrieg title fastened around his waist, while LaRue was looking exceptionally sharp with his yellow and pink Zubaz that were sloppily cut into shorts (with matching flip-flops) and sleeveless Different Breed t-shirt.

    The two friends were locked into a conversation with each other as they stood near the far end of the table where the buffet line started. Grabbing a plate, Newbludd nodded his head occasionally while a particularly glum looking LaRue talked to him as the camera slowly zoomed in on two.

    “...and den I come to wake up dis mornin’ at the hotel and once again der’s no beb to give ol’ Davey a backrub and some mornin’ lovin,” the cajun said in frustration as he picked up a plate. “I juss don’t tink dis whole online datin ting is for me Brock.”

    Grabbing a piece of chicken from one of the food warmers, Brock shook his head as he chuckled, causing Davey’s eyes to grow big in surprise then quickly narrow in anger.

    “Dat’s not supposed ta be a funny story, bon ami! I’m givin dis a real chance!” LaRue exclaimed as he dramatically grabbed a salisbury steak and plopped it on his plate, causing brown gravy to splatter on his shirt.

    “You’re right, I’m sorry buddy,” Brock said as he stopped loading up his plate to look at his friend.

    “But let me ask you this, where in your hotel room did you wake up this morning?”

    Face turning slightly red, LaRue tried his best to look nonchalant as he gave a shoulder shrug before asking, “What’s dat got to wit anyting?”

    A knowing smile grew on Brock’s face as he locked eyes with LaRue, “C’mon bro, I know you. Where did you wake up this morning?”

    Averting his eyes from Brock’s, Davey looked down to the ground to try and hide the embarrassment on his face.

     “De bathtub…” he managed to mutter out and Brock tilted his head low to look up to LaRue.

    “The bathtub, huh? Any other details you might be leaving out?” the Blitzkrieg champ asked as he now tried to hold in his grin.

    Davey’s shoulders visibly drooped as he filled in the blanks for his friend, “Well I must’ve tried flushin my clothes down de toilet, I’m not really sure why...so I was naked...and I also had dis.”

    Putting his plate down on the table, LaRue let out a sigh as he lifted his shirt up to reveal a fresh tattoo. Newbludd stared in amazement at his friend's stomach and put a hand over his mouth to try and contain his laughter. Shifting over, the camera zoomed in on LaRue’s hairy belly.

    Well, mostly hairy belly. The area around his belly button was shaved completely clean and replaced with a tattoo of a cat bending over and smiling between it’s legs. While the quality of the inkwork was decent enough, what really made the tattoo special was how the cat was placed just right so Davey’s belly button doubled as the cat’s butthole.

    Hearing giggling coming from other people in the catering area, Davey frantically pulled his shirt back down and shot a stern glare out that cut the laughter off instantly. Despite his lovable personality and irresistible charm, LaRue was still a large man who could be intimidating when he needed to be.

    “Ohhh shit, that’s too good…” Brock said as he fought off laughter.

    “Yea, yea…” a solemn LaRue grumbled as he picked his plate back up.

    Seeing his normally jovial friend in a down mood, Newbludd let out a sigh and put a hand on LaRue’s shoulder.

    “Listen buddy, I think you might need to change up your game plan,” Newbludd suggested in a encouraging tone and Davey perked up a little bit.

    “Change my game plan?” Davey asked with a cocked eyebrow, and Brock took his hand off his friend's shoulder to pick his plate back up.

    “Yea, change your gameplan, use a different playbook, however you want to put it. Because if you ask me...now I might be wrong...your current strategy of taking these chicks to dive bars and getting so pissed up that you blackout, get cat tattoos, and try to flush your clothes down the toilet...well, it just ain’t working man,” Brock explained.

    Grabbing his plate, LaRue looked to be in deep thought. “Ya tink dat’s da problem, fo’ real?” he asked as he scrunched his face.

    “I wouldn’t steer you in the wrong direction dude, I’m rooting for ya. I’m just saying maybe don’t get piss-wasted on you next date, that’s all!” Brock responded as he made his way down the table to grab more food.

    “I trust ya, so I’ll give it a shot bon ami,” a hopeful LaRue replied as he scooped some mashed potatoes on his plate and moved down the table. “I just hope---”

    “SALISBURY STEAK!? WHO PUT THIS HERE...MRS. BRENKOWSKI!?”

    LaRue and Brock jumped from the sudden outburst, and both men quickly turned around to see “Deadly" Erick Davies standing next to the table holding a gravy covered salisbury steak inches from his face with both hands. Foaming at the mouth, Davies had a crazed look in his eyes as he squeezed the piece of meat, making gravy ooze out between his fingers.

    “YOU CAN’T MAKE ME EAT IT! YOU CAN’T!” Erick wailed out as he threw the steak to the ground and began stomping on it.

    Confusion couldn’t begin to explain the look that Brock and Davey shared with each other before looking back to Mr. Screwloose. If one could guess, it would appear that the salisbury steaks had triggered a flashback of the most violent kind for the most deranged wrestler in NBW. A repressed memory about his childhood enemy, the lunch lady Mrs. Brenkowski!

    The two friends continued to watch Erick squash the glorified hamburger patty into oblivion, while in the background all of the people who were milling about the catering area stopped to watch the scene unfold. Davies was oblivious to his surroundings as he kept jumping up and down.

    Nudging LaRue, Brock leaned in close and whispered, “Dude, what the fuck is going on? And who is Mrs. Brenkowski?”

    “Beats me, bon ami, ” Davey whispered back. “I tink Mrs. Brenkowski was his lunch lady in school...at least dat’s what I’ve put togedder from his ramblings in da locker room. He’s been talkin’ about her for years.”

    “What? Lunch Lady? Seriously, how many crazy people does Harmen have working here?” Brock asked, and Davey just shrugged his shoulders.

    Taking deep ragged breaths, Davies finally stopped stomping his feet on the ground and leaned forward with both hands on the edge of the table as he got his wind back. Peering up to stare at the food warmer holding the gravy covered steaks, Erick’s top lip curled back in disdain.

    “I HATE YOU!” Davies screamed out as he pointed a accusing finger at the food before grabbing the container and smashing it on the ground, sending gravy and steaks flying in every which way.

    “Hey! Stop that! Dammit Davies!” a voice rang out, and an instant later two NBW security officers ran into the picture, rushing over to Mr. Screwloose.

    Davies eyes got big as he saw security running towards him, and spread his feet wide in a defensive stance.

    “Tell your boss Brenkowski to leave me ALONE!” Davies yelled as he raised his fists at the two approaching men, and both security officers had the same look of confusion, not understanding what the hell Davies was talking about.

    The first officer to reach Davies, a portly man with a balding head and a bushy moustache, put his hands up to let Erick know that he just wanted to diffuse the situation peacefully. The wild-eyed Davies gave no fucks about the man’s intentions, and proceeded to drop the NBW staff member with a straight right fist that landed right between the man’s eyes! The crowd of people in the catering area let out a “Oooo” that was echoed by the live audience in the background as the security officer hit the hard floor with a thud and laid motionless at Davies feet.

    Seeing his partner get laid out, the second security officer was not going to make the same mistake and pulled out his nightstick as he reached Davies. Jabbing in with the billy club to hit Davies in the ribs, the security officer was caught off guard when Davies dodged the blow and took hold of the weapon. Yanking the billy club out of the security officer’s hands, Davies hit the guard in the stomach with it before snaking around him and grabbing the guard from behind.

    Pressing the billy club hard against the now terrified officer’s throat, Davies screamed into the guards ear, “Take me to Brenkowski! NOW!”

    “Wh...who?” the frightened guard croaked out.

    Tightening his grip, Davies burst out in laughter.  “Don’t play dumb with me chickenhead! You reek of her tuna casserole!”

    Davies looked like a cornered rat as more NBW staff came onto the scene and began to form a circle around the two men. Security officers, referees, and backstage hands all pleaded with Davies to let him go, but the deranged wrestler wasn’t listening as he continued to shout out nonsense about salisbury steaks and Mrs. Brenkowski. Suddenly, the circle of people parted for a second as Brock and Davey stepped in to stand in front of the Erick.

    “C’mon bon ami, jus’ let de guy go. Maybe den we can sit down and talk about dis fake lunch lady of yours,” LaRue reasoned with Davies who responded with a cackling laughter.

    “No way swamp rat! And she isn't fake! She's real! These salisbury steaks being here prove it! And THIS hired hand of hers is going to tell me where she is so I can finally have my revenge!”

    LaRue began to open his mouth again, but Brock put his hand up, effectively cutting his friend off. Stepping in to stand only a couple feet away from Davies and his prisoner, Brock scanned his crystal blue eyes over the circle or people surrounding them before locking them onto Davies.

    “Really dude? Are we really doing this right now?” Newbludd said as he spread his arms wide. “Look man, this guy doesn’t know what the fuck you’re talking about...and neither does anyone else!”

    Almost everyone in the immediate area nodded their heads in agreement, they really had no idea what was going on. They just knew that insane Erick Davies had a billy club to a security officer's throat and apparently was not a big fan of salisbury steaks.

    “So, why don’t you let the guy go?” Brock said with a grin as he brought his arms in to crack his knuckles. “Because if you don’t, the minute you raise that billy club up, you’re going to get your ass beat by like twenty people...and after they’re done with you, me and that guy you're holding there are going to shove every one of those delicious steaks that are on the floor down your throat.”

    Cocking his head sideways to Davies, the still grinning Newbludd asked. “How does that sound?”

    Letting out a growl, Davies squeezed the guard tighter as his eyes frantically darted around the room, looking for a way out. Realizing that Newbludd was right, there really was nowhere to go, Davies sneered at Brock.

    “If I let him go, what’s in it for ME!?” a desperate Davies screamed at Newbludd.

    “I don’t drown you in that bowl of gravy over there?” Newbludd replied.

    “Not good enough!” Davies answered back, and his eyes began searching frantically again for a few seconds before resting on the Blitzkrieg title around Brock’s waist. “I want a title shot! Yea...I want your stupid Blitzkrieg title!”

    Looking down at the title for a long second, Brock nodded his head. “Fine, we’ll set up a match, now let this poor guy--”

    “NO! I want it NOW! RIGHT NOW!” Davies interjected, and the Blitzkrieg champ’s eyebrows rose in surprise at Davies demand.

    With a shoulder shrug, Brock began looking at the NBW staff around him and spotted referee Tal Nedrick. Still in his stripes, the veteran referee was clearly there just for moral support as he had his head down in a plate of food he was holding.

    “Tal!” Brock yelled, getting the surprised ref’s attention. “Lunch break’s over!”

    Handing his plate of food to the NBW staff member standing next to him, Nedrick wiped the crumbs of his shirt and tentatively made his way over to stand next to Brock. Unstrapping the Blitzkrieg title, Brock gave it to the referee, and when the ref realized what was about to happen motioned for everyone to make space. The crowd obliged, making sure to give plenty of room for the fight to come. Then in a blur, two security guards rushed out and scooped up their fallen co-worker that Davies punched out before scurrying out of the picture.
     
    Taking his shirt off and tossing it to Davey, Brock bumped fists with his friend before saying, “Leave this between me and him, don’t interfere unless one of his friends decide to come help him.”

    “He doesn’t ave any friends, don’t worry about dat bon ami. But dis cat is dangerous, maybe even more den Strongbern.” LaRue informed Brock as he eyed up Davies.

    “Great...an adult sized Big Rick, this should be fun...looks like we’ll have to get some grub later buddy.” Brock muttered back as he glanced over to Davies.

    Davey nodded his head, and turned around to join the small crowd of people who were all watching with anticipation.

    “You got what you wanted crazy pants, you and me, right here and right now. So let that poor guy go, he looks like he’s going to shit himself,” Brock said as he rolled his neck back and forth.

    The security officer did indeed have the look of someone who was about to poop his pants. Hope filled his eyes though when he realized that he was about be free from the lunatic’s clutches. But, it was quickly replaced by fear when Davies did not let him go.

    Nodding his head to signal Nedrick, Davies yelled back, “Ring the bell! THEN I’ll let this filth go!”

    “Um...I...don’t have a bell back here Erick…” Tal meekly said back, not wanting to anger the certified lunatic even further.

    Rolling his eyes, Brock hollered back to his his buddy in the crowd, “Davey, give us a bell!”

    DANG! DANG! DANG!” “Fat Tuesday replied, the words dripping with his cajun accent.

    Whatever meekness that was in Tal left him, and he instantly snapped into referee mode as he held the belt up high to signify that it was on the line in this impromptu match. Tal then tossed it to LaRue who snagged it out of the air with one hand, and the live audience watching on the Epicenter let out a cheer in anticipation of the unexpected Blitzkrieg title match!

    Tossing the security guard to the off to the side, Davies let out a war cry as he raised the nightstick above his head and immediately charged at Brock!

     

    Blitzkrieg

    Blitzkrieg Championship

     

    Only one second into the match, and the defending champion was already in a dangerous spot as Davies came at him with the billy club. Reaching his opponent, Davies leaped into the air and brought the billy club down with a overhand smash, looking to split Brock’s head in two! Luckily Davies had made his intentions quite obvious, and Brock leapt backwards and went into a roll to dodge the attempted strike. Good thing for Brock too, for if Mr. Screwloose would have connected it surely would have quickly ended the match and Newbludd’s title reign as well.

    Coming out of his roll and popping to his feet, Brock leaned back to narrowly avoid the billy club once again that came dangerously close the tip his nose courtesy of a wild swing from Davies. Growling in frustration from his second swing and miss Davies still kept the pressure on as he stalked the backpedaling Newbludd. And Brock was on the defensive indeed as he tried to keep space between himself and the weapon wielding maniac.

    Davies unrelenting assault had pushed the flow of the fight away from the buffet line and into the cluster of tables that served as a makeshift dining area causing any people who were remaining there to scatter and run to safety. Barely avoiding another swing of the club, Brock backed into one of the tables and glanced down to see a half eaten plate of food inches away from his hand.

    Seeing that he had Brock cornered, Davies laughed in delight as he brought the club up high above his head once more.

    “ARE YOU PROUD OF ME MOMMY!?” Erick blurted out, causing spittle to fly out of his mouth.

    Having to think fast, Brock instinctively reached out towards the plate of food, looking for something, anything to help defend himself with. With only a second to spare, Newbludd got his fingers wrapped around a fried chicken leg and in desperation stabbed Davies in the eye with it! Mr. Screwloose howled in pain and stumbled backwards, holding his eye with one hand!

    Pulling his hand away from his eye, Davies rubbed at it vigorously.

    “The grease! It BURNS!” he yelled out as he blinked his reddened eye, trying to flush it out.

    Seeing the opening that he needed, Brock tossed the chicken leg behind his back and bull rushed Davies, spearing him on top of another table! Putting a knee on top of Davies arm to prevent him from using the nightstick, Newbludd grabbed Erick by the throat with one hand while his other arm pumped like a jackhammer as he fired his fist into Davies face. The live audience cheered in the background as the Blitzkrieg champ stopped his barrage to grab a full pitcher of water that miraculously didn’t spill when the two men landed on the table.

    With a firm grip still in place on Davies throat, Brock began pouring the water in a steady stream onto Davies mouth and nose. Mr. Screwloose began to writhe as tried to not suck in the water as Brock continued to pour it down. A distant look filled Newbludd’s eyes as he looked down at his struggling opponent, giving the impression that this probably wasn’t the first time the ex black ops soldier waterboarded someone. And if he did, well, that’s classified.

    But, Davies was tough as nails and was at his best in an anything goes street fight, which make no mistake this certainly was. Wriggling like a snake trapped underneath a boot, the slippery Davies managed to get his trapped arm free from underneath Brock’s knee and instantly brought it up to smash the nightstick into the side of Newbludd’s head. Hoping to block the blow, Brock took his hand off of his opponent's throat and caught Davies wrist just before the club impacted on his skull.

    With Newbludd’s attention turned to the billy club, Davies let a devilish grin flash across his face before he stretched his head up to Brock’s hand that was holding the water pitcher and sunk his teeth into Newbludd’s hand!

    Immediately dropping the pitcher, Brock screamed in pain as he jumped off the table to get away from the animalistic Davies. Looking at his hand, Newbludd was relieved to see that the chomp didn’t break the skin, but certainly was going to leave a hell of a bruise. With the danger of having to get tested for every disease from the black plague to the Andromeda strain luckily avoided, shock and anger quickly replaced the look of relief. 

    “You fucking bit me!?”  Brock hollered as he pointed an accusing finger at the coughing Davies who was still recovering from the water torture as he sat up on the edge of the table.

    Done with his coughing spell, Davies sneered at Brock before screaming back, “YOU TASTE LIKE A USED CONDOM!”, which caused a small grin to grow on Brock’s face.

    “Your mother makes me wear one!” Newbludd taunted back and Davies face contorted instantly contorted in rage.

    Shaking his head back and forth, Davies spat back, “Liar! I know that she DESPISES them!”

    Not really sure what to make of that, Brock concluded that the only logical response would be to superkick his deranged opponents head off.

    But Davies saw it coming and as Brock brought his leg up to deliver the kick, he whacked the nightstick across Newbludd’s shin! Groaning in pain, Brock doubled over instantly to grab his leg and Davies followed up by smashing the billy club across his vulnerable opponents back, causing Brock to hit the ground with a thud!

    “CALL ME MR. MEOW-GI!” the mentally unstable challenger boasted before hissing like a cat and awkwardly spinning the nightstick in his hands “kung fu” style.

    The sloppy showmanship led to Davies fumbling the nightstick and dropping it to the ground. Letting out a disappointed snarl, he disregarded the weapon and put his attention back to Brock who was beginning to push himself off the ground. Being the gentlemen he was, Davies assisted Newbludd in getting back up by wrapping his arm underneath Brock’s head to apply a front facelock.

    Raising Newbludd up, Davies let out a shrill scream before falling backwards in a violent motion…

    DDT ON THE CONCRETE!!!

    The onlookers let out an audible gasp as Davies drove Brock’s head into the ground, and Erick immediately flipped Brock over. A twisted smile crossed Erick’s face as he saw one of Brock’s healing wounds from the Laddervault split open again causing blood to run down his face. Admiring his handiwork for one more second, Davies then hooked Brock’s leg for the pin and Nedrick dropped down to count it!

    ONE!

    TWO!


    KICKOUT!

    The look that Davies gave Nedrick was warning enough to make the veteran referee scramble to his feet and back away to a safe distance as he held two fingers up. Mr. Screwloose angrily got back to his feet and held two fingers up to mock Nedrick. Slamming a fist down on one of the tables in frustration, Davies grabbed at his long beard and yanked a chunk of hair out and threw it at Nedrick, who dodged it like it was a hand grenade.

    Looking back down to a stirring Newbludd, Erick dished out some rough kicks to Brock before picking him back up. Thrusting Newbludd’s head between his legs, Davies intended to hit his signature package piledriver the Concussion on Delivery!

    Erick’s face held a twisted grin as he attempted to pick up the Blitzkrieg champion, but that quickly turn to a look of shock when Newbludd let out a desperate roar and powered Davies up to send him flying with a back body drop!

    Flipping over Brock, Davies crashed awkwardly as he hit the edge of a table before bouncing off one of the steel chair’s placed around it and hitting the concrete with a thud. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, the bloodied Newbludd had a menacing look in his eyes as he stomped over to Davies who was attempting to get back to his feet.

    Closing in on Davies,who had managed to get back up to his knees, Brock snatched a plate off of one of the tables and just as Erick began to rise to his feet Newbludd proceeded to shatter the porcelain plate over Davies head! Surprisingly, the blow didn’t drop Erick back down to the ground, instead just sending him back down to his knees. Blood began to trickle down the deranged grappler’s forehead as he swayed back and forth on his knees.

    Brock’s eyebrows rose at the resiliency of his opponent, causing him to grab another plate off the table. Looking at the plate for a split second, Newbludd decided to go a different route with his next attack. Grabbing Davies by the side of the head, Newbludd rammed Mr. Screwloose’s skull into the side of the table before lifting him up to his feet.

    Grabbing Erick by the arm, Brock set his feet and with a roar sent Davies flying over the table with a hard irish whip! Watching Davies land on the other side, Brock grabbed a steel chair and quickly folded it up. Crawling on top of the table, the chair wielding champion zeroed in on his downed foe before leaping off and smashing the chair into Davies face and chest!

    Landing hard on the concrete next to Davies, Brock pushed the chair off of Erick before hooking the leg for the pin and Nedrick showed his veteran referee prowess by crawling underneath the table to get to the two men for the count!

    ONE!

    KICKOUT!

    Davies got a shoulder up at one and Brock couldn’t believe it! Running a hand through his hair, Brock didn’t even bother to question the ref’s count as he got back to his feet. Grabbing the steel chair back off the ground, Brock raised it high above his head as he stood over Davies. Intending to pummel Davies into oblivion, Newbludd swung down with the chair…

    Davies got a foot up, blocking the chair!

    Just in the nick of time Erick raised his foot and deflected the blow,, causing the chair to fly out of Brock’s hands. Caught off guard by the defense, Brock watched the chair fly out of his hands and Davies followed up his counter by kicking his other leg up right between Newbludd’s legs!

    “Oh...fuck…”a wincing Newbludd coughed out as he held his junk with one hand and staggered backwards.

    Davies burst out in maniacal laughter as he scrambled back to his feet and charged towards the hurt Newbludd, leveling him with a stiff clothesline. Newbludd toppled over, and the reinvigorated Davies immediately pounced on top of him to rain down wild fists!

    “SQUEAL PIGGIE! SQUEAL!” the fired up challenger wailed as he continued his barrage of punches.

    Luckily for Newbludd, the bloodlust filled Davies punches were all over the place with some of them completely missing his head. Still, the punches that he wasn’t able to deflect were hard hitting. With a reversal of any sort a long shot with how erratic his opponents attacks were, Brock resorted to the only option he had.
    Clasping his hands and raising them high above his head, Erick was primed to deliver a double axe handle, when suddenly Brock shot a hand up at Davies exposed face and poked him in both of his eyes! Erick howled in pain as he grabbed at both of his eyes, and now it was Brock’s turn to go on the offensive, firing fists into Davies gut before pushing Davies off of him.

    Getting back to his feet, Newbludd raised Davies up and threw a stiff knee into his gut before delivering a snap suplex to Erick that made a loud smack on the concrete upon impact! Keeping the pressure on, Brock brought a woozy Davies back up again and gave him a European Uppercut, sending Erick stumbling backwards towards the buffet table. Thinking fast, Brock grabbed another chair and quickly folded it up before running towards Davies looking to deliver a Happy Gilmore esque chair shot.

    But once again Davies showed his resolve and as the running Brock swung with the chair, Erick ducked down to barely avoid the steel. With the momentum of his swing causing him to stumble forward, Brock was left wide open for an attack and the red-eyed Davies took advantage of it by grabbing Brock from behind to lock him into a dragon sleeper!

    “SAY UNCLE! SAY IT!” Davies screamed as he tightened in the submission, and Tal Nedrick was quickly down to a knee next to Newbludd.

    “Whaddya say Brock!?” the veteran ref asked the Blitzkrieg champion.

    “Hell no Tal…” Newbludd coughed out, and Tal gave him a sideways look when Brock even managed to wink at him despite being in obvious pain.

    Amidst all the excitement of managing to lock his opponent into one of the more deadly submissions in the game, Davies hadn't noticed something very important...Newbludd had managed to hang on to the chair with one hand...

    Davies was in ecstasy as he thought he had Brock locked into a hold that Newbludd couldn’t escape, and it seemed that it was only a matter of time until his opponent gave up. Clenching tighter on the hold, Davies screamed for Nedrick to once again ask Newbludd if he wanted to give up before bursting out in another spell of laughter. Then in an instant, both Davies laughter and dragon sleeper were broken when Brock swung the chair upwards to smash into Erick’s face!

    The blow should have knocked Davies flat on his back but the tough grappler once again stayed upright and instead staggered backwards into the buffet table and slumped awkwardly against. Newbludd, who had landed hard on his back when Davies dropped him, began to slowly roll over onto his stomach as he tried to shake off the effects of the dragon sleeper.

    Pushing himself up to his feet, Newbludd stalked over to Davies who was still slumped up on the food table. Cocking his fist back, Brock looked ready to pummel Davies once again when suddenly Davies came to life and kicked him in the gut. Seeing his opponent double over, Davies looked to the buffet table and grabbed a large metal spoon out of the food warmer of mashed potatoes. Hammering down on Brock’s back with a fist to keep him doubled over, Davies then creepily licked the big spoon which caused the mashed potatoes to smear on his face, before whacking Newbludd in the back of the head with it!

    The strike took Brock down to a knee, and Davies dropped the spoon to grab Newbludd’s head and put it between his legs. With a grunt, Davies began to lift Brock up as he rotated to face the table and it was clear he was planning to POWERBOMB BROCK THROUGH THE BUFFET TABLE!

    NO! The live audience roared in the background when Brock managed to avoid certain disaster by reaching a hand out as he was being lifted up to grab the metal tongs out of the salad bowl, and when Davies had him fully lifted for the powerbomb Newbludd grabbed onto Erick’s nose with them!

    “YEEEOOOWW!” Mr. Screwloose yelped as he dropped Brock, who still had ahold of Davies beak with the metal tongs.

    Rubbing the back of his head where Davies hit him with the spoon with his other hand, Newbludd pulled his hand away to see mashed potatoes on his fingers. Seeing the potatoes smeared across the wincing Davies face, Brock grew an evil grin and twisted the tongs, causing Davies to scream out in pain again. Brock then dodged a wild swing from his opponent before pulling Davies in with the tongs and smoking him with a knee shaking headbutt.

    Grabbing Davies by the head, Brock screamed in his ear, “So you like mashed potatoes!?”

    Newbludd then threw a hard knee into Davies gut and walked him over to the buffet.

    “Well don’t be shy! Have some more!” Brock encouraged his groggy opponent before sticking Davies head into the food warmer of mashed potatoes!

    Davies thrashed wildly as Brock pushed his head farther down into the hot potatoes. One of Davies flailing arms caught the Blitzkrieg champion in the jaw, and Brock responded by firing some fists into Davies exposed ribs before pulling the metal cover of the gravy container off and jerking Davies head out of the potatoes.

    With Newbludd holding the back of his skull, Davies entire head was engulfed in mashed potatoes and he almost resembled the title monster from the horror classic “The Thing” as he moaned.

    “What’s the matter Erick?” Brock asked his opponent who just responded with another moan. “Oh, I know what it is! You wanted gravy with your taters!”

    With that, Brock smashed the metal cover into Davies face and then dunked Mr. Screwloose’s entire head into the container of brown gravy!

    “Mmmmmm! Grraaavvvyyy!” Brock gleefully yelled out as Davies thrashed about again.

    Not knowing how far Brock would take it, Nedrick pleaded with Brock to stop and Newbludd obliged by pulling Davies head out of the gravy. With his entire face covered with potatoes and gravy, Erick let out another moan. The Blitzkrieg champion looked at his opponent and burst out into laughter before slamming Davies face against the table repeatedly.

    Spinning Davies around, Brock sneered at his opponent, “I was saving this move for a couple of other psychopaths who want to take this belt from me, but I think you’ve earned it.”

    Thrusting Davies head under his arm, Brock hoisted him up in a delayed vertical suplex and held Erick up high, causing potatoes and gravy to run off his head and plop to the floor. Suddenly Brock changed his grip on Davies and kicked his legs out to fall downwards in a piledriver like position. Pulling down on Davies, Newbludd violently spiked Erick’s head into the floor with a variation of the STEINER SCREWDRIVER! 

    The live crowd erupted in cheers at the move and Brock rolled Davies over for the cover…

    ONE!

    TWO!

    THREE!!!!


    Getting back to his feet, Brock was greeted by an incoming Davey LaRue who raised his friend’s hand high in the air, and Nedrick followed suit by raising the other.

    “The winner of this match and still NBW Blitzkrieg Champion… ‘The Innovator’ Brock Newbludd!” Nedrick yelled out and both the people who had witnessed the fight in person and the live crowd watching on the Epicenter burst out in cheers.

    Looking down at the sprawled out Davies, Newbludd wiped the blood off of his face and shook his head. “Deadly” was a worthy nickname for Erick Davies, and the Blitzkrieg champion had just found that out first hand. Walking to the other end of the buffet line to where this whole ordeal started, Newbludd snatched one of the salisbury steaks off of the ground.

    Walking back over to Davies, Brock dropped the steak right on top of Davies face.

    “That was fun crazy pants...good luck with the whole lunch lady thing…” he said to his downed foe before walking out of the picture.

    With that, the camera zoomed out from Davies to show the disaster zone that was now the catering area before fading to black.

     

    Shall We Play A Game?

     

    Fresh from the chaos the viewers were presented with a dark screen. Every few seconds a flash of a black and white silhouette were present while a series of sentences typed out in white font on screen.

    “Every story has two things.”

    “A BEGINNING AND A VILLAIN.”

    “The villain may be a person or beast. HAVE YOU SLAYED THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED?”

    “Or an object or place. HAVE YOU EVER VISITED ONE OF THE SEVEN GATES TO HELL?”

    “Even time can be a villain. HAVE YOU EVER RUSHED AGAINST TIME?”

    The silhouette flashed again, this time with a white smile stretched across it’s black face.

    “The quill has already penned this story’s ending.”

    “Allow me to send you straight to the end. FOR IN THIS STORY-”

    The silhouette’s blackness changed into a dark liquid red, while portions of the face seemingly dripped to the bottom of the EpiCenter.

    “THIS VILLAIN HAS ALREADY WON. SO-”

    The screen continued to fill up with red from the bottom pooling until nothing else where on screen, even the words had been covered. What followed was a maniacal laughter over the Epic II’s internal sound system to send chills to every fan in attendance.

    “SHALL WE PLAY A GAME?”

    The words pushed through the red in a thick white before the SLAM logo appeared:

    “In Two Weeks on HALLOWS EVE: THE GAME BEGINS.”

    The tron then went dark and the laughter came to an end. Leaving nothing but questions in its wake.

     

    civilwar

     

    There will be no 'If'...

     

    Coming back from break, the camera faded into the smiling face of Adria Hoyt who was standing at the corner of two intersecting hallways somewhere in the backstage of the arena. Turning her head to peer around the corner, Adria quickly spun back around to look at the camera and raised the mic to her lips.

    “Welcome back to Slam! In a few seconds, I’m going to try and get a word with a man who just successfully defended his Blitzkrieg title against ‘Deadly’ Erick Davies…’The Innovator’ Brock Newbludd…”

    Then, in a moment of perfect timing, Newbludd turned the corner and nearly crashed into Hoyt. Still shirtless and with dried blood matted on his face from his battle with Davies, the Blitzkrieg champion gave Hoyt an annoyed look as he hoisted the title belt on his shoulder.

    “Let’s make this quick Adria, Erick Davies might have just infected me with the T-Virus and I need to find Sally so she can give me the cure.” Brock sternly said as he held up his hand to show Adria the bruising on it from where Davies bit him during their match.

    Seeing the wound, Adria took a step back in repulsion before regaining her composure.

    “Well, I’ll just get straight to the point then. I’d like to hear your thoughts on Ravage’s statements that he made during his return tonight, and also the big match made between him and Big Rick that will happen at the next Slam to decide who will be challenging you at Pride.”

    With that Adria pointed the mic towards Newbludd who rolled his neck with a grimace as the adrenaline from his match began to wear off.

    “By statements do you mean delusional ramblings? Because that's all I heard spewing out of Ravage’s mouth. I was hoping that kicking that asshole off the top of the Laddervault would have knocked some sense into him, but after hearing what that desperate old man said tonight, it's obvious that didn’t happen.” Newbludd said with disdain in his voice.

    “So as far as Ravage goes, he can keep twisting the facts to make them fit into whatever bullshit scenario he believes, I really don't care. All I care about is making sure he doesn't take this title from me.”

    Newbludd rapped his knuckles on the Blitzkrieg title to emphasize his point.

    “You know, I used to respect Ravage...I really did.  And I’ll give him credit, he’s accomplished a lot here in the NBW, and nobody will forget that when he’s in the ballot for a future Hall of Fame induction. That being said, I will NEVER forget nor forgive that son of a bitch for what he did to Sally in the weeks leading up to Legacy…”

    Adria pulled the mic back from Newbludd to interject.

    “And what is your response to him saying that you and Sally assaulted his daughter Cassie..erm I mean Bethany...well actually her real name is a mystery right now...I think?” Hoyt asked as a look of confusion passed over her and Brock just shook his head.

    “Well, I’m pretty sure every single damn person who watched the Slam’s leading up to Legacy would disagree with him, seeing as how he KIDNAPPED Sally! But, if I did have to answer that ridiculous question, and I’ll answer for Sally as well, the little bitch had it coming….”

    The crowd let out a cheer at Newbludd’s statement about Cassie...or Bethany…

    “But what about Big Rick? It could be very likely that he will be the one challenging you for the Blitzkrieg championship at Pride.”

    Newbludd’s lip curled back in a sneer at the mention of his oldest enemy in the NBW.

    “If that sawed off little rat manages to win the battle of the psychos next week, well he’s---”

    Suddenly out of nowhere a steel chair came across the screen and smashed Brock right in the back of the head! Adria yelped in fright as a laughing Big Rick Strongbern entered the picture and snatched the microphone out of her hand. Right behind him was the culprit of the attack Little Ricky Strongbern who gave the limp Brock another whack with the chair for good measure before throwing it down on top of Brock.

    “IF!? IF!?” Big Rick screamed down at the incapacitated Newbludd before kicking him in the head.

    “THERE WILL BE NO ‘IF I BEAT RAVAGE!’ THAT OLD WRINKLY BALLSACK HAS NO CHANCE AGAINST THE BIGGEST MAN IN TOWN! AND AFTER I’M DONE WITH HIM...THAT BELT IS MIIIINEE!!”

    Dropping the mic, Strongbern laid the boots to Newbludd before storming off, a grinning Little Ricky in tow. A frazzled Adria picked the mic back up and knelt down next to Brock.

    “Guys, Newbludd needs medical attention now!” a concerned Hoyt exclaimed into the mic as she moved the chair off of Brock to see that the back of his head was already red with blood.

    “Brock!? Oh god, what happened!? a female voice cried out and suddenly a sprinting Sally Renolds entered the scene to kneel down next to Newbludd as well.

    Zooming in on the battered Blitzkrieg champion, the camera began to slowly fade out. The newest war for the Blitzkrieg title had just had its first battle tonight, and without a doubt Big Rick Strongbern was the victor.

     

    MAIN EVENT

    Gravender vs Spade

     

    It was now time for what promised to be a hard hitting affair of the main event when Number One Contender, "Monster of the Mid-South" Warren Spade fought against one-half of the Unstoppables and former NBW World champion Vic Gravender! The current champion Derecho was certainly somewhere ready to watch this match of titanic proportions go down momentarily! Would Warren avenge a previous loss to Vic or would the Unstoppables go 2-0 tonight?

    “Warrior” by Disturbed.

    Vic Gravender stepped out from the backstage area to a pretty good pop from the crowd, raising his half of the Dynasty Tag Team Titles over his head. Earlier on in the night, his opponent, Tyson XL won his match against VIP of the A-List so Vic was hoping to make it two for two for the Unstoppables tonight!

    He stopped at the top of the entrance ramp and motioned that he was going to win tonight's main event.  Vic then walked down the ramp and headed to the ring where he stomped up the ring steps and entered between the second and top rope.  Once in the ring, Vic cracked his neck from side to side and turned to the entrance ramp with no fear in his eyes.  He simply stood there and awaited the arrival of his towering opponent.

    “Gather around, everyone, gather around!”

    The arena went dark and a lone spotlight was now on the entryway. Whoever this person was had their back turned to the camera so as to hide his face, but he was a man in jeans, a black coat and a red and white carnival barker hat. He was very short and couldn’t have been any more than five-foot four, but he certainly had a gift of gab. This was Warren Spade’s manager, Fenton Woods!

    “Vic Gravender ... World Class Badass you say? You have a reputation that proceeds you, Mr. Unstoppable!"

    Vic had a grin on his face.

    “But … tonight just isn't your night. You're a wide man, Humpty Dumpty and when my Giant is done with you, nobody will ever be able to put you back together again!"

    Them was fighting words and Vic did let out another chuckle quickly followed with a death glare. Fenton continued his intro.

    “My name is Fenton Woods and I would like to welcome all of you – the fans of No Brand Wrestling – to the greatest show on Earth! The show where my giant comes out here and leaves a path of destruction for your amusement …”

    Fenton winked.

    “And mine.”

    He tapped his cane on the ground and his spotlight disappeared. The crowd was baited with anticipation and when words appeared on the EpiCenter they went crazy.

    MONSTER

    OF THE

    MIDSOUTH


    Warren Spade was here!

    “Deliverance” by Corrosion of Conformity played and The Monster of the Mid-South basked in the reception from the crowd. After enjoying the response, he hunched over to let Fenton Woods ride on his shoulders. The monster who once boasted a two-year undefeated streak in No Brand Wrestling was approaching the ring fast. The large giant from the Mid-South stomped his way toward the ring and locked eyes with the former NBW Champion.

    Spade let Fenton off on the apron and then he himself jumped on the apron! He pushed the ropes down and the seven footer stepped over them to come face-to-face with Vic. The two monsters were both fan favorites but the Number One Contender and the Dynasty Tag champion did not like each other. Warren stepped to his corner and Simon Brack signalled for the bell.

    DING

    DING

    DING!!!


    The three-hundred eighty-pound Gravender waved a hand at Spade.

    “You’re not making a name off me, big-ass,” snapped Vic.

    It was going to be the “Monster of the Mid-South” Warren Spade taking on ‘The World Class Badass’ Vic Gravender for the first time ever in NBW. Fenton Woods stood his ground on the outside and he slapped his hand in tune on the ring apron to get the crowd clapping.

    The big men both thought the same thing and took an opportunity to start out in a test of strength. Gravender had a slight weight advantage which was something very few people could say on Warren Spade, but both men had locked up. Gravender managed to power Warren Spade against the ropes, but the official who drew the short straw to take this match got in the way and told them to break it up. Gravender backed off and patted Spade on the chest before proceeding with a clean break.

    Spade got out of the corner and the two mastodons went at it a second time. They were at a stalemate a second time, but Spade used all the power he could muster and managed to lock Gravender up against the ropes this time around. The unfortunate official had to get in between the two superheavyweights and ordered them to back up. Spade did just as the official warned him and tapped Gravender on the head.

    “See? I can play, too, asshole,” said Warren.

    The Monster of the Mid-South smirked. Vic didn’t. 

    CHOP!!!!

    Gravender came out of the corner like a monster and chopped Spade across the chest!

    “Enough of this shit!” Gravender screamed. “Let’s fight!”

    That was the first thing Vic said that Warren could agree with. He brought the fight out when he kicked Gravender in the stomach! He stunned his opponent with a slew of heavy shots to the chest before running off the ropes to try and run him over with a shoulder … the blow staggered Gravender but he did not go down!

    “COME ON!” shouted Vic.

    Warren looked to his manager, Fenton Woods, and he cheered him on.

    “Indulge him if he’s asking for it! Hit him!”

    Spade nodded at his manager and then charged from the ropes one more time and put some more forced into a big shoulder takedown, only for Gravender to bounce into the ropes! That shot did rattle Vic, but the tank-like New Yorker did not go down. 

    “Pfft … let me show you how it’s fuckin’ done.”

    “Bring it.”

    Spade stood his ground and braced himself as the large man ran off the ropes this time. The World Class Badass tried to knock the One-Man Stampede over, but Spade only went back a little. The seven-footer stood his ground and didn’t move now. Spade pointed to the ropes to tell Gravender to do it again and the crowd watched as he tried to run his opponent over … but instead, Spade moved out of his way and sped towards the ropes, coming off with his own big running shoulder that got Gravender off his feet at long last! Spade went for a cover.

    1...

    2…


    And that was all he got as Gravender powered out. Gravender looked like he was having some fun in that ring as he looked to his opponent.

    “You dick …”

    Spade allowed his opponent to get back to his feet. Gravender shoved him back to the ropes and when Spade came flying back, Gravender took him down this time with an extra-stiff shoulder of his own. Spade was planted on the canvas and Vic dropped an elbow into his heart. Now the World Class Badass tried a pinfall on the Monster of the Mid-South.

    1…

    2…


    No!

    Spade kicked out and the crowd was liking what they were seeing – two of the biggest men in NBW trying to outdo one another in this first-time match. Fenton Woods was cheering on his client while Gravender tried to pull him up. Spade instead chopped him across the chest.
    Gravender returned fire with one of his own.

    Spade chop!

    Gravender chop!

    Spade chop!

    Gravender chop!

    Spade chop!

    Gravender chop!

    They kept going at it until Gravender blocked a chop and used one of his nasty Battering Ram head butts to the chest of Spade to send him stumbling back to the ropes. When he got back, Gravender used a throat thrusting uppercut and then …

    RUNNING BATTERING RAM~!

    A charging head butt to the chest finally knocked Spade down. Vic was a little groggy from delivering such a painful move but that gave Gravender an opening to beat the Number One Contender to Derecho’s championship.

    1…

    2…


    Spade’s shoulder erupted off the mat at two. The World Class Badass grabbed Spade’s neck and got him back to his feet before taking him off his feet again this time using a painful looking body slam. Spade got dumped on the mat and that gave Gravender another opening to come off the ropes with a flashing elbow right to his rib cage! The elbow drop with extra quick impact drove the oxygen from Spade’s lungs and now Gravender was in control.

    1…

    2…


    And Spade with another kick out!

    “Should know when to stay down, Spade …”

    Gravender led his opponent back to his feet again and he threw him into the corner prior to following him in with a big splash that drove the wind out of him again. Now he placed his forearm against Spade’s chest to pin the Monster of the Mid-South right there so he could follow up. He was looking for his Four of a Kind chop combination.

    CHOP!!!

    CHOP!!!

    CHOP!!!

    CH …

    As painful as they were, the fourth one didn’t connect! Spade grabbed him arm to block it and held it there! Almost nobody in NBW had ever overpowered the World Class Badass like this, but if there was anybody that could, it would be perhaps one of the purely strongest men in NBW – his own opponent. Spade roared and the crowd cheered him as he launched Gravender backwards. Vic charged the corner but he got nothing but the turnbuckle as Spade moved. The quicker of the two men launched an offensive, running and burying his shoulder right into Gravender’s chest!

    He did so again and again and again until he finally managed to get Gravender into a seated position in the corner. Seeing an opportunity staring him in the face, Spade walked backwards and he gave himself some room before charging at his opponent and connecting with a big running knee in the corner! He pulled Vic out of the corner and hooked the back of his head inverted facelock-style …

    THE MID-SOUTH SPIKE~!

    The newest addition to an already big arsenal of Warren Spade dropped Vic on the mat! After landing the spinning headlock elbow drop, Spade rolled back and grabbed Gravender’s knee to get him out of the corner. He covered the NBW Dynasty Tag champion quickly.

    1…

    2…


    And Gravender kicked out!

    Spade wasn’t shocked his opponent kicked out, but he was kicking himself for not following up with something bigger to keep him down. When Spade tried to get Gravender back on his feet, the big World Class Badass caught him in the face with an extra violent head butt that actually busted Spade’s lip! A trickle of blood was running down his face and now Gravender looked to finish off his opponent. He was thinking either some kind of a suplex or a brainbuster, but Spade was still aware of what was going on to block it with his own leg.

    Gravender punched Spade twice in the stomach and tried to do it a second time, but he blocked that and fired back with a knee to the chest.
    Spade strained as he tried to block the suplex once again, but the crowd was now going nuts …

    HE MANAGED TO SUPLEX VIC GRAVENDER!

    Both men were down and Fenton Woods couldn’t help but cheer in support of his client and best friend! Gravender wasn’t moving after the massive power move, but Spade was pounding his fist into the mat to rev himself up in this huge first time encounter. The Monster of the Mid-South was on his feet first and waited for Gravender to get back to his so he could continue his enormous offensive.

    When Gravender got to his feet, Warren Spade took Vic Gravender by the arm and he whipped his own tag team opponent, sending him flying into the corner, marking a rare chance that an Irish whip actually worked on Vic Gravender. Spade charged and he clubbed Gravender with a huge clothesline right in the corner. He did this a second time and with all of his power, Spade sent Gravender sailing to the other side of the ring so he could repeat another huge clothesline right in the corner.

    The fans were mostly behind Warren Spade as he turned and went to set up his opponent. He called for one of his finishers out of the torture rack position, but whatever move it was it did not land. The odds were not in Spade’s favor to hit it as Gravender elbowed him in his skull to free himself from his opponent’s grip. Spade was stunned and that gave Gravender and opening to go running off the ropes to try for something to turn the tide in his favor.

    THE TRAMPLE OUT OF NOWHERE~!!!

    Spade had thrown himself right into Vic like a big missile! Spade saw his chance and went for a lateral press on the NBW Dynasty Tag champ looking for the win.

    1…

    2…


    Close, but no cigar!

    Gravender had kicked out and Warren Spade was completely shocked. Fenton was even surprised that Vic kicked out of such a move but his badassery was indeed World Class. Vic was a former NBW World champion and one or two big moves would not put him away like that.

    Spade was intent on trying something huge and the fans gasped as he was actually going to try a submission. He grabbed Vic’s legs and tried to put him away with what looked like The fans were not going to know if it was going to work or not because Gravender got his feet up first and kicked Spade away from him.

    Gravender stood up again and when Spade tried to catch his opponent off-guard, Gravender picked him up on his shoulder with his own feat of strength and flipped him backwards into a painful samoan drop! The move took a lot out of him, but the World Class Badass soon got himself to his feet and used the ropes for some much needed speed to drop all his weight on him with a running body press! The fans gasped from all his weight being dropped on Spade, but Gravender went for broke here.

    1…

    2…


    Spade with another kick out!

    The fans were surprised that Spade had anything left after being trampled by his own tag team opponent, but Gravender knew this match wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Gravender didn’t pussyfoot around and sat up again. He went searching for one of his two finishers called the Bulldozer but Warren moved and there was no water in the pool for Gravender! Fenton slapped his hand on the apron to get the crowd cheering and led a chant of …

    “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap.  “STAMPEDE!” Clap Clap

    The One-Man Stampede willed himself with the cheers and chants of the crowd while the bigger of the Unstoppables was starting to stand.
    The two opponents were thinking the same thing as Spade charged from the ropes and they slugged each other with simultaneous clotheslines! Both men teetered for a few seconds before they both tried their luck again. They both hit one another and they staggered from the blows.

    Gravender raised both of his eyebrows, but he showed a very rare smile on his face. He grinned as he doubled Spade over with another pair of kicks and set him up. He tried to elevate the seven-footer for the World Class Bomb Drop but Spade suddenly surged to life and used nothing but brute force to lift Vic up and over with a gigantic back drop! Gravender toppled and that gave Spade the chance to strike his foot against the mat while the World Class Badass tried to recover. Warren ran at him …

    THE TRAMPLE~!!!

    The second spear from Vic in this match but it was enough to keep the giant down! Warren was not done with Vic and had to be sure that he stayed down for good. Warren took all the strength he could get and he stood at the side of Vic. Could he actually lift him up for his finisher?
    THE ASUNDER BOMB!!!

    The answer was a resounding yes! Warren dropped the tank-like Gravender hard on his head and shoulders after the devastating torture rack bomb! Spade stacked his legs up into a pin and made a cover!

    1…

    2…

    3!!!


    It was a very hard fought bout between two of the biggest and two of the best in No Brand Wrestling but tonight the Number One Contender’s momentum continued to roll! Fenton Woods yelled and slapped his cane on the ring apron.

    “That’s my giant and that’s YOUR next World Champion, NBW!”

    The cheers and the applause continued to rain down for Warren Spade when the One-Man Stampede started to get back to his feet. No doubt he would feel the after effects of this fight for the next few weeks but he proved without a shadow of a doubt that as Vic was being escorted from the ring with a throbbing skull, the Number One Contender was more than ready for Derecho …

    STEEL CHAIR TO THE BACK!!!

    … but Derecho did not seem to think Warren was ready!

    Through the cover of the crowd, Derecho had slid into the ring with a chair in hand and brought it down across the back of Spade! No doubt that Warren Spade was still reeling from his match with Vic Gravender which made this the perfect opportunity for the NBW World Champion to soften up his opponent for PRIDE.

    “I told you that you’d never have my title, you weak piece of shit!” yelled Derecho.

    WHAM!!!

    WHAM!!!

    WHAM!!!

    WHAM!!!

    WHAM!!!

    WHAM!!!

    The chair was brought down on his back half a dozen more times! Derecho let the chair drop and then the final blow was enough to drop Warren Spade outside of the ring. Now Derecho was left alone to celebrate standing tall over the Monster of the Mid-South.
    “We’re not done yet!” shouted Derecho.

    Spade was still reeling on the floor while Derecho grabbed another undented chair that he could use to dish out more punishment. He grabbed the weapon in hand and he got ready to swing again.

    NO!

    Warren grabbed him by both hands across his throat and made Derecho drop the chair!

    “I’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S WEAK!”

    ASUNDER BOMB THROUGH THE ANNOUNCE TABLE!!!

    The crowd came unglued as the announce table exploded into thousands of little pieces with the NBW World Champion lying motionless in the middle of it all!

    Warren picked up the NBW World title that Derecho dropped and took a gander at it. He picked the title up and then raised it high to the delight of the NBW fans!!!

    "STAMPEDE! STAMPEDE! STAMPEDE! STAMPEDE! STAMPEDE!"

    More cheers from the crowd! Warren let the belt fall on top of Derecho and he and Fenton celebrated! Derecho had managed to get an early jump on the Number One Contender, but he didn't count on the Monster of the Mid-South shaking off the damage to deliver a very powerful statement:

    Warren Spade was the last man that you ever wanted to call weak.

     

     

    Pride

     

     

     


    CREDITS

    Welcome to Slam - Dusty
    Alfie Button vs Ali Amore - Keegan
    Stick It - Keegan
    At Your Funeral - Ford
    His Campaign has Begun - Mitchell/Dusty
    Good Samaritan - ?
    Richie Keal vs 'Little' Ricky Strongbern - Ernie
    They Might Be giants - Markus
    Zed vs Xiang - Mitchell
    Philosphical Debate - Dusty
    VIP vs Tyson XL - Keegan
    A Sit-down with Ravage - Dusty
    All Hollows' Eve - Dusty
    Biting off something to Chew - Mitchell
    You Want Answers? - Dusty
    What I say goes. - Markus
    High Steaks Negotiations - Gorman
    Brock Newbludd vs Erick Davies - Gorman
    Shall we Play a Game? - ?
    There will be no 'If'... - Gorman


     

     

     

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