No Brand Wrestling Presents: SLAM! Episode One on Hulu.Com!
Live from The Epic II Arena in St. Louis, Missouri
Introduction to St. Louis; Cajun style
The recent additions to the nbW roster had the promotion surrounded with a buzz the likes of which it hadn't seen in years. The announcement of the stabilization of the company in the St. Louis area was setting a foundation for which they could rebound from the years of failed tactics, nobrandWrestling was presented with a Golden Opportunity.
Ali Amore's successful defense of the World Title has added just a tad more shine to the top title, Spike Saunders' victory over J. Leslie Voss had catapulted all the titles into fan friendly hands. Add that in with Thaddeus Boyle's affinity for the people in the seats, well for putting out the best product possible to appease them, could the nbW be in for a resurgence?
'Keep Em Separated' by Offspring erupts throughout The Epic II. The fans rise from their seats in unison to greet the incoming superstar. After a few minutes of waiting, and some great tunes, Camera Six captured Remy Leroux making his way out from behind the black curtain. Decked out in his usual attire, black sleeveless vest, matching slacks and decent dress boots.
One doesn't roll out of bed looking like a hired thug, no, uh-huh no way. It takes work, work Leroux obviously is willing to put in. In typical cool collected Cajun fashion Remy moseyed on down the ramp. He'd pause every few steps and smile out to the lukewarm audience.
As he reached ringside most of the fans had already returned to the seated position. The official ,who was already standing in the ring, awaiting the start of the next contest. The arrival of Leroux caught him completely off guard as evident by his expression. Camera Twelve lit up, showing the 'facing' side of the ring. Leroux was to the left in the picture grabbing at the middle rope and pulled himself effortlessly into the ring.
"Whadda' doin' in here?" the official demanded, "I gotta match to start bub."
Remy didn't respond, he didn't even look over in his general direction. The music faded off the public address cued a spotlight to shine down directly on the usually surly Cajun. The fans who recognized him, the ones who heard he appeared on Ghosts and flocked into St. Louis. That's right all seven of em were giving off a strong, though barely heard chant of "LA' ROO!! LA' ROO!"
The Cajun reached out with his gloved right hand completely horizontal from his shoulder. Starting very slowly he bent at the elbow, his hand moved across his bicep just before plunging into his vest. He then paused looking down at the canvas. His hand reemerged from the vest with a microphone, The Remy Leroux edition!
Slowly his hand lifted upwards and paused just a inch off his mouth... "eN-Bee-Dubyah!"
The fans leapt to their feet, "nbW, nbW, nbW!"
The agreement was unanimous, Remy was a hit!
"Dhat's 'xactly what dis country boi was lookin' tah hear! An' jus' like Ah said at Ghosts Ole Remy here tah set dhat record straight..." Remy strolled back and forth across the camera side. "Well it ain't noh big hush, hush 'bout where Ole Remy jus' came from. Back dhere wee won't dah biggest... ain't had dah biggest budget but wee had hour stahs."
"Well dhat lil' Ole promotion wanted tah git tah be ah biggah promotion so dhey headed up to dah nitty gritty city." A small chorus of boos shot out, "Ah sho' do appreciate dah gestcha, an' chu good folks out dhere can beeliee Ole Remy when he say dhat. Cause mah Pappy, god rest his soul, he used tah say Ah man's only good as his word."
Remy casted a galre out over the crowd as a small ovation started off with some of the elderly and older fan base. The surly Cajun cracked a half smile, "Dhat's right, ah man's only good as his word... soo, Misstah Austin Ahdvent why don'chu come out here an' splain why chore words an' chore actions ain't been seein' eye tah eye!"
Camera Six gunned towards the entrance but no music cued up. The spotlights aimed towards the black curtain but there was no movement... Camera Twelve went live again focusing on Leroux before cutting to Camera Eight for a close up.
"Oh soh chu won' eben come out here an' defend chorself?" Remy's face wrinkled up around his mouth as his casual smile turned into a dramatic frown. "Ah had hoped Misstah Ahdvent would come out here an' reveal 'xactly what his dasterdly plan jus' might be?! Why would he falsely portray his character tah bee on dah lebel as our Keystone Champieon, one Misstah Spike Saundahs?"
Cue Dimension by Wolfmother... the spotlights strobe the entrance where from behind the black curtain emerged 'The Awesome One' Austin Advent. He took a long pause at the start of the ramp where Camera Six and Seven popped back and forth from opposing angles within a fraction of a second to the beat. The fans who knew leapt to their feet, those who were about to learn couldn't help but stand just to bare witness... The Awesomeness had returned to nbW.
Inside the ring Leroux smiled with his head bent down slightly. His brown eyes peering at Austin as he arrived at ringside, Austin showed no fear when he strutted up the steps hit the ropes and turned around rocketing his arm high into the air. Again the fans showed their appreciation.
As the reaction started to dwindle down Leroux clenched the microphone under his arm.
Clap, Clap, Clap
"Very nice," Remy stated rubbing just under his lip with his left thumb. "Eben Ole Remy was ready tah jump up an' swear mah loyalties too chu Misstah Ahdvent, but Ah knoe bettah! While ch'u an' meh been tole not tah say too much 'bout dhat place wee both knoe who wee was dhere... an' eben mo'h impohtant, who wee are, here."
'The Awesome One' motions for the microphone, Leroux sarcastically smiles back. Thankfully Austin prepared in case of asshole and he reached in his lower back and pulled out a nbW microphone of his very own.
"Now Leroux I have never hid who I was, who I am and I'll never hide who I will be. My life has been played out here one match at a time in this nbW ring!" The fans popped again, Advent dropped his designer shades and made very stern eye contact with Leroux, "but listen here Cajun, you think you got something on me? Drop it, tell all these people what you think you have. It doesn't matter cause right now I am NOT a nbW competitor. I was at Ghosts for one reason, a good friend of mine, someone who helped break me into this business asked me to be there. That's it cut and dry, Spike Saunders asked me to be there for his match with J. Leslie Voss and I agreed."
"Oh contraire monami', Ah beeliebe chu been carefully positionin' chorself ahround Spike, ahround dah eNBeeDubyah soh chu can walk right in an' steal dhat purdy lil' Keystone Title ah his." Leroux hissed the "s".
Austin Advent managed a smile as Camera Eight gave way back to Camera Twelve. 'The Awesome One' replied, "You know Leroux I guess that's just the kind of man you are, or hell it could just be how your head works. I mean really, Remy, if I wanted a shot at Spike Saunders' title... I'd just ask for it. Cause these fans who've seen 'The Awesome One' in a nbW ring they know what it's like to watch poetry in motion. Now unless you've got some real proof, S(hut) T(he) F(uck) U(p)!"
Again Camera Eight went close on Leroux, the man was as cool as the other side of the pillow. Remy didn't fluster, no red formed in the cheeks. Leroux just stood there and nodded before he continued, "See here Misstah Ahdvent, Ah undahstand chu ain't don' nuthin' yet tah git dhese people all in ah uproah, but chu will. It's in chore charactah, chu knoe 'bout charactah don'chu?"
The quick switch over to Camera Twelve gave the panned out shot of the ring before swapping back over to Camera Three which was tight on Advent. Remy remarks hit directly on target. Advent looked a little uncomfortable before he replied, "You know Leroux, I ain't never been one for denying anything. And yeah when I last took leave of nbW I went to another promotion. Yes we were both in that promotion at the same time, and yeah maybe I was worried a little more about myself and a little less about the people watching me."
You could have heard a pin drop. The fans were practically sitting on their hands, then he went on, "Facts are fact Leroux but here's the thing, I've never denied who I am. I didn't deny in nbW last time I competed here and I never hid anything in that other promotion! With 'The Awesome One' what you see is most definitely what you get."
Camera Nine panned out the audience who again were mostly cheering. A quick flip back to Camera Eight saw a smiling Cajun just biding his time to again speak, "Ah t'ink what we got here bees ah lil' bit ah revisionist histree, noh? Dhese people ain' noh foo' tah chu an' chore games Ahdvent. Dey kno'e when dey bee'in taken fo' ah ride. Chu Misstah Advent ain't eben ah good liah"
"Look Leroux," Austin was fuming, he'd heard enough of the Cajun's spin and when Camera Three went up-close again, "if I was on the nbW roster this would be the part of the conversation where I put you on your ass." The fans again applauded, "Since I'm not on the nbW roster I'll respect what Boyle and his boys are trying to do here in St. Louis, the home of wrestling in the Midwest," the cheers were deafening. "Since this is an official nbW show and I do have a GREAT amount of respect for this place, I'm going to go straight to the back and request a ONE MATCH contract... so to you Mister Leroux... put up or S(hut) T(he) F(uck) U(p)!"
Camera Three hit the cheering crowd, which was a solid half of them, then a fast break over to Twelve showed the panned out ring for Leroux's response, "Oh oui Misstah Ahdvent," Camera Eight cut back in on Remy's face, "Ah agree wee could pit dis place on it's ear. Ain't much ah doubt 'bout dat one, but Misstah Ahdvent ah match wit'chu an' meh? What will dat really prove 'xactly?"
"Who's looking to prove anything?" Austin questioned with a sly smirk, "I'm just looking to shut you up!"
The grapplers sat back locked tightly in a stare-down. Advent looked a smidgen more intense with a scowl engulfing his face. Leroux on the other hand seemed to let everything roll right off his back, "Chu wannah shut mee up?"
"Damn Right," Advent blurted out cutting Remy off.
"Ah'll tell chu what..."
"No, I'll tell you both what!" Thaddeus Boyle's unmistakable voice echoed throughout the arena, 'I've sat back there and waited and waited for you chaps to get to a bloody point and since neither of you seem to be able to I'll give you the point... next week Remy Leroux and Austin Advent will be in action... together!!"
"nbW, nbW, nbW!"
"And it will be against no brand Wrestling's former Dynasty Tag Team Champions, Showtime and Proteus." The chants for D-T erupted off the nbW ones. "Now let us see just how well you two can work together next week, rather than talking."
Rex Versus Zed
Exhibition Match
“Fans we appreciate you visiting us on Hulu dot com tonight for the first ever episode of no brand Wrestling’s Saturday Night SLAM!” remarked Marc Gordon while the camera focused in on the heart and soul of nbW for the last half decade, the commentators.
“Not to mention purchasing Ghosts on pay-per-view. Thanks to you I can go out and toss my Junker to the curb for a new sports car.” Terry Renton gloated.
“While we do owe you thanks fans, Terry is a little above the actual facts. However the buyrate was a milestone for nbW so again we do thank you. It seems Thaddeus Boyle also has some thanks in mind for you all a little later on but first we have two competitors getting ready for their debut matches in nbW.”
“More rookies.” Remarked Renton as the camera cut to the ring where two young men now stood. “You would think Gyle would have learned his lesson after that tragedy of a match at Ghosts.”
The two men hook up in the center of the ring while the voice of Marc Gordon covers the action. “Folks normally we wouldn’t cut from a live match but I have just gotten word that there is some commotion going on back in Mr. Boyle’s office and we are to cut to there. We will be back with the action following.”
The camera faded from the ring and faded back in to the office of Thaddeus Boyle.
“---and you tell him if he wants to speak to me, he better well do it in person. I am not listening to his complaints and whines of losing over the telephone. Understand?” Thaddeus sighed and sat back in his chair releasing his finger from the intercom button.
‘Knock’
‘Knock’
No more than two seconds passed by before a rapping against his door brought him out of his stupor. “Enter.” The door swung open proceeding the entrance of Michael O’Dell.
“Boss,” O’Dell walked up to the desk and stood straight. “I spoke with the officials. The strike is done and over. They are satisfied. Unfortunately we still have no idea where Jonothan Monroe disappeared to in St. Louis or how Chuck Radford is fairing after nearly three hours of action at Ghosts. It has been a few weeks for him to rest but-“
“Not really in the best condition, right?” O’Dell nodded in response. “Yeah I figured as much. It will be fine. If he wants to work a match he can otherwise we have Mike Edson on hand as back-up.”
“After what Lunatic did to him, I doubt he very much wants to be a part of further in-ring commotion so soon.”
“True. But-“
BUZZ
“Sir, you have a call on line two from The Company.” Spoke a woman’s voice over the intercom.
“Thank you Gail.” he pushed the button and turned back to O’Dell who understood and turned to head out of the office. “Good evening Mr. Barques, how are-“
While Thaddeus was deep in a telephone conversation the camera once more faded away and back to the ring. The two superstars were still going at it with the larger of the two holding the other in a torture rack maneuver.
“Thank you for joining us again. During the cut-away Rex has taken control of this match against Zed and it looks like he may be close to putting the finishing touches on this contest.” Returned Gordon from the announcers booth.
“Bah. Zed has no charisma compared to Rex. In fact Zed has had four try-out matches in no brand Wrestling’s history, and even won a few. But he always ends up getting letgo a few weeks later.” Added Renton while Rex dropped Zed with a backbreaker. “Bad blood with someone in the back, maybe?”
“Unfortunately there are times when talent has to be released from contractual obligations to free up space for newer talent. Zed is a tremendous athlete; he just never has had that big shot of impressing the higher-up’s.”
Zed scurried to the corner with Rex charging him from behind, but Zed hit the second turnbuckle flipping over Rex while capture his head in his arms before finally driving him down with a neckbreaker.
“Talent like that.” Commented Renton. “It is talent like that that the nbW hopes to acquire in the future pro-“ his voice paused a moment while Zed went for the cover only to get a two-count. “Sorry fans but we need to cut to our cameras outside, we’ll return to the action afterwards.
The camera faded from the ring and showed the parking lot area where a Silver and Black Ferrari Enzo was seen pulling in. The engine roared before it came to a stop and the door swung upwards.
The shimmering from the gold plated Keystone Championship came into view followed by the massive gorilla arms which preceded the seven foot three giant. The camera zoomed in on the belts plaque to showcase his name in full glory on the plate.
‘Saunders!’
‘Saunders!’
While the fans roared in approval, Spike Saunders smiled to the camera. Then slipped his shades down the bridge of his nose before raising the belt high in the air. He then approached the nearest camera man. “Hey, zoom in on the belt here.”
OUTCOME: Zed by way of Pinfall.
Personal Awesomeness Quotient
Dark Ninja and Psycho were walking down the hallway, when they were stopped by an enthusiastic Trent McKnight.
"Dark Ninja, Psycho! Fresh off the heels of yet another successful defense of your nbW Dynasty Tag Titles, what do you plan to do for a follow-up?"
"Uh, well personally, I plan to just keep on being awesome, Trent," Ninja said.
"And to what would you attribute your awesomeness?"
"Well, a lot of wrestlers practice their wrestling moves, try sparring or work on submission moves. Some go to the gym and lift weights. But wrestling has nothing to do with being strong or good at being a wrestler. It's all about the Personal Awesomeness Quotient, which I have been cultivating all these years. When other guys are out busting their asses, I'm just out there, being awesome."
"Are there any techniques that could be used to increase one's awesomeness?"
"Trent, the amazing thing about awesomeness is that it cannot be learned or trained or taught. It has to be given to you at birth. Some are lucky enough to get a small amount of awesomeness, most get none at all. I'd estimate that 30% of the world's Awesomeness is divided between the new Gorillaz CD, the nation of Sweden, and the filmography of John Cusack. 5% is in the general public. The other 65% is with me and Psycho."
"Fascinating. Psycho, do you have anything to add?"
Psycho looked at the mic, looked at Trent, looked at the floor, looked back at Trent, looked at the floor, looked at the mic, looked at Dark Ninja, looked at the ceiling, looked at the mic, looked down the hall, looked at Trent, looked at his feet, looked at the mic, before finally answering laconically, "Trent, all the other guys are turkeys. And they just gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble..."
Dark ninja pulled the mic away from him. "You get the idea. My point here is that we have overcome a lot of challenges in life simply by being awesome, and that is why we are the number one stars of nbW, no matter what any stupid other person says, because we are just that cool. It will be your pleasure to watch us work."
"And what of the ex-champions, D-T?"
"D-T wishes they could get another shot at these belts. True, every time we wrestle them, the PPV Buyrates spike 200%--" a figure he had just made up, "But you can only beat a dead giraffe so many times before it stops giving milk," he proclaimed, showing little understanding of what a giraffe was, or how the expression goes. "The time of D-T is over, and they really need to stop obsessing over us in interviews. They need to move on and accept the fact that they will never, ever, ever be tag team champions again."
"Excellent point. And what about your match tonight?"
"Let me tell you another thing about D-T! It's only a matter of time before they just completely self-destruct. They should just quit right now! And they need to stop talking about us every time they can!"
"Quite right. Now, about tonight..."
"I mean, come on, D-T... get on with your lives. You're not even getting a shot at the number one contendership. It's over. Just let it die. D-T was a fad, fun while it lasted, but then it becomes 2010 and you wonder what you were thinking. That's it. I'm done."
With that, the champs walked off, and Trent watched with an admiring look in his eye.
Marc Gordon commented, "Yet another inspiring piece of journalism from nbW's own Trent McKnight."
The Arrival
A couple of hours before the show
A black limo arrives to the arena and out of it comes William Arthur Reagan and Son of Malta. They are accompanied by three beautiful ladies as well as two bodyguards. It looks as if it early afternoon, and nobody will blame WAR to come this early to the show, so that the fans won’t be there and therefore there won’t be any hazing towards them whilst they are entering the arena.
Bridge Over Trouble Something
Showtime and Proteus had been having problems. Ever since he was awarded a world title show, Proteus had been pulling away from the team, causing Showtime to lose his own concentration and suffer a slight losing streak. Showtime had been eager to return to the tag division, refocus their energies and return to the glory they once held, but so far Proteus was nowhere to be found.
"Look, it isn't that I have a problem with him," Showtime said to an unseen conversational partner backstage, "It's just that he's gotten really withdrawn since this whole world championship title shot came up. It doesn't help that I've been on a bit of a run of bad luck, but we're usually better than this. We're partners. We've been through a lot. I just never expected him to pull away from me like that. You think you know somebody."
The camera panned over to reveal The Supersquad, paying rapt attention to Showtime's words.
"You know what I mean?"
Finally, El Avestruz answered, "I'm just amazed you've said this much to us without calling us idiots or losers."
Showtime sighed, "Well, the truth is, you may not have beaten the Dream Warriors, but it's not because you're not good wrestlers. You proved you are. They're the champions, and the fact that you went toe to toe with them... that means something." Showtime patted El Avestruz on the shoulder, and the two walked away beaming. He turned the other way, and there was Proteus.
"You mean that?"
"Damn right I do."
A slight pause.
"Cool. We should hang out."
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be great."
It was just a little awkward.
"Do you want to um..."
"What?"
"I thought we could wrestle a match. As a tag team."
"Oh! Oh, um, yeah. Yeah. I'd like that."
With that, the two former tag champions walked off toward the ring. The camera panned over again to reveal nbW makeup gal, Proteus' girlfriend Gabriela Healy shaking her head. "Men."
Leave him out
Keegan knocked on Thaddeus Boyle’s door and paced the floor for a couple of seconds before being told to come in.
“Hello Mister Boyle,” he said in an uncharacteristic manner.
“Please. Thaddeus will do.”
“Okay. I’ll not waste any of your time as I know you’re a busy man. Thanks for signing this match tonight. I’m looking forward to it and I’m sure we’ll deliver…
The Greek businessman with the Midas touch smiled: “Good. I’m sure you will. Ali is such an exciting performer…”
Special K stopped the boss in his tracks: “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Ali. He’s our champion and yes, you’re right. He’s a great performer. Wouldn’t it make sense for him not to participate in this match?”
Boyle pondered for a few seconds. Of course, he saw the Briton’s argument and had already gone over this point several times in his head. Was he really thrilled to see his main champion put his body on the line in a barbaric structure, a tag team match with nothing but pride on line? Okay, it was Slam! 1 after all, a new start, but did it have to be an extremely dangerous match he threw the youngster into?
“Keegan, I agree with you but we’ve advertised it now. Plus…”
“But things change all of the time on wrestling shows. A promoter’s favourite line is ‘subject to change…’”
Boyle went back to the point he was poised to make before being interrupted again: “Plus, Ali has told me at least twice he wants to be in this match.”
“He has?”
A nod sufficed.
The former fighter, still smarting from his loss to RaVage at Ghosts, something sure to haunt him for a long time to come, accepted it and nodded: “Thanks Thad… deus. Sorry to waste your time.”
“Don’t worry. Break a leg out there…”
Keegan turned round as he left: “I will – but it won’t be mine.”
Thaddeus shook his head, leaving viewers unsure as to whether he felt sorrow for the target of K’s intentions or genuine worry given his aim of turning the promotion into a pool filled with talent…
Prove It!
"Draw The Line" by Aerosmith struck up as the two members of D-T stepped out to a great reaction. They appeared more solidly united than they had in months as they walked measuredly to the ring. Climbing in, Showtime grabbed a mic.
"There was a time, I didn't believe you'd ever see D-T without a pair of big gold belts. But we've learned. It's true. We need to claw our way back up to the top. So we're going to start with the other team nobody believes in. SuperSquad, get out here - we're putting on a good old fashioned exhibition match!"
The crowd, pleased with El Avestruz and Emo Kevin's performance at the PPV, welcomed the sound of "Holding Out for a Hero," and the two appeared with great enthusiasm. However, they were knocked over on their way over, attacked by another team that hadn't gotten their due. The Creede Bros. made their way to the ring.
"You two think you're so great, but you forget there's an unanswered win the Creede Bros. have over D-T. You think you were invincible before, but we're here to remind you that wasn't so. You think you're so great? Prove it. Beat us."
Showtime and Proteus glanced at each other for a moment, then lunged at the Creede Bros for an attack, knocking them both out of the ring. The crowd went wild.
D-T Versus The Creede Bros.
The bell rang. Ace Creede got back out on the apron while Spade faced off against Proteus. Spade flexed his muscles. Proteus pretended to check his rear-view mirrors. Irritated, Spade went in for a lock-up, but Proteus dodged around him with a hammerlock. Spade reached back to swat at Proteus, but Proteus hopped up on his opponent's shoulders for a victory roll.
ONE...
No, not even, but Proteus was smiling, indicating that was the plan. Spade was getting to his feet but Proteus began with the small kicks to the legs of the bigger Creede. Spade fell back against the ropes. Proteus landed a dropkick, sending Spade to the apron. Proteus ran against the ropes and baseball slid between Spade's legs to the outside, pulling his feet off the edge of the ring, slamming his head into the ring on the way down. He fell against the guardrail. Proteus began to hammer away while the ref counted.
ONE...
TWO....
Ace went over to join in, but Proteus took a shot at him, a shot at his brother, a shot at Ace. Ace got one good shot in, staggering Proteus, but by this time Showtime had run across the rings and leaped over the top rope, to land on the Creede Bros!
SIX....
SEVEN....
EIGHT....
Proteus and Showtime rolled Spade back in. Proteus dropped and elbow, Showtime came off the top with a legdrop. Proteus slingshot him into the turnbuckle, Showtime added a reverse DDT to the mix. Proteus officially tagged out.
"This is what we're used to seeing from D-T," Gordon pointed out, "Good, high-energy tag team action."
Showtime bent Spade's knee over the bottom rope, then hopped to the outside to wrench it. Ace ran over again, but Showtime removed Spade's shoe and threw it at him.
Showtime climbed up to the top rope and dove off with a moonsault - but missed, landing chest-down on the mat! Spade rolled away to tag in Ace.
"Not so tough now," Terry Renton mocked the former champion.
Ace, none too pleased with having had a shoe thrown at him, laid into the prone Showtime with a hurricane of stomps and elbows. He picked him up and fought off a few strikes to hit a Samoan drop. Proving he could take to the sky, Ace flew with an elbow drop. He covered.
ONE...
TWO-- no, Proteus broke it up. Ace attempted a hip toss on Proteus, but Proteus held on and dragged Ace through. Showtime got to his feet for an asai monosault. Cover:
ONE...
TWO...
No, shoulder up. Showtime smashed Ace's face into one turnbuckle, then the next, before being reversed on the third. Ace got Showtime in the corner, giving him a ten punch, followed by a monkey flip, sending Showtime face down to the canvas. Ace applied a rudimentary leglock. Showtime writhed in pain but refused to give in, eventually reversing it.
The hold was broken. Showtime, worn out, tagged out to Proteus. Proteus rushed in wildly, but Ace caught him off guard with a spinning back forearm. He locked in a camel clutch. Showtime cheered on his partner. Eventually, he tried to get in to break the hold, but the ref stopped him. As Showtime attempted to explain that this was an honest misunderstanding that occurred in ever since tag team match ever, Spade came in while the ref's back was turned to double-team Proteus. They double-suplexed him, double-power bombed him, took turned doing airplane spins - seriously, this double-team went on for a while until Ace tagged out. Proteus was constantly trying to claw his way over to Showtime, but Spade kept dragging him back to the center of the ring for increasingly severe punishment.
He whipped Proteus. Proteus attempted a rebound move, but was caught in a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker.
ONE...
TWO...
No, kickout.
Frustrated, Spade lifted Proteus over his head in a military press, dropping him down on his gut. He stood the dazed Proteus up and tagged in Ace. Ace hopped over the top rope and rushed in with a flying clothesline attempt, but Proteus caught him with an enzuigiri! Proteus covered...
ONE...
TWO...
No! Ace kicked out. Proteus tried to turn toward Showtime, but Ace caught him for a German suplex...
Proteus flipped over and landed on his feet, mowing down Ace on the rebound! He lunged to the corner and tagged in Showtime! The crowd went bananas!
Showtime caught Ace with a spinning heel kick. Ace sprung back up to his feet dazed, so Showtime caught him with another. Ace scrambled to his feet once more, only to be caught with a STANDING OVATION! the crowd was really starting to get into a frenzy.
Showtime stood over his fallen foe. He looked to the corner. He pointed toward the sky. He stood up on the turnbuckle. Spade rushed in, but Proteus caught him out of nowhere with the Switch-Press DDT!
Showtime came off the top...
FINAL CURTAIN!
One...
TWO...
THREE!
"Here are your winners, Showtime and Proteus, D-T!"
The two partners celebrated mid-ring. It was a glorious moment. They hadn't been in sync much until tonight, and Showtime hadn't gotten a pinfall victory in weeks. "D-T's comeback trail starts here!" Marc Gordon proclaimed.
Terry Renton sneered, "Rub it in, why don't you?"
Backstage, Dark Ninja watched on a monitor. A page with a clipboard approached the champion, whose mask obscured his displeased face.
"You ready for your segment, Mr. Ninja?"
Ninja glared at the page for a moment before deciding, "You know what? I don't much feel like wrestling tonight. Suddenly I am quite nauseous."
With that, the champions left the building.
OUTCOME: D-T by way of Pinfall (Showtime over Ace Creede)
Wouldn't you like to know?
Backstage, Trent McKnight was standing by with a smug RaVage, who wasn’t smiling, but stroked his facial hair and paced on the spot like he had something to tell the world.
“Hello, I’m here with former world champion and new number one contender RaVage. At Ghosts, you defeated Keegan to earn a shot at his student and reigning champion, Ali Amore. However, the talking point must be how you won the match…
“It doesn’t matter how I did or didn’t win the match. I won it and that’s that. I’d have won the match anyway, I dominated him easily. You see, the thing about Keegan is he’s got a big mouth. He’s made a whole lot of enemies over the years, and I can tell you by being in the ring with him, he ain’t got a lot to shout about. He proved what I’ve known all along about him… he’s all talk and no balls.”
Trent McKnight pressed on: “Were you in on the attack that led to your victory? Do you know the secret attacker? Was he doing your bidding?”
RaVage snatched the microphone away from nbW’s resident interviewer and shot him a filthy look: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes…”
“Well, you’re gonna find out later. If you must know, I wasn’t in on it but I know who did it. Like I said earlier, Keegan’s made many enemies over the years. I know two of them for a start… you’ll meet one later.”
McKnight managed to regain control of the microphone: “What do you mean?”
As he was walking away from the set, the stocky ex-champion shouted: “He’s going to make a special announcement in a short while."
My Name is...
A big night so far in n-dub and it was about to get even hotter. Yes folks we stole that line from the ‘other’ places.
Torment Versus Torment
"Well Ghosts saw Torment keep his place atop the monster of nbW," said Marc Gordon in his usual even manner. "There was some question as to how he was going to handle Khan, but in the end there just wasn't very much competition."
"Competition?!" Terry Renton chimed in, "competition? Please! Khan wasn't just over matched, he was out bullied! I mean Torment exposed Khan as a pretender to his throne as king of the freaks of nbW!"
When the Devil is too busy
And deaths a bit too much
Marc's pleasure exploded out in his voice, "You just throw that gas on the fire Rents, cause Torment's on his way out here right now!"
They call me, by name you see,
For my special touch.
"I mean King of the Beasts of nbW... no King of the Bad Asses..." Terry quickly tried to recant.
To the Gentlemen I'm Misfortune
To the Ladies I'm Surprise
But call me by any name
Anyway it's all the same
'When you're Evil' from Voltaire began.. an eerie chill begins to roll across the Epic II's arena. The lights went out, completely black before the nbWtron lit up with glimpses of Torment's previous conquests. Years upon years of victims quickly exploited to announce the arrival of the Sub-Human himself. The fans rose to their feet each trying to get a line of sight to the arena entrance. Camera Six focused itself firmly to the entrance...
OUTCOME: No Contest
The Zone is going to be Brutal!
Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted…One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
As ‘Lose Yourself’ by Eminem played all over the arena, the crowd started booing heavily. William Arthur Reagan and Son of Malta made their way out to the ring. Son of Malta was wearing his black trench coat with the Maltese Cross on the back, whilst William Arthur Reagan was wearing a Versace black suit. William Arthur Reagan was holding a trophy in his hands and had a smile on his face. As they arrived in the middle of the ring, WAR grabbed the mic.
‘Is that how you treat the most decorated wrestler in no brand Wrestling?’, said WAR.
With that the booing increased a notch or two.
‘Well, well, well. It was 2008 when I was told that my professional wrestling career was coming to an end. The injuries over the years took their toll. But I was also told that my body can take one or two wrestling matches a year.
But I have to make sure that it is worthwhile for me to go back to the ring. The risks are greater for me than anyone else in the business, and unless it is the right opportunity I won’t return to the ring.
But after the Pay-Per-View’s events, I had to tie my shoelaces and return to the ring. And it’s only cos of one person … Keegan f***ing Carrahar’.
As soon as the name of Keegan was heard, the booing turned into chants.
‘Keegan, do you remember this?’, said WAR as he pointed towards the trophy he held in his hands. ‘Do you remember the pride you felt when you held it for all those months? The Championship was the ultimate goal for everyone. But then you lost it to that bastard John C. Willis. How did you feel about it Prince of Palermo?’
‘Our history goes way back, before this place was even open. And it was never fake. It was always real. Nowadays you go on television and you see wrestling shows headed by celebrities and having a PG rating. What the hell is that?
Back then when we used to fight, blood used to come out, ribs were broken, necks broken and risking your life week in week out. And that is what I am good at.
I might be the ultimate no brand Wrestling persona. I am the hall of famer, two time World Champion, won the Keystone title as well as the Dynasty title and most of all I am a 2-time 25-to-Life winner. But beneath all that I am a fighter.
Special K, do you remember that ultimate battle we had in Palermo? When we fought in that empty building and put our bodies on the line? That wasn’t wrestling. That was PERSONAL!
I want your blood Keegan. And to achieve that you need to do whatever it takes. I don’t want to go one-on-one in a wrestling ring where everything is scripted and you see all that bullsh*t that is called professional wrestling.
I want a real fight. Something that both me and you are experienced at, but something that those Hulu.com viewers has never seen before. But in life to get something you need to make sacrifices. The powers that be saw that it was dangerous just having me and you beat the hell out of each other, thus they put us in a 3 against 3 fight.
On one hand I have my protégé, the Son of Malta and on the other hand I have my former opponent RaVage. RaVage and myself have history, but we also have the same objective. I want you and he wants your bitch Ali Amore. Therefore we will let bygones be bygones to achieve our ultimate goal.
You and your bitch have a mystery partner. Rumours say that it might be Torment or some kind of giant who loves pain, but I don’t care. For what I care you can bring The Freak as your partner, because it won’t matter, because ultimately you know that it will come between me and you with you not making it up to the ten count.
Tonight I will dedicate this battle to my friends Gino and Don Toto who are in prison for some petty things, things that you used to do in Palermo as well. Keegan and the others, tonight I will see you in the 16-inch The Zone and I promise you it will be brutal’.
With that WAR, threw the mic out and as ‘Lose Yourself’ played over the arena he made his way to the back with the Son of Malta. The booing was deafening but there were also tFz chants all over the arena.
First Step to the Big Time
Hey kids, you did it all yourselves,
You'll never change the world,
So what you think about that
Hey kids, you'll never change the world at all
Hey kids, you'll never change the world at all
Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo
hoo hoo hoo
hoo hoo hoo hoo
'Hey Kids' from Jet once more streamed its’ way over the arena sound system as the red and blue haired duo exploded from the backstage in a sprint to the ring.
“Here they are Terry. After Ghosts many would say that For The Win should be the rightful contenders right now.”
Chris Noid slid in the ring while Tony Spark paraded about outside with the female fans briefly before he too slipped on in. Chris raised his arm up in the air to show the Key that Thaddeus had presented to them.
“The rules were simple. They lost.” Remarked Terry.
Noid picked up the microphone that was slid in and raised it to his lips.
“Good evening St Louis!” Cheer. “Let us be the first, well second, third… “ he looked towards Tony who was doing the math on his fingers. “Hmm, well let us be one of the group to welcome you to the first show of nbW’s new beginning. The show where For The Win achieves a step towards stardom.”
Cheers.
“So without further adu, let us get on with this match. As we can not go up without first beating-
Take me down to the paradise city
Where the grass is green
And the girls are pretty
Take me home
Oh, won't you please take me home
As ‘Paradise City’ by Guns ‘N’ Roses rolled through, The Myth and the Legend stepped out from behind the doorway and made their way in a dash towards the ring. Mercury dropped the briefcase down by the steps before joining his partner inside the ring.
The two teams took their separate corners and while Mercury chose to go first the charismatic duo chose rock paper scissors which Noid won.
For The Win Versus Myth and Legend
Number One Contendership
Ding Ding Ding.
Mark Mercury started things off with Noid. He managed to use his speed and agility to out maneuver Noid early on, but once Spark was tagged in by Chris the momentum changed. Spark showed tremendous ability with his athletic ability and was able to keep Mark at bay. A blind tag by Miaate would soon have Myth and Legend trapping Tony Spark in the corner. Mercury held Tony in the corner while Miaate pulled back on his head over the post.
With the referee distracted trying to get Mercury out of the ring, Miaate delivered a swift kick between the legs and followed with a bulldog from the top rope. Mane went for the pinfall but Spark kicked out. Mane jumped in the air and came down with both legs across his chest for another two count fall. One shy of victory.
Miaate then would pull Spark up and hurl him into their corner once more where Myth and Legend could continued their onslaught. Tony this time was missed by a punch, he shoved Miaate off of him and spun to knock Mercury off the apron. A run and roll across the ring tagged in his partner. For The Win then lifted Mane Miaate to his feet, tossed him into the ropes and caught him on rebound with a double arm drag.
Spark catapulted himself off the second rope with a senton which Noid followed with the pinfall. The pin was broken up thanks to Mercury pulling the referee out of the ring. Mercury slid back in and landed a series of punches on Noid, caught Spark as he came off the top turnbuckle and spinebustered him to the mat.
Miaate crawled to his feet and helped Mercury’s assault on Noid. When the referee came through and slid back into the ring he ordered Mercury to exit the ring. Which he did only for Miaate to reach over and tag him in. Mercury resumed his assault with Miaate, then the two picked Noid up. Mercury lifted Noid up with the powerbomb while Miaate came off the top rope to spike it home.
One…
Two…
Three…
It was over. Myth and Legend were the new number one contenders for the Dynasty Tag Team championships. Mercury raised his arm in the air with Miaate while the referee shook his head and waived his arms.
Weren’t they?
Apparently not. Noid had gotten a hold of the bottom rope just before three count hit the mat. This confusion allowed Noid the chance to reach his corner and tag Spark back in who flew off the turnbuckle with a splash on both men. He quickly followed with a roll up pin on Mercury.
One…
Two…
Three…
Tony shot to his feet. They had done it. For the first time in their career, their short career in nbW, they were now the number one contenders and would be soon facing the Dream Warriors. Spark was joined by Noid, but the referee once more was shaking his head and throwing his arms about stating it wasn’t a pin.
Really?
A quick look down at Mercury and you could see his leg was setting on the bottom rope. Just like Noid himself had done.
The referee informed them that the match was still going. Spark leaned back down to cover Mercury a second time however the crowd gasped as the wildcards in the form of Ace and Spade Creede had slid in the ring and laid into Spark and Mercury forcing the referee to call for the bell.
Miaate rolled back in the ring only to get dropkicked back out. Chris Noid rushed at the Creedes but found himself flung up in the air and over the top rope. Spade pulled Mercury up first and Ace laid him out with the 52 Card Pickup, their version of the Doomsday Device. Spark was next while Spade tossed him into the ropes, Ace followed from behind, and while Spade lifted him with the flapjack Ace continued with both hands forcing his face down to the mat for the 5 Card Flush.
The crowd remained transfixed in their seats stunned at the outcome. Ace exited the ring to get the microphone and then slid back in.
“Neither of you deserve the shot. NEITHER!” screamed out Ace as he stood above the two in the ring, while the others remained outside crumbled.
The nbW Tron lit up to show Ace Creede pulling Mercury’s leg onto the bottom rope earlier in the match. And another replay followed to show Spade doing the same for Noid.
“This is OUR time. Get in line or Go back to the minor leagues.”
Ace chucked the microphone out of the ring before the two exited the confines of the squared circle. Michael O’Dell rushed past them with a legion of trainers and EMTs to check on the conditions of the four individuals inside and outside of the ring.
The Creede Brothers walked out of Ghosts the loser, but tonight… Tonight they prevented their loss from mattering.
OUTCOME: Ruled No Contest Due to Outside Interference
Recent Acquisition
Coming back from a Hulu scheduled advertising break, the charming duo of Marc Gordon and Terry Renton graced the screen.
“Welcome back folks. If you are just tuning in-“ spoke Gordon before his partner budged in.
“Where the hell have you been? Should be the question. But alas, if you can not simply be on time you deserve to miss the greatest moments on SLAM!”
“Those moments my colleague is speaking of would be starting from the moment our broadcast began to air tonight. We had a inviting and open welcoming from the Cajun whom then came face to face with former nbW superstar The Awesomeone Austin Advent, which saw Boyle declare a immediate end to their in-ring banter by booking them a tag team match next week against our beloved ‘true’ tag team champions, D-T.”
“Some challenge or test there. D-T are not on the best of times right now. He would have been better off setting the real champions, the Dream Warriors, on them. And despite a loss to D-T, The Creede Brothers made it their mission to disrupt any proceedings in the hunt for the number one contenders. At the cost of the other two teams.” Remarked Renton.
“In addition earlier we witnessed J. Leslie Voss entering the office of Mr. Boyle, and are still waiting for updates on that closed-door meeting. Torment also met his match seemingly with Harley Grimm. One has to wonder how the monster will react to what befell him. And folks later tonight, we enter THE ZONE.”
“Even if you never heard of TFZ, The Fighting Zone, or the names William Arthur Reagan, Son of Malta, Ravage, and God himself –you should still know all about The Zone. Anything goes inside the caged structure, as you complete your objective of keeping the other person or persons down for the ten count.”
“Our champion and his mentor have their hands full tonight. We have no idea who the third member of their team will be but let’s hope his presence evens out the sides.” Spoke Gordon. “Well fans it seems Boyle is requesting his air-time at this moment, so let us not dally.”
The feed switched from their booth to the inside of his office where Thaddeus stood next to a large screen television. A segmented portion of the recent PPV Ghosts was being shown.
The two shook hands as a show of sportsmanship and took separate sides of the ring in wait for the bell to toll.
They waited in anticipation. For them, this venue, this electric environment was their first. The prospect of entertaining the fans infused them with energy.
And they continued to wait. Obia looked around the ring. Merrick paced nervously as he could feel the stares and crowd losing interest in them quickly.
Then it became clear. The bell wouldn't ring. The key ingredient was missing.
There was no officiator for the match. Obia and Merrick realized this and looked at each other for answers. Their attention was soon drawn to the stage where Michael O'Dell stood waiving his arm in a 'come back' signal. The two slid under the ropes and walked back up the ramp to a chorus of boos.
O'Dell patted them on the back and assured them it was not their fault before he herded them through the curtain.
The clip ended and Thaddeus turned to the camera. “Shame wasn’t it? Two great athletes were granted the opportunity of a lifetime in front of thousands… only to be pulled to the back without a second thought.” He shook his head and sighed. “My son’s NewBorn program has seen its fair share of success and failures since the conception. This however was on fault of our former strike. That… however is a subject for another time. First thing first.”
Thaddeus hit the power button on the tv and smiled.
“A big thank you to our fans. Our loyal followers. And the curious. Thanks to you no brand Wrestling’s Ghosts pay per view event brought in a tremendous buyrate, nailing it in the top five for our entire promotions history. So again a big thank you for that. Now for the announcement that all have been waiting for, or so I have been informed.
As I said before, Gyle’s NewBorn initiative was the step in the right direction for what we want to accomplish here. But now that we are in St. Louis, our yard has many neighbors.
One of such, is a company called 4 Corners Wrestling, 4CW for short. This development facility has some top notch equipment and great talent already behind their doors, such as Gaily Hart, Xiang, and Benjamin Jones.”
Thaddeus smiled as the fans cheered for Hart and 4CW Champion Xiang.
“Which brings me to the announcement. As of the second of April, the 4CW are a part of the no brand banner. We look forward to seeing what other talent rolls out of 4CW doors and becomes the next Uncensored, Jason Kain, Ali Amore, and so forth.
Let’s make 2010 the start of something tremendous fans. And what better way to start than with your Keystone champion.”
The feed cut away from Boyle’s office back to the stage.
“Excellent news. In time we could see new superstars emerge from 4CW and rise in the nbW ranks.” Remarked Gordon in appreciation.
“Great, more rookies like Rex and Zed. Maybe Boyle should send couth’s like Amore and that Rollins kid back to the minors too.”
“Ignoring that comment, fans… it is the moment you have waited for since Ghosts. Stand up, raise your fists in the air… your hero, Our Keystone Champion, is heading out now.”
The camera focused on the nbWTron as the beginning clips of the entrance video started to play.
“Marc, we’re on the web. There is no reason for them to stand…”
A Keystone Champions' Address
The fans rose to their feet in anticipation as 'Spike-It-UP!' the remix by KISS exploded over The Epic II's state-of-the-art sound system. It could mean only one thing.
"The fans have waited for little over an hour now, and finally that wait is over. The Champ is here." commented Marc Gordon while his partner scoffed in rebuttal.
"Transitional." being his one worded reply.
The stage doors slid open to reveal the seven foot three giant, fastened with the glimmering gold of the Keystone championship along his shoulder. Behind those shades you could see his eyes were beaming with pride as the fans chanted his name from sea to shining sea.
He strolled along the left side of the aisle to stop for a photo or two with some eager fans, and even let them graze against the title belt before he made his way down to the ring.
The ovation was tremendous. Not a seat in the arena was being sat on as the Giant stepped up the ring steps and on over the top rope.
Saunders strolled over to the turnbuckle and stepped up on the bottom pad, before raising the title high above his head. Likewise he did the same for the other three corners allowing the fans a full chance of flash photography. After the fourth corner he leaned over towards he ring announcer and upon requesting it he was handed the microphone.
The colossus stood in the center of the ring as the final strung of his music died down. "St. Louis, damn is it good to be here as YOUR Keystone Champi-"
'I'm an Asshole' poisoned the eardrums of every soul in the arena as Denis Leary's 'Asshole' geared in which could only mean one thing. And the fans knew it as well as the chants started, raised, and roared to a thunderous pitch.
Emerging from the back was the Ayatollah of Ass-a-hollah, in all his shit-eating grin glory. He swaggered out, proud as punch, in spite of the injuries he carried. He rotated the arm he'd dislocated at Ghosts in it's socket and cringed a little before remaining on the stage, allowing the boos to rain down upon him as he glared down toward the Double Dragon.
"AAAAAAAASSSSSSS-HOLE!" "AAAAAAAASSSSSSS-HOLE!" "AAAAAAAASSSSSSS-HOLE!" chanted the fans.
Voss simply smirked, enjoying their chant as he slowly raised the microphone he carried to his lips and spoke.
"If you would shut the place that motor boats ya mammy's labia for five God damn minutes you'll get your entertainment fix, band geeks, otherwise I'll ask you to be quiet so the person next to you might be cultured."
Do you think that would silence the masses? If you did, you'd surely never tuned into nbW programming before and you surely hadn't heard of JLV before. And the rock you live under must get mighty cold in the winter. Despite the boos which tried to drown out his audibility J. Leslie Voss continued on.
"At Ghosts I entertained you fans draggin' this big, fat lug of ass flesh from pillar-to-post putting on match of the fucking YEAR for you people. Yet you still boo me. You still don't get it. You STILL - DON'T... open your hearts to the Religious Rasslin' Experience. I have no idea why..." JLV points to the heavens "...since the big guy upstairs is the first to make his Pay-Per-View purchase to see the Human Ratings Riot shoot the buyrate through the God damned roof!"
Voss shook his head and holds his hand over his heart.
"I just don't understand. Do you think it is a mere coincidence the first Pay-Per-View I, the Religious Rasslin' Experience, graced themselves upon was the biggest buyrate in the history of this promotion? Do you think that is chance? Sheer dumb luck?"
That shit eating grin appeared on his face as he shook his head proudly.
"Of course it's no fucking coincidence. The reason anybody gave a damn and forked over their money was to see if Sparky Saunde-"
The fans began to chant, as they had for so many months now for their Keystone Champion, Spike Saunders, who stood in the ring and asked for them to increase their volume by putting a hand to his ear.
"SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" they chanted.
"Spike. Shit. Whatever. Do you really think I need to be corrected by people whose first words were Daddy are you sure I'm supposed to put that in my mouth? You imbecilic cretins should learn to shut the Hell up and pay a-fucking-ttention!"
"SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" "SPIKE!" they roared, only getting louder.
"SHADDAP! SHADDAP SHADDAP SHADDAP SHADDAP SHAAAAAAAADDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
The fans roared their disapproval for the Tsar of Tsensation as he stomped up and down the stage.
"You people cheer him? You think he's a champion? You people adore him yet you don't know that he's a cheating, yellow-bellied coward that can't defeat me honestly! A man who can't stick to the rules. A man who CHEATED his way to victory at Ghosts!"
The fans booed loudly as the Religious Rasslin' Experience roared over the top of them.
"He cheated. He's a cheat. A lyin', stinkin', good-fer-nothin' cheat and all of you idiots sit on the edge of your seats, chant his name like sheep bleeting for their shepherd to show you the way but you're looking to the wrong icon, my inept little cretins. You're lookin' to a false hope. A tiki god hollowed out by his own yellow-belly who holds that belt up like he is the owner but he is doing nothing but dirty up my championship strap."
The fans noise began to dull as the Rajah of Ratings smirked his smirky cockiness.
"Oh. Have I got your attention now? Has the Big, Bad VossMan got your eyes and ears for a change? Hrmmmmm? What's the matter? CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?"
The fans were beginning to silence further, the grin on Voss' battered face as he came out here was beginning to make sense to them. He had something up his sleeve. Something wicked.
"ROLL THE GOD DAMN TAPE!"
*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*
The fans roared loudly as Voss and Saunders began to circle one another, keeping their eyes locked like to bulls ready to charge one another at will. Voss seemed to have shrugged off his cowardice, perhaps with the thought that there was no escape from Saunders. It was, after all, his idea to have a “Fans Bring the Weapons” match. Falls count anywhere. No rules. No DQ. Just two men trying to find the bigger dog in the pack.
Saunders charged at Voss, hands ready to grab him and the fans echoed the attempt with a cheer. Though it was only that. An attempt. Voss side-stepped and leaned on the ropes, lifting his feet off the ground and bashed the side of Saunders’ face with the soles of his boots. The Double Dragon staggered backwards into the referee and dropped to the canvas like the proverbial sack o’ shit. Voss landed on his feet with rare cat-like precision. Took a few scurrying steps forward and booted Spike in the ribs.
The momentum lifted Saunders off the ground and the fans booed as Voss took steps back to get some leverage for another boot to the guts. The second struck harder than the first. Voss seemed to be finding his action. Spike wailed on contact and fell to his back, clutching his ribs in agony.
Voss, with his back turned to Spike Saunders standing down in the ring, whose face had began to whiten just as quick as his shoulders slumped, slowly turned with his shit-eating grin all the more wider than they'd ever seen it before.
"Did you see it, Spike? Did you see what I'm talking about?"
Down in the ring, Spike mouthed the words "You bastard" as Voss made a belt gesture to his waist before raising the microphone again.
"Thad-ASS Boyle..." the fans were beginning to boo loudly as Voss mimicked the Price Is Right "COME... ON... DOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWN!"
No time passed as Boyle emerged, to no tune at all. His face spoke louder than his words could ever while he made his way down toward the ring, with J. Leslie Voss following slowly, eyes on Spike Saunders with that raw intensity and pure malice alive and well, enjoying Spike's and the fans' discontent. Thad ascended the steps and stepped through the ropes.
Voss followed.
Spike stood there, staring at Thad, his hands outstretched with the Keystone Championship draped over his shoulder, as if asking Boyle what the Hell was going on. He held his hand out in a silent request for Spike Saunders' microphone and the giant placed it into Boyle's hand.
The fans booing began to sound like a cacophony as Thad swallowed his pride and slowly raised the microphone to his lips. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Couldn't believe the situation.
J. Leslie Voss stood in one corner and rubbed his hands together like the cat that got the canary. A relative asshole enjoying the scenes unfolding.
"Spike, I apologize for springing this on you like this but I've been left with no alternative. The Championship match in which yourself and Mr. Voss competed in at Ghosts has seemingly been deemed a no contest."
The fans all gasped at once, leaving Spike Saunders in the centre of the ring shocked to his very core around the words that left Thad's mouth.
"I'm afraid, Spike, that due to the contact made between yourself and our official, which breaks the rules currently in place around our competition stipulations that disallow any contact to be made with an officiating referee within standard competition."
The fans remained deadly silent as Thad continued. Voss placed his hands on his hips, the way a star athlete might on the podium awaiting their gold medal.
"It pains me to say this Spike, but I must take that championship belt from your person and hand it to the owner and current Keystone-"
"AHEM!" Voss interjected.
Both men stared at him.
"I think you mean... Religious RASSLIN' Champion, Thad-ASS Boyle."
Thad's head dropped before he nodded. "Apologies, Mr. Voss. The current Religious Rasslin' Champion. Mr. J. Leslie Voss."
The boos were deafening as the Double Dragon stared across the ring at JLV, bruised and broken from their near one hour encounter at the Pay-Per-View for this championship all being for nothing, considering the referee contact was made within the opening moments of the match.
Thad extended his hand as Spike's gaze dropped down to the title belt over his shoulder, solemnly, and he plucked it off, holding it in his hands and staring down at the belt he'd fought so hard to win, many would argue, fair and square. His shoulders drooped lower as he passed the belt across.
Boyle accepted the belt and Spike turned his back to him, leaning on the top rope as the fans rained their hate on the Modernizer of the Mic awaiting the passing of the torch like a hyena waiting the leftover entrails from a lion's kill. He snatched the championship belt from Thad's grasp and stared at it, his face almost illuminating with a golden glow as he held it up to his face.
He was STILL the nbW Keyston... sorry, Religious Rasslin' Champion!
Eyeballing the giant, whose back was turned, a smirk appeared on his face and he prepared himself, charging forward and clubbing the Double Dragon across the back of the head with his belt, toppling Saunders over the top rope and to the ground ringside. Spike landed flat on his face, clutching the back of his head. He rolled over as Voss picked up his microphone and slowly raised it to his lips, a grin risen across his face and JLV looked at this belt in his clutches.
"You don't deserve to stand inside the same ring as me, let alone covet my prize. You tried to defeat me at Ghosts but you couldn't do it. You couldn't do it honestly. Cleanly. Legitimately. You had to CHEAT... to get a dubya over me and it just proves my superiority over professional wrestling. Ghosts, Spike Saunders, was the first and LAST time you'll ever get a shot at this title belt."
He strapped the belt around his waist.
"EVER!"
Dennis Leary struck the personal announce system again as Voss stepped through the ropes, heading onto the ramp and making his way toward the backstage area, pleased as punch.
JLV was STILL the Champ.
Spike had been gotten the better of. With the promise of never getting a chance to get a hand on that belt ever again.
EVER again.
And the Ayatollah of Ass-a-hollah walked backwards, eyeballing the ringside Saunders as he licked his wounds, smiling proudly and wickedly at the most popular man in nbW history. Walking away with the Religious Rasslin' Championship.
As the CHAMPION!
The nbW Tron lit up with a split-screen view of the Main Event's competitors.
He is a PN Supporter From Cospicua! |
SPLIT |
You don't have to do this. |
William Arthur Reagan and Son of Malta were preparing in their locker room just a couple of minutes before their battle against Keegan, Ali Amore and the mystery partner. If you see blood coming out, it won’t be fake, or someone blading, it will be the real thing’, WAR told Son of Malta. All the labourites tough guys used to live near me, and it wasn’t the first time that I ended in a 5-on-1 fight against them. Therefore William don’t worry about me. I know how I will handle myself’, replied Son of Malta. Inside The Zone there are no rules. Everything you do is deemed legal. Everything you bring with you inside the Zone is legal. The main objective is not to let your opponents get up by the count of 10. How you achieve it doesn’t really matter!’, finished WAR. |
Special K was seen ducking and dodging, bopping and weaving, inside and out, throwing venomous punches at fresh air, imagining RaVage, Son of Malta and WAR, allegedly the culprit who cost Keegan the number one contender’s spot to the man who had just walked into shot…
Ali Amore. The crowd cheered at the sight of its champion, who had no belt around his waist or draped over his shoulder tonight. This wasn’t about titles. When Keegan noticed his ex-student, he stopped and stared directly into his eyes. Firstly, they tagged hands and then the Englishman shook the South American’s hand firmly. “If you don’t want to do this tonight… “There’s…. “Listen,” Keegan said playfully slapping Ali’s left cheek. “If you don’t want to do this, don’t feel you’ve let me down… and let me finish. The world championship is your life; you’ve got nothing to prove by being in this match and everything to lose. I don’t want you getting hurt out there, it’s not necessary and this is MY problem, not yours.” Ali looked his teacher straight in the eye and didn’t blink: “I’m doing this. We’re doing this.” Special K sighed: “Final chance…” Ali placed his hands on Keegan’s shoulders to get his attention: “If you were the world champion, you’d still go into this for me, wouldn’t you? I know you would. We’re in this together. Plus, who would you rather have than me backing you up in this match?” He had to concede the Colombian’s argument: “No one.” “Exactly. If I needed you, you’d be the first to step up to the plate and you would. You did for RaVage…” “But I failed you Ali,” K admitted, pathetically and apologetically. “You didn’t fail anyone. You were robbed. You should be in line for my title. The title is yours anyway. I wouldn’t be anyone or anywhere without you…” “That’s not true….” Ali, unflinching, nodded repeatedly: “It is. That’s why we’re going out there tonight as one, as a team… to win.” The former Fighting Zone champion smiled at the nbW kingpin and had a high-five gratefully accepted: “Damn right, we are.” |
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Enter The Zone!
The Zone was being lowered down. It was an impressive sight but the action in it probably wouldn’t be. Once trapped in the confines of this steel structure, six men all with different agendas were all susceptible to pain and career-threatening injuries.
The distinctive beats of ‘Lose Yourself’ interrupted the crowd’s chatter and everyone became silent. WAR was a legend, but a retired one. Tonight, he was returning to action but nobody is sure whether it’ll be a one-shot deal or if it will lead to a comeback. As he made his way though the new entrance, the doors sliding open for him, it was like he’d never been away as he soaked up the boos. He rotated his neck and stared straight ahead at the steel structure, one he knew only too well, and walked intently and intensely, quickly but without fear. He embraced it. The cell door was open. He entered The Zone, the first man, and in his mind, the best man. But would he be the last man standing?
Malta’s national anthem echoed around the arena. That could mean only one thing. Son of Malta was ready and he emerged to a chorus of boos. The Islander was motionless, undeterred and looked impressive as he made his way to The Zone. This was his first battle inside the notorious cage but he was showing no nerves. When he entered, WAR extended his hand, which SOM shook and he gave the rookie a few words of advice or encouragement.
RaVage was up next. The ex-champion snarled at the spectators as the dared to jeer him. He commanded and demanded respect, but didn’t receive it. It was a pity, considering his achievements and unquestionable ability but probably had something to do with his poor attitude. He marched towards The Zone, oozing with confidence. Upon entering the cage, like SOM, losing his virginity in this particular contest, the three men all shook hands and put their hands in the middle. ‘All for one and one for all.’ We would see, but it certainly raised more questions: Did RaVage pay WAR to interfere in his win over Keegan at Ghosts?
That query went to the back of everyone’s minds momentarily as the sweet, seductive chimes and soothing voice of Dean Martin told the fans to ditch their jeers for cheers. The champ is here…
He wasn’t alone either. Along with his trainer Keegan, the reason why he was at risk and in this position, they were showing a united front. I guess that’s all they could do. The two men weren’t even sure if they had a partner or not, so they were ready to go into battle, two-on-three if necessary, a dodgy decision given the strength of their three opponents and Ali’s status at the man to beat in these parts.
Keegan, back in black and white, looked terrific. His matching elbow pads ensured he lived up to his billing, at least on the surface, as a former specialist in this field. Ali, no stranger to cages either, adorned red tights with a blue trim and ‘Amore’ emblazoned down the left leg. With his baby face looks, reflecting his stance as a performer, and a tan straight from St. Tropez, he didn’t look like a mug by any stretch of the imagination.
Special K had a fire in his eyes, an expression that had been missing for a long time. Ali didn’t give anything away. As they made their way into the battlefield, Keegan raised his arms to the crowd and encouraged them to pump up the volume, staring at every opponent, all of whom he had history with and wanted to tear up. The fans responded to his cheerleading and amped it up a tad as he went through a couple of stretches and punched thin air before whispering in Ali’s ear. They then high-fived and we were ready to go…
Almost.
Amazingly, the nbW fans took their eyes off the cage. This was the main event of Slam 1! and sure to be a physical affair. Then again, they had good reason. Suddenly, the five fighters turned around to see what the commotion was all about…
No music.
No props.
No nonsense.
John C. Willis, all 6’7 and 320 lbs of him, was in black shorts and sporting a toothless smile. The untamed beast, the half-brother of Keegan, and one of only two men to defeat Special K during his Fighting Zone days, was on the loose.
He had everyone’s attention.
He stared at his half-brother, whom he had a love-hate relationship with, and walked towards him.
They embraced.
The crowd loved it.
Yes, we were going to have 3-on-3.
Just as everyone was settled...
‘Fuck Kill Die’ by WASP’
The nbW announcer’s words accompanied the distinctive song: “The special guest referee for this fight is… UNCENSORED!”
Oh, how they popped. At one point, I thought the roof was going to come off.
Everyone was stunned that Uncensored, probably the man most associated with this concept, certainly by fans of SHOW and nbW, was walking to the battleground as the special enforcer. He had history with every single individual standing in there, besides Son of Malta, bad blood and deep-lying rivalries were prevalent and could not be ignored. Had the fuse been lit in what was already surely going to be an intense and incredibly physical affair?
William Banks, another hall of famer, ignored everyone as he walked through the door and straight to the centre of attention, basking in the adulation of the audience but not wallowing or playing up to it. He was here to do a job, though whether he could keep his feelings in check, and he could well be the most emotional performer in this promotion’s history, remained to be seen.
Once inside, all eyes were on him. He glared at them all, not caring for a single man inside the Zone, making him the perfect official and law enforcer for this fight. Then, with one raise of a finger, he signalled to the timekeeper…
Ding, ding, ding.
The Zone
Keegan, Ali Amore, John C. Willis Versus William Arthur Reagan, Son of Malta, and RaVage
w/ Special Guest Referee: Uncensored
Following suit, Ali decided to take a run and a leap at RaVage. He didn’t connect with his high kick but the risk didn’t backfire either. The stocky ex-world champion appeared cautious and spooked out by the South American as he came back down to earth. Right now, they were just inches away. Amore edged forward and tried to soften RaVage up with a body blow but the tough customer twisted his body at the last second and managed to avoid most of the contact. Ali did score with a glancing left to the forehead, perfect in an amateur boxing contest, while RaVage’s counter punch found thin air as the current champ skipped away with ease.
WAR had those powerful legs wrapped around Keegan as the Geordie Genius jockeyed for position. Sure, he was in a better situation, a dominant one, if he could just break free of Reagan’s grip but he couldn’t and was struggling to do so, attempting to soften up William by occasionally hitting the kidneys but they weren’t registering given Reagan’s sound defensive strategy. He was only a wrong turn away from Special K mounting him but, for now at least, he was frustrating his long-time adversary and possibly sapping his energy at the same time.
Son of Malta and John C. Willis, the last picks so to speak, were now engaging but like the other two exchanges, nobody could gain a clear-cut advantage. As Willis negotiated the headlock, SOM put his free left arm into the Kokomo Dragon’s face and managed to drag him down, thus putting him in a headlock of his own, and neither powerhouse was budging. That was until, in one swoop, the 6’7 Willis took him over while maintaining the headlock but SOM wriggled away and managed to break free quite quickly, impressive considering Willis’s size but also proof that the definitive playground bully didn’t have it set in. Still, he was in No Man’s Land and Willis went for a kick but Son easily ducked it and then even more admirably took the big bastard down with one lovely leg sweep. Just as he was about to pounce, John displayed agility never seen anywhere, from him at least, and was back up to that vast vertical base and ready to knuckle up against the Islander, who wasn’t backing down from the biggest man in this match-up. Stalemate…
This was the entire story of the fight so far. All it would take was one opportunity, there were so many opportunists in the match and they were all so tentative, rightfully so, but at the same time, not appearing to be intimidated by their opposite numbers.
Finally…
Keegan managed to mount WAR and the crowd level rose significantly when he caught the Hall of Famer with a peach of a right and then with another glancing left but while they scored, WAR was still able to get up off the mat and now was ready to go toe-to-toe with Special K.
The Englishman smelled an opportunity and came forward, trying to nail WAR with a right, which missed but forced the blonde bombshell up against the cage wall. WAR grabbed a headlock as Keegan came forward, the pair clinching, while an otherwise anonymous Uncensored came in to instruct both men to break it up, which they did after a few seconds. WAR managed to deal with Keegan pretty well, pushing the so-called Prince of Palermo a few metres back as they broke. That surprised Special K, but not to be outdone, he walked straight back towards his antagonist, who scored with a sweet right to the eye and was then an inch away from shattering Keegan’s nose with an evil left hook. WAR had definitely turned the tables…
Meanwhile, John C. Willis was being smacked in the head with hard knees by Son of Malta, who had the colossus’s cranium in his hands, literally, but like WAR, John’s sheer power managed to separate both participants momentarily as he shoved Son back. Nevertheless, Son of Malta and WAR had found chinks in their opposition’s armour.
However, RaVage was letting the side down as he was defending. Ali had him pinned up against the cage door and while he wasn’t able to wail away at the ribs as he wanted to do, the ex-amateur boxer had found his mark a few times, targeting the midsection of the number one contender to his crown, not only with this outing in mind but no doubt, strategically setting him up for a future Frogsplash in their inevitable coming together concerning the championship.
Son of Malta had caught Willis napping with a hell of a right hand that somehow didn’t knock the Kokomo native off his feet. While that didn’t, his subsequent high kick with the left foot did send the big man reeling, though he still wasn’t off his feet. John, as massive as he was, had to cover up as SOM penetrated his defense easily with a right hand and then another left, which was able to travel through Willis’s feeble block and send the impressive specimen to one feet. As he was down, he stamped on the Indiana Buffalo’s head, which meant that John was now completely on the canvas and ripe for the pickings. A kick to the head, a cracker at that, while Willis was crawling like a baby completed the successful sequence. William, who had been over the other side of the cell, trying to tell RaVage to fight instead of clinching, ran over to register the first count of the match, brushing past an expressionless Malteser and instructing him to step back, in order to allow Banks to start…
1…
2…
SOM noticed that Keegan and WAR were standing off again. From the blindside, he handed the advantage to his team mate by stooping to a low level and landing a very hard kidney punch. It was a delayed reaction as Special K took a baby step forward upon feeling the impact, but like an actor getting shot in a Hollywood film, the adrenaline wore off and he slumped down to his knee, the energy and oxygen quickly exiting his body but things were about to get worse, much worse.
WAR made a face imprint of the sole of his left shoe on the bridge of the Brit’s nose. Surely, this time, he had broken the Englishman’s nose, and not for the first time either…
Ali attempted to come to his friend’s aid. He turned WAR round and slapped the blonde bombshell. It wasn’t ordinary for the youngster to deploy such an insulting tactic but he had and Reagan was smarting. Suddenly, he ushered a hard knee into the Colombian’s midsection and then used his right hand to soften up the South American starlet’s spine and kidneys.
John was regaining his bearings and saw what was going on. He raced over, pushed an onlooking SOM out of the way and stopped WAR in his tracks with a hellacious head butt. Reagan was soon on the ground, counting his teeth. SOM was poised to address the issue but Willis locked his huge hands around the Malteser’s throat and began to choke the life out of him. As Willis was about to send Son to sleep, RaVage decided to interject himself. He took a short run-up from behind, no surprises there, punted John C Willis, no regard, respect or shame in it at all, right between the legs. The gargantuan was pole-axed and conformed to normal human being’s standards by being spread-eagled out on the floor, nursing his knackers and probably cursing his luck for playing the good Samaritan and coming to Keegan’s aid.
William Banks ran over to RaVage and ordered him out of the cell, essentially ‘disqualifying’ the number one contender in what had been billed as No Holds Barred… barring the low blow it seemed.
The stocky ex-champ stared at Uncensored but said nothing in response to the pointed finger, which was accompanied by an imperative tone: “Fuck off,” he stated rather bluntly. RaVage waited for the cell door to open and then climbed through it, almost like escaping prison, which it was in a way, and to the Promised Land, otherwise known as freedom.
Willis couldn’t move and nobody was going to be able to do it either. Keegan kind of took a second, the action having stopped when everyone had realized what happened, strangely no shortcuts or cheap shots were exchanged in the meantime, as he walked over to his brother. He put his hand on his step-sibling’s shoulder and tried to put him in a corner, just so he wouldn’t get hurt any more but also in order for the combatants to resume battle.
Uncensored signaled to the back, meanwhile, the final four so to speak were in a stand-off, a shoot-out ready to ensue. They were eager to get it on, or maybe to get out of there, though they’d be frustrated further still as EMTs brought a stretcher into the cell temporarily. Keegan couldn’t concentrate and walked towards one, speaking to him, as they tried to pick his fallen half-brother up, load him onto the stretcher and get him out of there. Special K, hands on hips, touched his half-brother on the forehead: “John, thanks for coming. I’ll come to see you later. Don’t worry. You’ve done everyone proud. RaVage took a shortcut. He always does.”
Willis didn’t respond. It wasn’t normal for the beast to be taken out, but maybe nbW didn’t want to take any chances. Uncensored had also elected to essentially disqualify RaVage and a 3-on-2 situation, particularly with John as the extra man, would also have been grossly unfair. If he’d been able to walk, that is…
The audience warmly applauded the artist formerly known as Spawed Terror as he was carried out on a stretcher for one of the most vicious ball shots ever on record.
Right, back to business and the stand-off was re-enacted.
Ali decided he wanted WAR. Keegan was bemused, but reluctantly went along with his charge’s choice. Son of Malta took advantage of the confusion and grabbed the Geordie by the throat, just as John had to him. Keegan broke the predicament with not one, but two shakes of the head that cracked the bridge of his fellow European’s nose. Taking control of Son’s head, he tried to ram his head into the side of the cage but Son of Malta blocked it, threw a quick jab to the stomach, which forced Special K to relinquish his grip. Cleverly and quickly, Son of Malta inflicted further punishment when he swept Keegan off his feet, not like Richard Gere with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and then stamped on the inside of the Englishman’s leg. Nevertheless, when he was about to dive on top of K, a desperate Briton kicked out like a wounded animal, repaying Son’s compliment with a boot to the ribs, and then landing an uppercut flash on the chin. Both men were down and Banks was ready to count…
1…
2…
3…
4…
Keegan was up one knee, hurting from Son’s shot. Malta’s best-ever export was a little dazed. Meanwhile, Ali Amore was getting dominated by WAR on the other side of the structure. With control of his long hair in one hand, Reagan reigned punches in on the Colombian, who to be fair to him, blocked them for the most part. He had been a good amateur boxer and those defensive skills were standing him in great stead here. Lulling WAR into a false sense of security of maybe the veteran growing cocky and/or complacent, Ali suddenly sprung out with a right hand that stunned the former WWE prospect. Maybe alarmed by Reagan’s reaction, Ali put his hands up the moment he saw he’d riled his rival. WAR tried three or four vicious punches but they all seemed to hit Amore’s defense, not one of them penetrating the shield he protected from his face. As he was about to try another banger, Amore came out again, this time hitting WAR with a one-two combination, then instantly covering up. WAR, who took a second or two to register he’d been hit clearly, cleanly and stiffly, flew into a fit or rage but none of his blows connected. However, he managed to connect solidly with a right hand to the kidney, which made Ali and the audience wince, before almost blinding the Superstar of Bogotá with a very vicious shot to the eye, which opened up a cut underneath, and blood started to stream down the left cheek of the Colombian.
Desperately, Son of Malta had tried to stop Special K, who could see WAR was beginning to go into overload, banging away at Ali, who covered up extremely well, even more so now that his eye was pouring, both blood and probably tears. His vision had to be impaired. Had Ali tried to wear William out like his namesake had successfully done to George Foreman in Zaire, 36 years ago? He’d have to hold on now, scratch and scrape for everything, because he was in trouble. Nevertheless, his trainer wasn’t about to let him down….
Keegan stopped WAR in his tracks and slapped on a camel clutch, thus not legally choking his antagonist. He assertively pushed his left foot down on WAR’s right leg to take his weight from underneath him. Now, they were both in a sitting position, the British import leaning in and effectively using his 271-pound frame while putting the squeeze on the Salt Lake native. Devastatingly, Keegan broke Reagan’s own grip to momentarily deliver two bone-crunching crosses, one left and one right, which knocked William’s equilibrium for six. From there, and chokes are legal I might add, Keegan applied exactly that and leaned back with everything he had. WAR’s face turned the colour of the blood he’d extracted from Ali’s face. He was in trouble now. Fortunately, he also had a friend on hand in the form of SOM, who kicked Keegan mercilessly and relentlessly until he could no longer maintain the devastating hold, which surely would have finished Reagan off if he’d been able to sustain it for several seconds.
Special K gave SOM an open-hand slap, similar to what Ali had tried with WAR earlier, though that didn’t work. This one did though. While it didn’t hurt SOM like John Stossel had suffered at the hands of Dr. D, it set him up nicely for Keegan to go downstairs, forcefully kicking the Islander twice, the left leg the target of his evil intentions, before unloading with a right hand that almost turned SOM 360 degrees. Sensing vulnerability, Keegan instantaneously followed the rookie and then rammed his head into the cage a couple of times. Son of Malta slumped to his knees, not out of commission by any means, but temporarily reeling. It would be a mistake for Keegan not to complete the job, given Son’s impressive credentials, but in his mind at least, he had bigger fish to fry…
WAR.
Special K turned round and saw WAR remove something from his tights. There was a delayed reaction. Just as the Geordie Genius was ready to zero in on WAR again, he took a step back as if he’d seen a ghost and I’m not referring to the last event either.
It became clear why.
WAR had a penknife in his hand.
Keegan knew his rival too well and was visibly shaken. He knew William wouldn’t think twice in using it.
The Englishman, determined to retain his bravado, had to be both diplomatic and threatening in the same instance. He gave it a try: “I swear to God, you’ll regret this. If you use it, you’d better make it count, you gutless bastard. Use that and you’re in serious shit Reagan.
“Shut the fuck up,” William retorted. He didn’t need to use the knife. Everyone knew his prowess as a competitor. What was WAR’s objective here?
We never found out.
Above his head, threatening his rival and ready to strike, Uncensored snatched the blade away from his fellow hall of famer.
Immediately, one William pushed another. Uncensored, though, was as fearless as anyone in the industry. He wasn’t intimidated by Reagan and while he had been recently retired by Keegan too, thus there was no love lost between them either, he was intent on doing the right thing as the special referee this evening.
As Reagan was about to get into a heated debate with Banks, WAR noticed an onrushing bull, but was powerless to stop him…
SPEAR!!!
The distraction had been enough and the Englishman had struck.
Meanwhile, Son of Malta was waiting for Keegan to turn round after telling William that he thought he was number one…
He struck with a hard right hand, which instantly made Keegan cover up, suggesting he’d found his mark…
WHACK!
That was Son of Malta falling, not Keegan.
Ali had kicked him, and I mean kicked him, in the back of the head.
To be fair to Son, he was up on his feet, a feat in itself, pardon the pun, but wobbly. Very wobbly. Both Ali and Keegan were ready to take the Islander out but as everyone knows, the Colombian is quicker so he got there first. A right hard on the chin was effortlessly the best punch of the entire fight and SOM was back in southern Europe. He tried to regain his vertical base, and did so momentarily, but another couple of wicked shots to the jaw had him almost stuck to the steel structure. William was over there in a flash to try and control the Colombian, who was showing an aggressive streak that only a few knew he possessed. Maybe the rage of what Son of Malta had been boiling up inside him and now he was taking that out on the newcomer. In the end Uncensored only needed to count as four stiff body shots set Son of Malta up for a lovely, left cross.
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
8…
WAR was up and Keegan was there ready to finish him off. Before he could, WAR fell to his knees. However, Uncensored continued his count as Son of Malta, eyes wide open but nobody home, was spread out on the floor, moving his head barely and looking up at Ali but unable to do much more…
9…
10!
Finished.
Keegan bent down to speak to WAR: “Have that, you twat.”
WAR was crawling but couldn’t get up, still feeling the effects of the Spear, courtesy of Special K.
The match had started as 3-on-3. Due to RaVage’s shortcut, six combatants became four. In the long run, it may suit the shooter as he didn’t expand anywhere near as much energy or effort and got off injury-free.
However, the big hug between trainer and mentor suggested that neither man regretted the decision to go into this fight. They had taken it, they had taken on three bad bastards and they’d won in style.
As they embraced, Keegan said to his younger accomplice: “Thank you. You’re the best.”
Then, they stopped and Special K raised Ali’s hand into the air, also using his index finger to tell everyone to cheer their victory and that Ali was the man. The Englishman knew how and when to milk a crowd.
At the entrance way, RaVage stole the spotlight as he looked down the entrance ramp and into the battleground at the overjoyed duo. Suddenly, Keegan spotted him and welcomed his opponent at Ghosts to walk the aisle. RaVage refused, taking off through the entrance and obviously plotting his next move.
Meanwhile, Uncensored left the cage to a standing ovation, not acknowledging anyone except the crowd with a wave as he did so. He was his own man and cared for nobody. He had called it down the middle, refusing to allow his feelings to get in the way and at the same time, when said and done, also rejecting the notion to kiss anybody’s backsides. You couldn’t call him two-faced or false.
Slam 1! had finished. It was a new era for nbW. Yet, old rivalries had been renewed, hostilities and bad blood evident.
Expect more blood shed...
OUTCOME: Ali Amore, Keegan and John C. Willis By Survival
CREDITS
Introduction to St. Louis, Cajun style - Dan
Rex Versus Zed - Spike
Personal Awesomeness Quotient - Scott
The Arrival - Keith
Bridge over Trouble Something - Scott
Leave him out - Keegan
Prove it - Scott
D-T Versus Creede Bros - Scott
Wouldn't you like to know - Keegan
My name is - Kristan
Torment Versus Torment - Dan
The Zone is going to be Brutal - Keith
First step to the big time - Jake
For The Win Versus Myth and Legend - Jake/Spike
Recent Acquisation - Spike
A Keystone Champions' Address - Spike/Voss
He is a PN Supporter from Cospicua - Keith
You don't have to do this - Keegan
Enter THE ZONE - Keegan
THE ZONE: Keegan/Ali/John v SOM/WAR/Ravage - Keegan
The Keystone Championship was defended as a part of the NA Championship in an interpromotional match at F.A.T.E?
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