### ### ### ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ### ### ### ## .---------------------. | Hour 4 | `---------------------' [Fade back up to the ringside broadcast table. The fans seated behind Dross and Roberts wave signs and clamour to get in shot.] TD: Welcome back to the fourth and final hour of this marathon event, folks! What a night of action we've had, and coming up next it's set to get even more frantic with the first half of our explosive double main event:  the career-ending match between the Intercontinental Champion Lord Byron and the man who, since Birthday Bash, has swiftly become his arch-nemesis... Creed.  Before we go down to ringside, let's take a look at the history surrounding these two outstanding athletes... [The scene cuts to a prepared video package.  Prokofiev's "Montagues and Capulets plays in the background as the tape shows an image of Lord Byron standing in the ring, his arm raised in the air, before making a mocking French bow to the crowd...] VO: Lord Byron.  The self-proclaimed greatest technical wrestler in the world. [The video shows clips of Byron hitting a neckbreaker on Harlequin Tragedy, a DDT on the Sandman, his patented spinning enzuigiri on Tazeko Musashi, and then, in quick succession, applying the Aristoclutch on a series of struggling opponents...] VO: The interfederational superstar. [The video clip shows Byron battling "The Spartan" Troy Walters, rolling "Iceman" Dean Diamond into a reverse cradle, and applying the Aristoclutch on the Firestarter... before finally holding the ESWP European Title in the air...] VO: The Intercontinental Champion. [Scenes of Byron standing face to face with Marty Warnett, crashing down from the top rope in a belly to belly suplex, rolling over Warnett in a pin, and finally staggering forward, hair wildly whipping around his face, and holding the IC title above his head with a sneer...] VO: Creed. [The image changes, showing Creed's magnificent entrance through the aisle, his blood red glove held high in the air... nodding his head as the CEO Jack Montgomery talks to him... standing on the second turnbuckle in front of an awe-struck crowd, his gloved fist raised in the air in victory...] VO: The powerful newcomer. [The image shows Creed hitting a belly to belly suplex on Mad Dog Watkins, catching Duncan Macbeth in a Doctor Bomb, and then hitting a series of opponents with his devastating Crimson Tide chokeslam, culminating with his catching Marty Warnett by the throat as he leaps from the top, and driving him into the canvas...] VO: The number one contender. ["Montagues and Capulets" comes to a sudden end.  The footage switches to black and white, showing Byron and Creed squaring off on LaRue's Lair... slugging it out in the centre of the ring... and finally, Byron, with the aid of Otto Verhoeven, viciously attacking the young athlete, leaving him clutching his knee in the centre of the ring.] VO: The first time. [The video shows, in quick succession, Creed stunning Byron with a rapid series of left handed blows to the head... catching him in the Crimson Tide, and finally the "Goodnight, Farewell, Amen" superbomb, and the referee rolling down for the count...] VO: The second time. [The clip shows Byron hooking Creed into a figure four leglock... countering the Crimson Tide with an enzuigiri kick... and finally, locking the big man into the Aristoclutch...] VO: The Final Time. [The footage switches to scenes from recent weeks: Creed's interference in Byron's match with Tiger Claw; Byron sneering at Creed as he hits Duncan Macbeth with a DDT outside the ring; the European Alliance exchanging words with Creed, Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson; both men costing each other their respective Coronation Clash matches... and finally, the face to face confrontation. Cut to footage subtitled, "IIWF Saturday Night: 28 June 1997." Creed and Lord Byron stand facing one another in the ring.] CREED: Tell you what, Champ.  Let's you and me go one better... you wanna play for real stakes, Champ?  You wanna put it all out on the line?  I got three words for you, Lord Byron... I got three words... LOSER LEAVES TOWN!! [The fans go apoplectic... a resounding roar giving way to dead silence as the crowd waits for Byron's response... Byron glares at Creed for a second, then he snaps...] LB: Oh, that suits me just fine, rookie.  That suits me just fine.  If you want to throw your career away, I have no problem with it. [Byron sneers] Come Coronation Clash, rookie, I'm going to shatter three things:  Your dreams, your knee, and finally, your career!  You've just sealed your fate.  You're finished, rookie. Do you understand me? FINISHED! [Creed and Byron drop the microphones and go nose-to-nose... the two men jawing at each other as the volume of the "Pay - Back! Pay - Back!" chant is now literally shaking the support stantions in the Arena.  The footage changes one last time, showing a spilt screen, with Creed on one side, arms raised to the crowd, and Byron on the other, the IC title across his shoulder, bowing to the audience.  The scene fades out to black.] VO: Two outstanding athletes.  One title.  Only one can survive. [The scene cuts back to the broadcast booth] TD: Only one man can survive indeed, and I tell you, Steve Roberts, whichever way this match goes, it is going to be a great loss for this federation. SR: This is the big time, Dross... we have Byron, the greatest technical wrestler in the world, and an outstanding gentleman, and we have Creed.  Who's your daddy? TD: Creed, Byron... These two have been practically at each other's throats since Birthday Bash, and that vicious attack by Byron... and it finally boils down to this.  These two, Steve Roberts, hate each other so much, that they are willing to put their careers on the line to see the other gone! SR: But look at the facts, Dross.  Creed -- there's no way his knee can have recovered from that beating Byron gave it.  No way.  It'll never be as strong as it was.  But look at Byron.  Each match we've seen him in, he's been getting stronger, defending that title against all comers, even with Creed, Macbeth and practically everyone else in the federation trying to get a piece of him. TD: And look at Creed.  He would have been one of the favourites to go all the way in the World title tourney, if Byron hadn't finished it for him, and he still to this day holds the greatest unbeaten record in the IIWF... it's too close to call, Steve.  Too close, and too hotly contested.  There's no telling what these two will or will not do when there's this much at stake. Okay, it looks like the final preparations have been made... Sparkplug's in the ring... so let's go over to ringside for the official word. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP | ## ## ## ## ## LOSER LEAVES TOWN MATCH: | ## ## #### ## ---------------------------------------------- | ## ## ## ## Lord Byron [c] vs. Creed | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: MP [The camera cuts to Sparkplug Lee, who is stood in the centre of the ring, a grave expression on his face. He raises the microphone to his mouth:] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for the first half of tonight's double main event! [Huge crowd pop, the "Pay - back! Pay - back!" chant beginning already!  Sparkplug Lee waits patiently for the noise to die down, before continuing:] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a sixty minute time limit, and is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! [Huge pop!] In addition, as both athletes have agreed on these stipulations, the loser of this match will have his contract terminated by the IIWF, and will be barred from participation! [Another huge apprehensive crowd pop!  Sparkplug patiently waits again, before beginning the introductions...] RA: Introducing first, the challenger... hailing from Oakland, California and weighing in at 276lbs, accompanied to the ring by Mad Dog Watkins... here... is... CREED! [Huge crowd pop as the arena lights darken, and a stream of red mist escapes from the entrance to the aisle as Creed's unmistakably calm voice can be heard resonating over the PA system:] CREED:  Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime. [Huge crowd pop!  Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" starts up over the PA system, and a series of deep red spotlight light up the aisle, and finally, Creed himself appears, dressed in all black, with the exception of his blood red kneepad and the glove on his left hand, which is proudly raised in the air as Creed walks through the smoke and down the aisle, a look of complete and utter intensity on his face. Watkins, his right eye still bandaged, walks behind him, watching the young athlete with an odd gleam in his eye. The crowd's chant of "Pay - back! Pay - back!" grows in volume.] TD: Look at this man, Steve, he is focused!  He is truly focused!  This man wants only one thing tonight, one thing:  gold. SR: But to do that, Dross, he's going to have to push it to the limit and beyond.  You know Byron.  I know Byron.  And Creed is going to have to give the performance of his career here tonight if he expects to go home a champion. [Creed climbs the steps top the ring, his gloved fist still raised high in the air, before stepping through the ropes and climbing to the second turnbuckle, gazing around at the crowd who are slowly, deliberately, chanting his name. Meanwhile, Watkins steps across to the referee, talking pointedly and rapidly.] TD: He is ready, Steve Roberts.  Look at him.  He is ready to finally take home that championship gold, right here, tonight.  It's payback time. SR: Only if he beats this man... RA: And his opponent... [heel pop!] ...he is the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion... currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana, and accompanied to the ring by his beautiful valet, the Lady DeWinter, and Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven... here... is... LORD BYRON! [Huge heel pop as "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite by Sibelius starts up over the PA system, and a series of spotlights focus on the entrance to the aisle. The crowd pops expectantly...] TD: Here he is!  It's the Intercontinental Champion, and listen to the reception the fans here are giving him... [The heel pop from the crowd is almost deafening as Byron, dressed in an elegant pale grey suit, and with the IC title slung over his shoulder, pauses confidently at the entrance to the aisle, a look of intensity almost rivalling that of Creed on his face.  Slowly, Byron takes the title from his shoulder, folds it, and kisses it, before passing it to the Lady DeWinter, who is wearing a shimmering black and gold silk evening gown, looking as stunning as ever.  Byron whispers a few words to her, then turns towards the ring, advancing rapidly... the look of complete determination never fading from his face.] TD: I can't chose between them, Steve. Both of them are on top of their games, both are terrific fighters... both know exactly how each other wrestle.. SR: Well, we're about to find out. [As the European Alliance walks down the aisle, Watkins and the referee appear to reach a decision, and the referee relays that decision to Sparkplug Lee, who nods...] RA: Because of the intense importance of this contest, and its implications for both athletes, the referee has ruled that in the interests of fair play, for the duration of this bout both Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Mad Dog Watkins will be barred from ringside... [Huge crowd pop as Verhoeven protests loudly...] RA: ...with any infraction of this ruling resulting in immediate disqualification! [Huge crowd pop!  Verhoeven starts to walk towards the ring, but Byron pulls him back and shakes his head, motioning for his stablemate to go back into the dressing room area.  Verhoeven still looks angry, but Byron is adamant, and he reluctantly turns away from ringside, leaving for the back.  In the ring, Watkins mutters a gruff "good luck" to Creed, before stepping through the ropes and heading off up the aisle himself.  Byron and Watkins glare at each other as they pass in the aisle, Byron silently fuming at the veteran.] TD: What a ruling there by Earl Alfonso... but he may have stopped this one turning into an out and out brawl right there. SR: What a screwjob, more like. But look at Byron, he isn't letting this get to him.  He knows he doesn't need any help to take care of this rookie... TD: Indeed, what a mach this promises to be... look out! [Huge crowd pop!  As Byron approached ringside, Creed charged the ropes, flying over and connecting with an incredible plancha dive that sent both men crashing hard to the arena floor!  Creed rolls onto Byron, repeatedly hammering away with a series of powerful closed fists...] TD: Creed!  Wanting to get the match started in a hurry, and look at him pummel away at Byron!  He's fighting like a man possessed!  This, Steve Roberts, is payback! [Creed pulls the dazed Byron to his feet, pulling his jacket up over his head and hammering away with a series of closed fists... the referee signals for the opening bell, and DeWinter can only watch in horror as Creed charges, sending Byron flying into the ring steps with incredible force!  Pop!  Byron fights back to his feet, untangling himself from the jacket as Creed... as Creed...] TD: Oh no... SR: He can't do that...! [...as Creed rips up the steel ringsteps, and slams them down hard across Byron's back, sending him sprawling across the arena floor!  Huge crowd pop!  Earl Alfonso, the referee, dives out of the ring and attempts to administer a warning to Creed, who pushes him out of the way, pulling Byron back up by the ponytail...] TD: Look out! [Creed sends Byron staggering with a knee lift, then sends him crashing hard into the steel crowd barriers!  Huge pop!  Creed pulls Byron off, and rolls him back into the ring, quickly following...] TD: What an unbelievable onslaught by Creed. This one could be over quickly... Irish whip into the turnbuckles by Creed... and he follows through with a huge clothesline! SR: Get me a phone, Dross, get me a phone... I gotta call my bookie... TD: What? SR: I got a five grand bet on Byron, and I need to call my bookie!  Get me a damn phone! [Creed pulls Byron back to his feet, and sends him flying back into the corner with a headbutt. Byron staggers back out, and gets sent straight back in with a European uppercut!  Pop!  Creed grabs the ropes, and begins repeatedly kicking away at Byron's midsection, hammering him down into the canvas...] SR: Yo!  Sparky!  Pass me that damn cellular phone you're always calling your wife on!  Yes, dammit, I'm serious! TD: Steve, will you sit down! [As Steve frantically taps a series of numbers into the telephone, Creed pulls Byron to his feet, sending him flying across the ring by his hair... the crowd is popping frantically as they begin to sense an early end to the match... Byron rolls into the far corner as Creed stalks him, shaking his head and slowly using the ropes to pull himself back to his feet...] SR: Hey! Is that B.M. Accounts?  Look, I want to change a bet... TD: Steve... Steve.. oh, forget it.. [Byron slumps against the buckles and shakes his head as Creed approaches, and the crowd starts its chant of "Pay - back!" once more. Creed steps forward...] TD: Kick to the stomach by Byron!  Caught by Creed!  And a series of European uppercuts... AND THAT ONE ALMOST TOOK HIS HEAD OFF! SR: What the hell do you mean, it's too late?!  I want to speak to whoever's in charge... [Creed steps away as Byron staggers out of the turnbuckles, and then charges from behind, catching him with a lariat to the back of the head that almost completely flattens him!  Pop!  Creed reaches down, pulling Byron up by the hair again and scooping him up...] TD: Big bodyslam by Creed!  Byron felt that one... Creed off the ropes... big elbowdrop to the sternum!  And Byron rolls out of the ring! SR: Okay, who the hell is this?  Look, I got a fifty grand bet that I need to change... Don Marco?  What the hell kind of name is Don Marco? [Creed quickly rolls out after Byron, following him as he staggers around ringside, finally catching him by the hair and slamming him hard into the ring apron... Creed rolls him back into the ring, and climbs to the ring apron, stepping between the ropes as Byron backs off again...] SR: Sicilian?  I don't care if it's damn Swahili!  I want to change my bet! TD: Byron staggering back to his feet... and a huge clothesline by Creed sends him crashing back to the canvas! SR: What the hell do you mean look behind me?! [Steve Roberts turns around, to see a dark haired man in an expensive looking suit, surrounded by a number of other dark haired men in expensive suits staring straight at him.  The man holds up a mobile phone, and Steve face turns completely white.] SR: No, that's okay... I don't want to see the Sicilian version of "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"  I understand.  I won't bother you again.  Sir.  I'm fine.  Really.  Bye now. [Roberts hangs up] Dammit, I can't believe my luck. TD: Trouble, Steve? SR: Shut up.  [Creed pulls Byron back to his feet again, smashing him straight back to the canvas with a roundhouse punch!  The crowd, popping at Creed's every move, watches on in anticipation as he backs Byron into the ropes...] TD: Irish whip... reversed by Byron!  And reversed again by Creed!  Byron ducks the clothesline, Creed comes off the opposite ropes... and Byron catches him... oh no! [Huge heel pop as Byron, desperately searching for any means to stop Creed's onslaught, lifts Creed up and falls backwards, clotheslining him onto the top ring rope...] TD: Hotshot by Byron! SR: Go on, Byron! Take it to him! [Byron quickly staggers to his feet, and moves over to where Creed is lying across the top rope. He reaches down, forcing Creed's head down with his arm while pulling the middle ring rope upwards... the referee warns him for the deliberate choke... Byron pulls at the middle rope harder... huge heel pop!] TD: Oh no!  Byron... Byron's tied Creed's head between the middle rope and the top rope!  Creed's being choked!  Get in there, Alfonso! [Byron pulls up Creed's legs, and flips him over, to leave him hanging by the neck from the ring ropes above the arena floor!  The crowd screams as Creed clutches frantically at his throat, and Earl Alfonso desperately tries to untie Creed... Byron slumps back to the canvas, shaking his head and desperately trying to catch his breath...] TD: What a despicable act by Byron!  He could have broken Creed's neck! SR: Yes... yes... this is it, Dross, Byron's got him now... TD: He should be disqualified.  This is despicable... [Byron slowly pushes himself to his feet as Alfonso continues to try and release Creed from the strangling grip of the ropes... Byron moves across... and proceeds to kick away at Creed's back as he hangs!  Heel pop!  Alfonso pushes him away, and Byron runs to the opposite ropes, coming back with...] TD: Flying dropkick by Byron!  And that sends Creed crashing to the arena floor! [Earl Alfonso instantly gets in Byron's face as he backs into a corner, practically threatening Byron to follow the rules!  On the outside, Creed rolls on the canvas, clutching his throat, the rope burns clearly visible... Byron nods his head distractedly at Alfonso's verbal barrage, and the referee finally turns away, starting to count Creed out...] TD: I'm still in shock from the tactics used by Byron just moments ago. He could have killed Creed there. SR: He did what he had to do, Dross.  And he saved me a lot of money. TD: Please, Steve... [Creed rolls to his knees, still shaking his head as the referee reaches the five count... and Byron climbs to the outside, moving around the ring apron, leaping off and connecting with a double axehandle to Creed's head just as Creed starts to rise!  Byron shakes his hair back, and pulls Creed to his feet with a snarl, charging him straight into the steel ringpost!  Heel pop!  Byron quickly rolls Creed back into the ring, and follows him in...] TD: Byron now... elbowdrop to the back of Creed's neck!  A cover!  One... two... kickout by Creed!  And with eight minutes gone, that was the first near fall of the match! [Byron pulls Creed back to his feet, backing him into the ropes... Irish whip... reversal by Creed!  Creed staggers forward, dropping his head as Byron rebounds... and Byron stops dead in front of the backdrop attempt, catching hold of Creed's head and spinning around, sending him hard to the canvas with a snapping neckbreaker!  Heel pop!  Byron sits up, pulls off his badly torn white shirt and throws it out of the ring, before rolling across Creed, hooking the leg...  1 - 2 - Creed kicks out again!  Byron rolls Creed over, stepping over onto his back and pulling his head up into a reverse chinlock...] SR: Good move by Byron. He's focusing his attention on that neck of Creed, while giving him self chance to take a break.  Good, good, intelligent move. TD: If you didn't have money on the line, you would have called it a resthold. SR: Shut up. [The crowd starts to pop in warning as Creed starts to fade, and Byron leans back hard, pouring the pressure on... the referee checks with Creed for the submission.] TD: No.  Creed is a fighter, and it's going to take much more than that to make him submit. SR: But Byron's gaining his strength back by the moment, and Creed is still in trouble. [Byron continues to pour the pressure on Creed unrelentingly, and Earl Alfonso checks for the submission again... unsurprisingly, the answer is still negative.  The crowd starts to pop in worry, and the "Creed!" chant starts up slowly again.] TD: Listen to the crowd get behind Creed!  They want to see him get out of this! SR: Byron has it locked on too tight.  Not a chance. [The referee, having heard nothing from Creed, reaches down to check the arm... and it stays up first time!  Pop!  Creed slowly starts to power up, pushing his knees underneath him, forcing Byron to adjust his base... and Creed gets to his knees!  Pop!  Byron still holds on to the chinlock, twisting the head, trying to force Creed back down... ] TD: And Creed gets to his feet!  Listen to this capacity crowd!  They are behind this young man every step of the way! [Creed hoists Byron onto his back, preparing to drop back on top of him... and Byron switches his grip, locking it into a tight sleeperhold around Creed's head, practically hanging off the bigger man's back!  heel pop!  Creed staggers for a second, then throws his weight backwards, crushing Byron into the turnbuckles!  Pop!  Byron _still_ holds on!  Creed staggers out, and charges back again, and this time Byron breaks!  Creed staggers away from the corner, and Byron tuns out behind him...] TD: Bulldog by the champion!  And a quick cover! One... two... SR: No! TD: Creed kicked out! SR: Come on Byron, stay on him... [Byron quickly pulls Creed back to his feet, backing him into the ropes with a volley of European uppercuts, before attempting an Irish whip cross-ring... he gets it, and Creed comes back on the rebound...] TD: Powerslam by Byron!  And another cover! One... two... kickout by Creed again!  Byron up... and a fistdrop to the forehead! [Byron rolls to his knees, adjusting the black elbowpad on his left arm, before pulling Creed to his feet and into a facelock, before dropping down to his knees...] TD: And Byron continues to focus on the neck area of Creed, this time with a front facelock... and Alfonso better be alert, that could easily turn into a choke hold. SR: Byron?  Choke?  Never... [Byron appears to have another plan in mind, hooking Creed's arm over, and rolling Creed's shoulder's to the canvas while maintaining the facelock... Creed's shoulder's go down... 1 - 2 - Creed powers his arm up at the last second!  Pop!  Byron tightens his grip on the facelock, and rolls, using the weight of his body to force Creed's shoulders down again... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out hard, forcing Byron to change his grip...] TD: Patient build-up by the champion here. He's taking his time to wear Creed down. [Creed forces himself back to his knees, and pushes Byron back towards the corner... the referee asks Byron for the clean break. Byron obliges -- and Creed slams his shoulder hard into Byron's midsection, doubling him up!  Pop!  Creed repeats the blow a further three times, and then straightens up, grabbing Byron's arm and Irish whipping him towards the opposite turnbuckles...] TD: Reversal by the champion... re-reversal by Creed!  Byron hits hard, and Creed charges... [Huge heel pop!] TD: No!  Byron got out of the way at the last second, and Creed... Creed went straight through the turnbuckles! SR: He caught that shoulder on the steel ringpost, Dross... he tried to sandwich Byron, and caught that shoulder on the steel ringpost! [Creed slowly pushes away from the turnbuckles, and turns around -- straight into a kick to the midsection from Byron... and a shoulderbuster!  Heel pop!  Byron wastes no time, pulling up the arm and dropping a series of legdrops across the exposed left shoulder, before pulling Creed over and dropping back, to lock on a crucifix armbar!  The sign of strain is evident on Creed's face, and he reaches across for the ropes...] TD: Inches away!  Creed is inches away from the ropes!  And look at Byron pour the pressure on Creed! SR: First the knee, Dross, then the neck, now the arm... Byron is trying to take Creed apart here!  He may have been caught off guard at the start, but he is really dominating the rookie now! [Creed tries to roll closer to the ropes, just tantalisingly out of reach!  Byron hauls him back, and Creed turns away from the ropes, trying to push himself to one knee... Byron's shoulders scrape the canvas, and Alfonso watches carefully... Creed rolls with it again, and Byron's shoulders go down!  1 - 2 - Byron breaks the hold, rolling away from Creed as he falls back against the ropes. Byron charges...] TD: Byron with a clothesline... no!  Creed backdrops him clear over the top rope!  Incredible! [Now it's Creed's turn to take a warning from Alfonso!  Byron slowly starts to rise on the outside, and Creed charges to the opposite ropes... huge crowd pop!] TD: Sliding kick from Creed, and it sends Byron crashing into the steel crowd barriers!  Creed now, following Byron out... [Creed drops to the floor behind Byron, pulling him up and sending him crashing face first into the barriers again. Creed hooks Byron in a headlock, and charges towards the ringpost... ] TD: Byron slips... and Creed hits the ringpost hard! SR: What's Byron doing...? TD: Oh no... SR: Oh yes... [The crowd pops frantically as Byron tears away the mats covering the concrete floor, before moving across to Creed, pulling him across to the exposed concrete area... and setting him up... Alfonso continues to count both men out - 3 - ] TD: Byron... setting Creed up... for a DDT on the concrete... SR: He's gonna nail him, Dross, it's game over... [Byron sneers at the screaming crowd, braces himself... blocked!  Huge crowd pop!] TD: Reversal by Creed! SR: No! [Creed backdrops Byron onto the concrete, and both men lie there prone.  Alfonso's count reaches 5, and Creed starts to rise... he pulls Byron up, and slowly rolls him back into the ring, before following him in himself...] SR: Hey, Dross, what would have happened if both men were counted out? TD: Good question.  I really have no idea. [Creed climbs through the ropes after Byron, before pulling him up and locking him into a bearhug...] TD: Alfonso's checking Byron... no submission... and Creed turns the bearhug into a belly-to-belly suplex!  The cover!  1 - 2 - kickout by Byron! [Creed rolls to his knees, adjusting his kneepad before pulling Byron back to his feet... Creed backs Byron into the ropes... Irish whip by Creed... Creed goes for a clothesline....] TD: Crucifix by Byron!  Creed staggers... and falls backwards into a Samoan Drop!  The cover! 1 - 2 - Byron kicks out again!  Steve, I'm hearing from backstage... should both men be counted out, or should both men be disqualified for that matter, this match will be declared a draw, and both men will remain as they are in the IIWF! SR: Do they know that? [Dross looks up at the ring, where Creed is pulling Byron back to his feet once again...] TD: I don't think they do. [Creed locks Byron in a facelock of his own, before smashing Byron back down to his knees with a huge forearm smash... Creed whips Byron into the ropes, before attempting another clothesline... Byron spins around Creed, and tries the hip toss.. Creed blocks it, and hooks Byron's other arm, pulling him down into a backslide... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Byron rolls away from Creed, and back to his feet, only to get smashed straight back down by a diving clothesline from the big man!  Another cover, Creed hooks the leg... 1 - 2 - Byron kicks out again!  DeWinter slams her hands on the ring apron, desperately trying to rally her man...] TD: Creed now... pulling Byron to his feet again... headbutt... and another... and a uppercut backs Byron into the corner. SR: Twenty-six minutes gone... hold on, what the hell happens if it's a time limit draw, Dross? TD: I'd expect it would be the same as double countout or DQ, but the way these two are going at it, I don't think that's ever going to happen... [Creed whips Byron into the opposite corner, where he connects with a force heard around the arena... Creed charges across for an avalanche... and meets the elbow of Byron!  Pop!  He staggers backwards, and Byron reaches out, grabbing his head...] TD: Swinging neckbreaker by Byron!  Both men are down... SR: Cover him, Byron! Cover him! [Byron drapes an arm across Creed's chest, and the referee counts... 1 - 2 - Creed's shoulder rises!  Byron rolls to his knees, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling Creed up again... DeWinter shouts at him to hurry up...] TD: Punch to the gut by Creed!  And Byron with a kick to the gut!  Another punch by Creed!  And Byron with an uppercut!  Creed with another punch... and another.. Byron's staggered.. Creed winds up... SR: And a thumb to the eye from Byron!  Excellent counter! TD: That'll stop an elephant! SR: That's my catchphrase! [Byron backs Creed into the ropes, and Irish whips him to the opposite side, before coming back himself... huge crowd pop!] TD: Double clothesline!  Double clothesline!  Both men are down! SR: Byron's not moving! [Creed raises his hands to his head, and slowly starts to get to his knees... Byron makes no motion whatsoever, lying at an odd angle on the canvas... Creed staggers to his feet, and slowly makes his way across, pulling Byron to his feet...] TD: Small package out of nowhere by Byron!  The referee's out of position...! [Alfonso slides into position, and makes the count... 1 - 2 - kickout by Creed!  Creed rolls to his feet as Byron struggles to rise, Creed reaches out... and Byron catches him with a jawbreaker!  Heel pop!  Byron backs up to the ropes, then drops forward, nailing Creed with a fistdrop to the forehead... Byron gets straight back up... a second fistdrop... a cover, and Byron pulls up the leg and applies a half nelson... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out!  Byron wearily steps across, pulling up Creed's legs...] TD: Byron now, he's going for that leg... step over toehold... pulled by Creed into an inside cradle!  The referee's out of position! One... two... Byron reverses! One... two... no, no, no! Creed kicks out! SR: How can they keep this pace up, Dross?  How? [Byron starts to pull Creed up, and receives a shoulder barge into the gut, doubling him over.. Creed rises to his feet, backing Byron into the ropes. Irish whip... Byron rebounds... Creed's lariat misses the mark, and he turns as Byron rebounds again...] TD: Byron with a flying dropkick to that braced knee, and Creed is in agony! SR: Bye, bye, rookie, so long rookie... TD: Did you see the impact on that move, Steve?  Did you? SR: Oh, I saw it, Dross. I saw it, and I'm loving every second of it... TD: That move should be outlawed.  That could have dislocated the knee, broken the leg, anything... Creed's in bad shape, Steve... [Byron slowly rises to his feet as Creed writhes on the canvas, pausing to smirk at the worried pop from the crowd as Creed, clutching his knee, pulls himself back into a corner... Creed tries to pull himself up using the turnbuckles as Byron stalks him... Byron steps closer... Creed lashes out with a kick...] TD: Byron caught the leg... and a legdrag takedown out of the corner!  Byron going for a spinning kneelock... and Creed desperately scrambles to the ropes! SR: He can't run forever, Dross, Byron smells blood! [Byron stalks Creed again as he uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, before stepping up behind him and lashing out with a kick to the back of the knee that drops Creed to the canvas!  Creed scrambles up, and Byron kicks the knee out again!  Creed pulls himself up a third time, stepping out into the centre of the ring, and Byron backs against the ropes, before running out and clipping the back of Creed's leg away!  Huge heel pop!  Byron quickly moves in, grapevining Creed's knee and falling back to the mat in a kneebreaker before moving into a knee crosslock... Creed thumps the canvas in pain, and the referee checks for the submission... none.] TD: He's got heart, Steve... but even so, I'm not sure how much more of this punishment Creed can take. [Creed reaches out for the ropes, slowly, painfully dragging himself over... and he manages to grab hold!  Pop!  Byron instantly breaks the crosslock, springing up and dropping a fistdrop to the back of Creed's head, before pulling him back out into the centre of the ring. He grapevines the injured leg again, this time locking the other leg under it... he falls back to the canvas...] TD: Indian deathlock!  Byron has an Indian deathlock on Creed!  Look at the pressure on that knee! SR: He's not giving up, though, Dross... his career's being broken in two right before his eyes, but he's too pig-headed to call it a day.. TD: He's got heart, Steve.  Don't you dare say otherwise. [Byron seems to be suffering from the exertion of the hold as well, and shakes his head in disbelief as Creed once again yells out a negative response to Alfonso's worried request.  Creed slowly starts to push himself up... using the strength in his arms to power himself up, trying to turn the hold back on Byron...] TD: And Byron breaks, and an axehandle lays Creed out again!  And... what's Byron doing? [Byron pulls Creed to his feet, backing him into the corner, Byron pulls up Creed's injured knee, hooking it between the turnbuckles, before kicking away at the exposed knee joint as the referee desperately tries to get him to break... Byron shrugs Alfonso off... and Creed lashes out, with a rake to Byron's face!  Pop!  Byron staggers backwards, and then back in blindly...] TD: Big right hand by Creed... he limps out of the corner... Irish whip coming up... reversed by Byron... re-reversed by Creed! SR: And he whips Byron straight into Alfonso!  Referee down, and knocked clean out of the ring!  Disqualify that rookie! TD: That wasn't deliberate, Steve. Creed was caught blind... [Creed staggers forward, with Byron down on the canvas and Alfonso sprawled out on the mats outside the ring. He limps towards Byron as the blueblood starts to rise...] TD: Creed, pulling Byron up by the ponytail... SR: And Byron with a DDT out of nowhere!  He was playing possum!  Where the hell is Alfonso?! We need a count here, dammit! [Byron stumbles away from Creed, looking around for the referee... and a smirk appears on his face as he sees Alfonso out on the outside.  Byron grabs Creed's injured leg... Heel pop!] TD: What is Byron doing now?  Oh no... don't say he's going to... SR: It's over.  It has got to be over. [Byron drags Creed back into the corner, before stepping out onto the ring apron and pulling up his injured leg. The crowd pops frantically.] TD: Byron... with a figure four leglock... wrapped around the ringpost!  Someone's got to get Alfonso back up to his feet... this is... this is terrible! SR: I believe what you meant to say, Dross, was, "This is great!" The wa-wa's coming home to the Soundbite, baby! [Byron leans back, pouring the pressure on as Creed flails in agony inside the ring, hammering at the canvas... Byron grits his teeth, pulling back with all his strength. On the other side of the ring, Alfonso is practically out cold... DeWinter urges her man on as Creed struggles against the hold with all his might...] TD: Byron is relentless... Creed surely can't take much more of this punishment... surely not... [Indeed, Creed is lying flat back on the canvas, not putting up any resistance against the hold.  The crowd pops in fear... and slowly, desperately, starts to get behind the young athlete...] TD: Listen to this crowd, Steve Roberts. They're getting behind this brave young man... Creed!  Creed!  Creed!  They want to see him break this hold! [Slowly, and in time with the building chant, Creed slams his gloved fist down onto the canvas... the crowd pops excitedly... and Creed sits up!  Pop!  Byron cannot believe his eyes!  Creed glares at Byron, who sits up himself, trying to untangle the hold... and Creed reaches past the turnbuckles, grabbing Byron by the hair!  Pop!] TD: Creed!  Look at this young man go! SR: Watch out!  Here comes DeWinter! [Creed flails away with his fist at the head of Byron, as DeWinter rushes across, passing Byron his brass-topped cane. The crowd pops as Byron swings it wildly....] TD: And it's caught by Creed!  And he smashes Byron in the head with it!  That, Steve Roberts, is what you call poetic justice! SR: No... TD: You live by the sword, you die by the sword!  How many times have we seen Byron's opponents on the receiving end of that?  Poetic justice! [As Steve Roberts watches speechless, Creed yanks on Byron's hair, smashing his head into the steel ring post once... twice... three times... and Byron manages to untangle himself from the hold, falling back to the arena floor, stunned... and bloodied.  Creed slumps back to the canvas, exhausted and in terrible pain, while on the other side of the ring, Alfonso stirs, and slowly, dizzily, pulls himself up to the ring apron...] SR:  No... no... no... I don't believe it... [On the outside, DeWinter rushes across to Byron, ripping off the hem of her dress and trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash on her man's forehead... Creed slowly drags himself away from the turnbuckles as Alfonso hauls himself back into the ring...] TD: What an incredible match. What a breathtaking, incredible match. SR: I... no... [Alfonso staggers across, looking down at the prone Creed bleary-eyed, and then around for Byron... he sees him lying out next to DeWinter by the ringsteps, and slowly starts to count him out - 1 - ] TD: Byron looks to be out cold, Steve... I don't know what it was, the blows against the post or the shot from his own cane, but he is out cold... [DeWinter leaves her man's side, rushing across to the announcer's desk and snatching up Sparkplug Lee's glass of water, before running back and holding it to Byron's lips. Inside the ring, Alfonso dazedly continues his count - 2 - ] SR: No... [DeWinter splashes Byron's face with the water, practically begging Byron to get up as Creed starts to stir - 3 - ] TD: Your money's gone, Steve. Byron isn't moving... SR: No! First a losing chicken, now this. No... come on, Byron! Get up! [ - 4 - ] TD: Look at Creed... he is completely exhausted... look at Byron... neither man deserves to lose, after the showing they've put on tonight! [As DeWinter holds up the glass for Byron again, Byron reaches up, and pushes her arm away!  Huge stunned pop from the crowd...] TD: I don't believe it... [ - 5 - ] SR: Come on Byron... get back in there and take this rookie! [Byron slowly starts to stagger back to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face... DeWinter tugs on his arm, trying to pull him away from the ring, a look of terror on her face... Byron pauses, staring at the blood on his hand - 6 - ] DeW: Byron... don't... please... just leave it... BYRON: No... DEW:  Byron... please.... BYRON:  NO! [ - 7 - Byron pushes the tearful DeWinter away from him, a look of rage on his face, and pushes himself to his feet... Creed looks on in disbelief, shaking his head and pulling himself up to his feet - 8 - and Byron rolls into the ring!  Huge crowd pop!] TD: What... does.. it... take? [Creed is on Byron the instant he rolls into the ring, dropping an elbowdrop across the blueblood's neck. He pulls Byron up to his feet... the Englishman staggers back against the ropes, wildly throwing a weak right hand at Creed... and Creed winds up, nailing Byron with a huge left fist!  Pop!  Byron reels... Creed winds up again... and another huge fist!  And another!  And another!  The crowd are on their feet!  Creed pushes Byron's head back, holding his gloved fist in the air, and Irish whips him into the opposite ropes!] TD: We've seen this before... Goodnight! SR: No... [Byron comes back on the rebound, and Creed catches him by the throat, spinning him around in a motion as unstoppable as the Dawn of Man... and nailing the Crimson Tide chokeslam!  Huge crowd pop!] TD: Farewell! SR: I'm never backing an Englishman again... [Creed neglects the cover, shaking his head and pulling the limp Englishman to his feet... and slowly limping backwards, dragging him towards the corner. The crowd buzzes as Creed slowly backs up the turnbuckles, pulling Byron up after him, setting him in position for his patented superbomb...] SR: No.. no.. no... TD: Creed now, positioning Byron on the top rope. This was how their first meeting ended, that crushing, devastating powerbomb from the top rope taking Byron to his first clean pinfall loss in the IIWF. [Creed braces himself, steadying his balance on the top rope...] TD: And Byron blocks it!  How? SR: What?  What?  What?! [From somewhere, Byron had the presence of mind to hook his arms around Creed in a waistlock. Creed tries again, put still can't execute the move. A look of pain passes over his face as his knee shakes... he staggers on the top... and Byron grasps his chance!] TD: Northern Lights Superplex by Byron!  Incredible! SR: He's running on instinct now, Dross, that was pure instinct! [Huge crowd pop as both men come crashing down to the canvas. Byron tries to bridge... and slumps back to the floor!  Pop!] TD: He is exhausted... Byron is too exhausted to even attempt a bridge, and I'm not surprised! [Earl Alfonso looks at the two athletes lying prone on the canvas, and starts to count them both down... 1 - 2 - ] SR: Byron!  All you have to do is cover him!  Do it! [ - 3 - the crowd pops concernedly as neither man moves - 4 - Byron starts to roll, slowly, towards Creed - 5 - Creed starts to move, rolling to his knees - 6 - ] TD: Both men are still fighting.  Everything is at stake, and they simply will not give up. [Creed pushes himself to his knees, as Byron slumps down again - 7 - 8 - Creed makes it to his feet!  Pop!  Creed looks down at Byron, and starts to pull him up by his hair...] TD: Creed now... trying to set Byron up for a powerbomb... he wants to finish this... [Creed pulls Byron up... who pulls Creed down!  Byron rolls over Creed, catching him completely by surprise with a roll into a stepover arm bar, combining it with...] TD: A crucifix armbar!  La Magisterial cradle!  Creed's shoulders are down! [Alfonso, caught out of position, rolls in to make the count... the crowd pops wildly...] TD: One! SR: He's got him! [ - 2 - ] TD: Look at DeWinter!  She's got Creed's leg pinned down from the outside! SR: Alfonso doesn't see it!  Yes! [Creed struggles... he rises his injured leg to try and kick out...] SR: Three!  He got him!  Byron wins! TD: What a travesty!  I don't believe it! [The referee dazedly gets back up, signalling to the ring announcer... the heel pop from the crowd fills the entire stadium as Byron rolls away from Creed...] RA: Here is your winner... and _still_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Huge heel pop as "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite starts up over the PA system.] TD: I simply don't believe it... I don't believe it... Creed fought so hard... SR: It's over, Dross! He is gone... the rookie is gone! [Suddenly, "Intermezzo" is abruptly cut off. The crowd pops in anticipation as assistant referee Chuck Sanders runs down to ringside, and up to Sparkplug Lee... Byron stares out at him from the ring, face now completely devoid of emotion...] SR: What... in the name of my dear departed great grandmother, what the hell is going on here, Dross?! [Earl Alfonso climbs out of the ring, and walks up to where Sanders and Lee are arguing. The heated discussion continues as the crowd buzzes quietly. In the ring, Creed and Byron, slumped against the turnbuckles in opposite corners, simply stare at each other, not daring to hope what is happening on the outside...] SR: This is crap.  Byron won it.  What the hell are those morons jawing about? TD: Sanders... he's showing Alfonso a replay... I think they're talking about DeWinter's interference. Good grief. [Byron and Creed simply continue to stare at each other ads the trio on the outside reach a decision... Alfonso climbs back into the ring as Sparkplug Lee takes the microphone again...] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the interference of the Lady DeWinter the referee has informed me that he has reversed the decision... SR: What the hell is wrong with those people?! [Huge crowd pop!  Byron's head falls in dismay, and the pop is instantly cut off as both Sanders and Alfonso run back across to Lee, cutting him off...] SR: I don't believe this... I have seen some screwjobs in the past, but this... this... TD: Quiet, Steve... [Both Sanders and Alfonso finish talking to Sparkplug, who nods his head, and raises the microphone once again...] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologise for the mistake... due to Lady DeWinter's interference, the referees have ruled that she must leave the ringside area immediately... [DeWinter practically screams out in shock and anger..] RA: ...and that this match _MUST_ continue! [The crowd raises the roof.  Sanders escorts a struggling DeWinter back down the aisle, and the bell rings again,  leaving both commentators to sit speechless in their chairs. In the ring, Byron raises his head again, slowly looking up at Creed. Byron tilts his head, Creed nods... and both men step away from their corners, and move into a grapple!  Pop!] SR: This beggars belief. TD: I'm stunned, Steve... I don't know what to say... [Creed twists Byron into a headlock... Byron slams a forearm into his back, before throwing him off into the ropes and hitting him with an elbow to the jaw on the return...] SR: What's the match time?  How long's left? TD: Fifty-one minutes gone, deduct five for that interruption... I make it fourteen minutes to go. SR: Fourteen minutes.  Fourteen minutes to go.  How the hell has this gone this long?  These two are going to kill each other in here... [Byron pulls Creed into a gutwrench position, but Creed forces him back into the corner before he can execute it. Alfonso breaks them up, and both men trade blows over the referee's head... Byron takes the advantage with a thumb to the eye...] TD: They're too evenly matched... they can't finish each other off. SR: Byron's done it once tonight already, Dross! TD: You saw DeWinter, Steve. Creed would have kicked out. [Byron pulls Creed back into the corner, attempting to smash his head into the turnbuckles. Creed blocks it with his good foot, and returns the favour... Byron staggers out, kicking out at Creed's knee as he does so.] TD: They can't go all the way... surely not... It's not possible... [Byron takes advantage of Creed's pain with another facerake, before picking up his injured knee and flipping him out of the corner with a legdrag takedown... Byron gets back to his feet, pulling Creed's leg back up for a figure four...] TD: Creed with a small package!  One... two... SR: No! TD: Three!  No... no, that was too close! [Byron kicks out at the very last second, and this time it's Creed who sticks the thumb in the eye as Byron rises... Creed backs Byron into the ropes... Irish whip... Creed lifts Byron for the spinebuster... ] TD: And Byron with a forearm to Creed's head!  And he lands on top of him in a Lou Thesz press!  The referee's in position... One... SR: Two! TD: And Creed escapes!  Unbelievable! [Byron shakes his head as Creed struggles to his feet, and pulls his legs away, rolling over him with an over-the-top cradle... 1 - 2 - Creed's shoulder lifts off the canvas. Byron rolls away, rises, and falls back, connecting with a fistdrop... he pulls Creed back to his feet... backs him into the ropes... Irish whip...] TD: Reversed by Creed!  Byron on the rebound... and there's the Crimson Tide! SR: No!  Byron caught him!  He caught Creed!  They're both out! [As Creed hoisted Byron up for the Crimson Tide chokeslam, Byron desperately whipped his trailing foot around, catching the bigger man with a sloppy but effective enzuigiri counter. Both men lie on the canvas, winded... Alfonso counts - 1 - ] SR: Nine minutes left.  Nine minutes. Come on, Byron, you can do it... [ - 2 - 3 - ] TD: What a magnificent battle. What outstanding athletes... [ - 4 - Byron's shoulder rises!  Pop!  Byron starts to roll to his knees - 5 - 6 - Byron makes it to his feet... he looks down at the unmoving form of Creed, and starts to pull him up. Creed smashes a forearm into Byron's midsection, bending Byron double. The red-gloved rookie hooks Byron around the waist, and throws him to the canvas with a gutwrench suplex. Creed backs up to the corner, and climbs to the second rope...] TD: Second rope elbowdrop... that'll do it! [Earl Alfonso slides in as Creed slowly hooks Byron's leg up: 1 - 2 - ] TD: Three! He got him! SR: No, no, no!  Byron kicked out!  It was only two! [Creed looks up in disbelief, holding up three fingers at Alfonso... Creed shakes his head, pulling Byron to his feet again, backing him into the ropes... Irish whip... Byron comes back... a kick to the stomach from Byron doubles Creed over!] TD: Byron now... setting Creed up... Reverse neckbreaker!  He nailed it! SR: Pin that man! [Byron slowly pulls the young superstar up again, pulling Creed's throat across his shoulder...] TD: Inverted neckbreaker! SR: It's all over, Dross! It's all over... [Byron rises to his feet again, brushing away the blood-matted hair, long since pulled out of the ponytail, and looks around at the frantic crowd, before raising his hand and pulling Creed to his feet a third time... facelock... Byron throws Creed's limp arm over his shoulder, practically supporting the bigger man's weight as he sets him up for the front-layout suplex...] TD: This is it. This is the set up for the Aristoclutch... Creed looks lifeless in there... [Byron braces himself... and lifts -- but he can't get Creed up!  Pop!  Byron steps backwards a few paces, before trying again...] TD: And this time Creed blocks the attempt! SR: No! [The athletes almost appear to be moving in slow motion as Byron struggles, and Creed braces his feet...] TD: Vertical suplex by Creed... no!  Byron over the back and lands on his feet!  How?  Byron charges Creed into the ropes face first, and pulls him back... into a rolling cradle! SR: Count Alfonso, dammit, count! [Alfonso slides into position, just as Creed overbalances Byron, pulling him back over into a pin of his own... Byron tries to pull Creed's shoulder's back to the canvas with his legs, but Creed leans over him, using his arms and every last ounce of his power to pin Byron's shoulder's to the mat... Alfonso counts... 1 - ] TD: Pin by Creed!  Byron's down! SR: No! TD: Creed's got both legs hooked down! [ - 2 - ] SR: DeWinter's on the ring apron! TD: Byron flexing... he's going to kick out... [ - 3! Silence.  Byron kicks out a fraction of a second too late.  Both men roll away from each other, and Alfonso staggers to his feet, signalling for the bell... and _then_ the crowd pop resounds around the arena...] RA: Here is your winner... and _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... CREEEEEEEED! [Byron falls back onto the canvas, his hands on his face.  The Lady DeWinter sprints back down the aisle towards the ring, tears streaming down her face, and Creed... Creed pulls himself into a sitting position, staring vacantly ahead... unseeing, unbelieving, face expressionless...] SR: What a crock! TD: What a match! [DeWinter rolls into the ring, and across to Byron, helping him as he vainly tries to climb to his feet... Byron looks around at the crowd, at Creed, still shaking his head in disbelief, and at Earl Alfonso, on the outside, taking the IC title from the timekeeper's table. Byron stumbles forward, pushing DeWinter's ministrations away, and rolls to the outside.] TD: Byron... what's he... oh no... this could get nasty... SR: Nasty?  Nasty?  What the hell are you talking about Dross?  Byron has just lost everything!  Seven minutes left on the clock, and he lost everything!  The title... his career here... my five grand... everything! [Byron stumbles up behind Alfonso, who turns in shock -- and Byron snatches away the IC title!  Heel pop!  Alfonso warns him, and gets right in his face, but Byron shakes his head, and still looking at the title, pushes Alfonso onto the floor!  Heel pop!] TD: He can't touch an official! SR: Why, Dross?  Why can't he touch him?  What'll they do?  Suspend him or something? TD: Good grief. [Byron slowly climbs back onto the ring apron, still clutching the IC title, and steps through the ropes. The sight of Byron with the gold seems to stir Creed, who rises to his feet, clenching his fists and stepping forward...] TD: This is about to get ugly, right here... SR: So?  I lost five grand.  Tell it to someone who cares, Dross. [Byron stops in front of Creed, squaring up to him.  Creed stares back, unflinchingly.  DeWinter tries to pull Byron away, but he shrugs her off and jabs his finger repeatedly into Creed's chest... the ring microphones start to pick up Byron's words...] BYRON: So.  You got it, Creed.  That's right, Creed.  You're not a rookie anymore. [cough]  You finally hit the big time. You finally get to take some gold back to your mother.  [Creed stares at Byron as if he'd like to floor him, but keeps his composure. Byron brushes his bloodstained hair out of his eyes, and continues.] BYRON: You finally got what you wanted, Creed. [cough] Payback.  Is that it?  Enjoy it while it lasts, Creed, because listen to me... listen to me, Creed... [cough] this may be the only time you get to enjoy the gold.  Once you get back, everyone's going to be on your back, everyone's going to be demanding their shot. [cough cough] Just like they were with me.  Just like... [Byron jabs his finger into Creed's chest again] _you_ were with me.  Ask Watkins.  He'll tell you exactly the same. [Byron pauses, and looks down at the title again.  Creed, although staying silent, relaxes slightly, watching Byron carefully...] BYRON: And in that position, Creed, there's only one thing to do. [Byron pauses again, looking around at the popping crowd.] BYRON: You go out.  You defend your title.  And you be the best damned champion you can be. [Byron pushes the title at Creed, to a huge pop.  Byron steps away, Creed watching him all the time.  Byron slowly extends a hand.  The crowd pops anxiously... and Creed accepts!  Huge crowd pop!  Byron steps away, pointing back at Creed one last time...] BYRON: I will see you again, Creed, you can count on that.  Maybe sooner than you'd think.  Ciao. [Creed watches as Byron turns, and catches DeWinter in his arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead.  He accepts her help in exiting the ring, and starts to slowly walk back down the aisle.  He pauses in front of the announcer's desk for a second, stopping to shake Tim Dross' hand as he rises, before putting his arm around DeWinter, and leaving the ringside area.] SR: Yeah.  You go, man.  You go.  You cost me a whole lot of money.  Get the hell outta here.  Loser.  And take that tramp with you.  I never did like her anyway. TD: Good grief. You are unbelievable, Steve Roberts. Truly unbelievable. [Back in the ring, Creed looks down at the gleaming IC title in his hands, and then around at the crowd... and then he springs to the turnbuckles, raising the title high in the air in his gloved left fist.] CREED: Damn right... Damn right!  It's my turn!  It's Creed's turn! [The crowd pops wildly as "Ode to Joy" starts up over the PA system, and Creed drops back into the ring, title still held high in the air. Ike Sampson and Mad Dog Watkins run down the aisle and into the ring, Sampson practically lifting Creed off his feet in a hug, while even Watkins appears to lose some of his composure, smiling briefly and slapping Creed on the back.] TD: What an incredible match, and a new Intercontinental Champion. The events we've seen tonight, Steve Roberts, truly, truly amazing... SR: Him... [pointing at Creed] That man right there... is the luckiest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life.  Who's your daddy? TD: Good grief. SR: And whatever the hell you say, Dross, no match is worth five grand. TD: I'm glad you've figured that out. SR: And what the hell is that supposed to mean? [The crowd continues to pop for the new champion as the trio exit the ring, still celebrating, and Watkins and Sampson lift Creed up onto their shoulders, before heading back down the aisle, Creed still holding the IC title high in the air as the crowd once again picks up the chant of his name... "Creed! Creed! Creed!"] TD: Incredible scenes here in the Fleet Center, folks, as these eighteen thousand fans... it sounds like every one of these people is cheering Creed's tremendous victory. Hang on... hang on, I understand there's trouble back in the locker rooms! [Cut to shaky hand-held footage in a corridor in the backstage area. Lord Byron lies flat out on the concrete floor, the imposing form of Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven standing above him. The Lady DeWinter, screaming for her man, is held at bay by Nurse Heidi, who has the winsome valet locked in a full nelson.] TD: [over the headset] What's going on?! SR: [over the headset] The Butcher's carving up the loser, that's what, Dross! I told you -- Byron's a damned loser! [The Butcher drags Byron to his feet -- and drives him down onto his knee with a Slaughterslam, allowing him to fall to the floor. An official enters the area, and is kicked to the floor by Verhoeven, who turns to Byron, and yells at him. His words are picked up by the camera, and relayed out into the arena on the video wall at the head of the aisle:] OV: So, your lordship, this is it. This is the end of the European Alliance. As partners, we had so much potential. We could have had it all, could have ruled the IIWF like undisputed kings! But you had to destroy it. You style yourself as a lord, as someone who is superior to everybody he encounters. At first, when you asked me to join you to form the Alliance, you hid your true self behind a sneaky demeanor. But in recent weeks it became more and more obvious that you treated me like just another of your henchmen, like a hired bodyguard, like a LAPDOG! [Lady DeWinter shrieks as Verhoeven slaps Byron, although the latter still seems to be unconscious as he lies sprawled on the floor.] OV: Ja, like a gottverdammte DOG! All of your bragging just made the situation worse for me. Your wealth, most of which you inherited, was always visible when we met: whether it was the Rolls Royce we sometimes travelled in, your manor where you invited us, the fur coat you gave Heidi... [he slowly shakes his head] you showed what a buffoon you are. And, of course, the Intercontinental title. You took that damned belt everywhere you went, calling yourself the greatest champion the IIWF ever had. How do you think that made me feel, eh? [He slaps him again] What did you THINK? Creed or someone else would long have taken that belt away from your waist and beat you to a bloody pulp if it had not been for me to cover your weak, little back, you spineless, snivelling fool! You think you are the greatest thing walking around in this place? You were only a secondary title champion with some fancy technical skills and the most devastating man in the world of wrestling as a bodyguard! Now, you are NOTHING! [Another official strays into the area, and the Butcher lays him out with a hard right hand before continuing his tirade, although with a softer voice.] OV: The end of the European Alliance means the end of Lord Byron. You should never have treated a proud man like this, Byron. That was your cardinal mistake. You said that our partnership was about loyalty, about equality, but I was always the goon, the strongman, the thug. Not anymore. The _real_ Butcher is back. You were the first to meet him again, but rest assured, you will not be the last victim. I hope you will always remember this humiliation, because I will always remember the weeks as the servant of the "mighty" Byron with utter disgust. THIS is the end of your career, my former friend. You will now learn the true meaning of the words WELCOME TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE! [With that, Verhoeven descends on the unconscious Byron once more and continues pounding away with huge rights and lefts, before dragging him up onto his feet and throwing him against the wall. Verhoeven grabs a nearby table and throws it on top of Byron. DeWinter screams and struggles to break free of Heidi's grip, but her captor simply throws her to the ground and begins stomping away at her!] TD: [over the headset] This is criminal! Byron's completely helpless! SR: [over the headset] Whip him, Otto! Whip him like the loser he is! [Suddenly, there is a commotion as Creed, Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson fly into the shot. Creed blasts Verhoeven with the IC title, knocking the Butcher for six. Sampson immediately begins working over the big German as Creed and Watkins drag a kicking and screaming Heidi away from DeWinter. Finally, a large contingent of officials and security staff flood the area and drag Verhoeven and Heidi away. An EMT crew arrives to assist Byron and DeWinter as the "Black Pack" leaves the area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a heinous attack by Otto Verhoeven! What a humiliating way for the man who has undoubtedly been the finest Intercontinental Champion of all time to leave the IIWF, after such a competitive, incredible match with Creed. SR: Aw, quit the moaning, Dross. TD: It's certainly been an epoch-making night here at Coronation Clash, folks, and with that Loser Leaves Town match running longer than expected, we're going to ask our affiliates for some more time, because arguably the biggest match of all is still to come. SR: Damned right, Dross. I said the IIWF would be dancing to the beat of skulls getting pumped, and my prediction has been right on the money. Steve Kowalski is just minutes away from becoming the next IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! TD: Well, it's by no means as simple as that, Steve. The Fury is going up against Requiem -- and when you go up against Requiem, you go up against the whole of that gang, that pack of dogs, Genesis. Brody Thunder fell at their hands in the "Final Four"... SR: [interrupting] But Thunder ain't no Kowalski, Dross. The Fury is the meanest, baddest hombre in the IIWF, and no bunch of mid-card cartoon freaks, even with added firebug at no extra cost, is gonna stop him reaching the pinnacle of our great sport right here tonight. TD: That remains to be seen. Right now, let's take a look at how these two men came to the final -- both have fought three gruelling matches tonight to bring them this far. [Racing, pulsing music cuts in as the shot cuts back to reduced-frame footage captioned, "Earlier Tonight." Requiem is in the ring with Luke Steele. Tim Dross' voice provides the voice over:] TD: The first opponent for Genesis in his Group D tonight was the "Real Deal" Luke Steele, who was brutally jumped by Genesis before he was even able to make it into the ring. Scott Rogers, who has since revealed his true colours, arrived too late to stop the damage being done, and it was only a matter of time before Steele met his fate. [Cut to Requiem hitting the Redemption on Luke Steele and covering him for the pinfall. Flash cut to Requiem's "Elite Eight" opponent, Ronnie Paris.] TD: Ronnie Paris had overcome the odds once already tonight, having been attacked on the Free For All by a masked man, and then going on nonetheless to defeat the Highwayman in the "Sweet Sixteen". However, Genesis were to do everything in their power to ensure that Paris didn't make the "Elite Eight" match by jumping him after his victory over the Highwayman -- thankfully, Luke Steele and Scott Rogers made the save, and Paris was able to go on to face Requiem. [Cut to Paris taking a beating in the ring from the huge Requiem.] So the match was on. Having softened Paris up earlier on, Requiem made good progress against the third-generation superstar, but was unable to put him away -- until Scott Rogers ran down when the referee was knocked out. [Cut to Scott Rogers donning a mask, and nailing Paris with a steel chair.] But Scott Rogers showed his true colours -- revealing himself to have been the masked man who attacked Paris on the Free For All, and revealing his allegiance to Genesis! With Paris knocked out, Requiem simply had to make the cover. Things looked bleak for Paris after the match as Genesis continued to beat the Texan down, but suddenly... [Cut to the Phoenix streaking down the aisle and blasting every member of Genesis with high-flying, high-impact moves.] Nightwing, returning as the Phoenix, came to the rescue of Ronnie Paris, and turned his back on Genesis -- but too late. Requiem had made the "Final Four." [Cut to Requiem and Brody Thunder standing nose to nose in the ring.] Requiem's semi-final opponent was Brody Thunder, who had defeated Serge Annis in the "Sweet Sixteen," and Tony Starks in the "Elite Eight." Thunder looked to have the match under control when Serge Annis came down to the ring, apparently looking for vengeance. When the match spilled outside the ring, Annis chokeslammed Thunder on the arena floor, allowing Requiem to take another victory. [Cut to Highwayman giving Annis a celebratory embrace as Requiem holds his arms aloft to the jeering crowd.] Serge Annis became the second man in the same night to declare his allegiance to Genesis, and Brody Thunder became the third man to fall to the nefarious tactics of Requiem and his troops. [Flash cut to Steve "the Fury" Kowalski coming down the aisle to the ring; the racy music is replaced by the powerful chords of "Don't Fear The Reaper."] The last man to be entered into the tournament, Steve Kowalski was reinstated from a two month suspension just seven days ago -- but he quickly proved that he hasn't missed a beat in his time away from the IIWF. [Cut to Kowalski hitting the Skullpump on Danny Dynamite and scoring the pinfall.] Tonight, Kowalski has Skullpumped his way through three opponents to get to the final. First to fall was Ike Sampson... [Cut to a close-up of Kowalski hitting the Skullpump on Sampson, repeated from different angles.] In the "Elite Eight," Mad Dog Watkins felt the devastating impact of the double underhook piledriver, although the match certainly took its toll on the Fury, too. [Cut to repeated shots of Watkins' bloody head being driven into the mat by an equally bloody Kowalski, his face caked in crimson.] And in a reprise of their classic confrontation at Birthday Bash, Kowalski defeated Joe Petrow in the "Final Four" to reach the final, but again at great personal cost. [Cut to the beat up, bloody and battered Kowalski's arm being raised in victory as the crowd chant, "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" Fade through to a montage shot showing Requiem and Kowalski face to face.] One ruthless man versus a ruthless pack of dogs. From thirty-two men down to two -- and soon, just one man will be left standing. But will it be the Fury, or will it be Requiem? [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: So there you have it, folks. All of the favourites who survived into the "Sweet Sixteen" have gone -- Joe Petrow, Brody Thunder, Mad Dog Watkins -- and we are left with these two men. Steve Kowalski, wrestling for only the second time since his suspension was lifted, has cleanly defeated two of those favourites, Mad Dog Watkins and Joe Petrow, to get to this final, while Requiem has taken out the other, Brody Thunder, but not without the help of the rest of Genesis. SR: And that's why I'm picking the Fury, Dross. Sooner or later, those cheap-assed tactics that have brought that freak Requiem as far as this are gonna get Genesis disqualified. And you can beat on the Fury all night long, and he'll come right back at ya and Skullpump your head straight through that canvas! Whoo-hoo, I can't wait! TD: Kowalski has undeniably had a tremendous night, but at what cost to him physically? He was opened up in his brutal "Sweet Sixteen" match against Mad Dog Watkins, and Joe Petrow exacerbated his injuries further in his "Final Four" match -- what kind of shape is he going to be in for this title clash? SR: Don't you worry about the Fury, baby. He can take a licking and keep on ticking. He can take a bleeding and keep on leading. He can take a bumping and keep on Skullpumping. He can... TD: [interrupting] Thanks, Steve, we get the message. Genesis, too, are looking increasingly irresistible. This gang has come further than most expected -- and they have succeeded on the back of two defections, those of Scott Rogers and Serge Annis, who have sold out their friends for Genesis. One wonders whether Genesis have another shocking development up their sleeves for this final. SR: I keep telling you, Dross, the Fury takes all that kind of stuff in his stride. That three hundred pound leather-clad loser could bring out the rotting corpse of Bulldog Brown and use it as a missile against Kowalski, and he wouldn't bat an eyelid. The Fury's going home with the gold, baby! Count on it! TD: Well, we'll find out, as the Coronation Clash tournament reaches its climax. Let's go up to Sparkplug Lee for the announcements in this incredible match. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## Coronation Clash Tournament Final | ## ## ## ## ## IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | ## ## #### ## ---------------------------------------------- | ## ## ## ## Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Requiem | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the centre of the ring, adjusting his bright yellow bow tie, and raises the microphone to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the second half of tonight's double main event -- and it is the final match in the Coronation Clash Tournament to crown a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion. [Big pop from the assembled crowd. The camera pans over the sections of crowd in which are seated the black-clad "Genesis Generation," bedecked in their Genesis t-shirts and berets, who sit motionless, but clearly anticipating the match to come. The camera pans further, where the beer-drinking "Furies" are leaping wildly up and down, many of them by now more than a little intoxicated, both on alcohol and excitement. Cut back to Sparkplug in the ring:] RA: Before I introduce the two combatants in this match, please welcome... the IIWF President, Daniel Spreadbury! [Modest pop as the spotlights swing to the aisle. The dinner suit clad President emerges from the entranceway, flanked by a burly uniformed security officer on either side. President Dan carries the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship folded neatly across his chest, its golden plates glinting impressively in the glare of the spotlights. President Dan makes his way down to ringside, a smile on his face, and climbs the ringsteps, entering the ring. He holds the gold belt aloft for the crowd to see. Big pop!] RA: The IIWF President will present the World title to the winner of this match at its conclusion, and will be seated at ringside! [Another pop as the President steps out of the ring, and takes up his position at ringside, near the timekeeper's table. He takes the time to hold the belt out to the crowd on the other side of the steel retaining barrier, allowing them to get a good look at the belt, and even touch it.] TD: You can feel the anticipation in this crowd, Steve Roberts. Right there, in the lap of the IIWF President, is the biggest prize in all of professional wrestling, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt. Thirty-two men began the quest for their own personal Holy Grail -- and now just two remain. SR: It may as well be one, Dross. I tell ya, the Fury's name may as well be on that belt already. [Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone to his lips once more.] RA: The following match is for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship, and it is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit. Introducing first, representing Genesis, hailing from parts unknown, and weighing in at 306lbs, here is... Requiem! [Suddenly, the arena shakes with the booming tones of Requiem's voice as it reverberates over the PA:] REQUIEM: From this day forward, until the end of time... there shall be no mercy for the damned! [Big heel pop as the lights in the arena drop, and a single blue spotlight shines down on an area in the aisle just in front of the entranceway, from which slowly seeps dry ice, creating swirling patterns in the dusky light. The intensity of the crowd's pop is renewed as the huge Requiem steps out into the aisle, playing his mournful, haunting "Music of the Unknowingly Damned" on his black electric guitar, which is so black that it seems not to even reflect light.] TD: Just look at this three hundred pound monster, Steve Roberts. Strip away those criticisms that he is misguided, that he has a warped sense of reality -- and you are nonetheless left with a very deadly opponent. This man is able to move around the ring at speeds which belie his prodigious size, and he couples that with some devastating power manouevres. If there is a weakness in his game, then it may come in the area of stamina, but no opponent has so far taken Requiem to a match of sufficient length to truly test that. SR: You seem to forget that bunch of cartoon losers he takes around with him everywhere, Dross. TD: Requiem would be a dangerous enough opponent if it wasn't for the rest of Genesis on the outside -- and with their ranks ever swelling, Requiem's gang surely tips the balance in the big man's favour. SR: Dross, if there's any man who's crazy enough to try and take out every one of this collection of cartoon rejects, it's the Fury. TD: Speaking of whom, let's go backstage to get some last-minute comments from Steve Kowalski: [Cut to a split screen: on the right, Requiem continues to play his mournful melody; on the left is shown Steve Kowalski awaiting his introduction in a backstage corridor. He addresses the camera:] SK: I can stand here an' talk trash an' piss everbody off, but ya know what, all the world knows I'm baddest man on the planet... 'nuff said. When the show's over an' the credits are rollin', I'll be standing with the belt in my arms. Ya can bank on it. In Fury we trust! [Cut back to a normal shot. Requiem hands his electric guitar to an attendant, and then makes his way down the aisle, the blue spotlight following him every step of the way. The big man, his wet cropped white hear glistening in the light, his strange white eyes staring out at the fans, wears his trademark leather jacket, complete with flaming letters on its back, reading "Angel of Destruction." He is followed down the aisle by the whole of Genesis: Highwayman, Scott Rogers, Serge Annis, and the new World Tag Team Champions, Cold Spell, Icehawk still carrying the belt over his shoulder and caressing it fondly with a smile on his face as he almost absent-mindedly follows partner Edmund Fitzgerald to ringside. Requiem climbs into the ring, and Genesis take up station on one side of the squared circle.] TD: An impressive group of individuals, Steve Roberts... and perhaps Cold Spell's victory over the Prophets of Rage earlier tonight was indicative that Genesis may be on their way to capturing the biggest title in all of professional wrestling. SR: No chance, Dross. Take a look at those guys outside the ring. Not a Kowalski-beater among them. [The lights in the arena rise once more as Requiem removes his jacket and hands it to a ringside attendant, leaving him standing in the ring in his usual wrestling attire of red boots and kneepads, along with black tights. He simply stands and faces the aisle as Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more, not even flinching when the crowd explodes into a huge pop as the opening of "Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in over the PA.] RA: [struggling to be heard over the tumult] And introducing his opponent... hailing from Newark, New Jersey, and weighing in at 268lbs, here is... the "Next Big Thing"... Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! [Kowalski steps out into the aisle, dripping wet from a quick pre-match shower. A bandage wrapped around his forehead, blotted with red, tells the tale of the cut opened in his earlier match with Mad Dog Watkins, while ... shows the damage inflicted upon him during his semi-final clash with Joe Petrow. Standing simply in his wrestling attire of green trunks, pads and boots, he puts his hands on his hips and looks around at the crowd with his intense green eyes. The fans immediately begin to chant, "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"] TD: I can't get over the reception that Steve Kowalski has been receiving from the IIWF fans since his return, Steve Roberts. Truly remarkable. SR: The Fury's a truly remarkable man, Dross. He's a straight-talking, hard-hitting, beer-drinking, tough as nails son of a bitch, and in just a few minutes, he's gonna be the Heavyweight Champion of the World! You gotta love it! TD: The scars of battle are certainly evident on this young man here tonight, Steve Roberts. Battered from pillar to post in his last two matches, and yet Kowalski has made it. In the space of seven days, he has been reinstated to active competition, and defeated four men to get to this final. I said earlier that Genesis was looking irresistible -- well, Kowalski is on a roll, too. SR: Sure, he's a little beat up, Dross, but the Fury will take a back seat to nobody. He'll take it to Requiem right from the bell in this match. [Kowalski begins to make his way down the aisle, limping from the exertions of his previous three matches. He fixes his gaze on the white eyes of Requiem as he makes his way to the ring, throws a few obscene gestures in the direction of the massed Genesis troops at ringside, hops up onto the apron, and then steps between the ropes to enter the ring. Requiem takes a step forwards, and Kowalski immediately walks right up to the big man, so that the two athletes are practically nose to nose. Kowalski, who gives up some six inches to the bulky Requiem, looks up into his opponent's face and begins talking animatedly, although the ring microphone fails to pick up his words.] TD: What a contrast between these two men, Steve Roberts. We have that giant, that monster, Requiem, who has relied on subterfuge, on betrayal, on gang warfare to get into this final. And standing face to face with him is a man who has done it all on his own, a man who has relied on his own toughness, his own unbreakable spirit, his own desire -- and a downright bad attitude -- to bring him this far. Could you imagine a more contrasting pair of opponents, Steve Roberts? SR: Sure I could. How about superfreak and... TD: [interrupting] I don't think I want to pursue that any further. [Sparkplug Lee ducks out of the ring as referee Chuck Sanders looks on at the two wrestlers with concern. He signals for the opening bell... Ding! Ding! Ding! Kowalski continues jawing at Requiem -- who suddenly lashes out with a right hand, which forces Kowalski to take a step back. Kowalski rolls with the punch, and slowly looks at Requiem again... then gets right back in his face and continues to jaw at him! Big pop! Requiem, now seething even more, lashes out with another hard right hand, which Kowalski simply takes -- and then gets back in Requiem's face a third time. Huge Fury pop!] TD: Oh my! Steve Kowalski is doing his very best to make Requiem as angry as possible here right from the get go. Any guesses as to what he's saying, Steve? SR: Well, I'd say that it's a pretty safe bet he's not talking about the weather, Dross. [Requiem fires out with another right hand -- but it is blocked by the Fury! Huge pop as the Fury begins pummelling his huge opponent with a flurry of rights and lefts of his own, forcing Requiem back into a corner. The Fury stops punching just long enough to flip the bird at Requiem at point blank range, which further infuriates Requiem, who swings out wildly with a big right hand. Kowalski ducks underneath the fist, and bobs back up, jamming a thumb in Requiem's eye! Huge pop! Kowalski then hits a jawbreaker on Requiem, grabbing Requiem around the neck and bringing his jaw crashing into his own skull. Kowalski allows the stunned Requiem to get to his feet, clutching his jaw -- and fells him with a big clothesline as he bounces off the ropes! Big pop! Kowalski puts the boots to Requiem, kicking away at the huge Angel of Destruction, stomping away at his midsection, before dropping to the mat and mounting the big man, slapping at his face, all the while shouting abuse at his opponent.] TD: The Fury is taking a big risk here, Steve Roberts. He's going all out to rile Requiem up, presumably in the hopes that his fury -- excuse the pun -- will make his offence more sloppy. And you have to know that there's a whole lot of weight behind the high-impact arsenal of the huge Requiem. SR: Kowalski's just out there doing what he does best, Dross -- fighting tooth and nail, and trash-talking his opponent. There's nobody in the world of wrestling today who can annoy his opponents quite like the Fury, baby dolls. TD: Hang on -- Scott Rogers is on the apron... [The arrogant Rogers jumps to the apron in front of Kowalski, throwing insults at the Fury, who stands and abandons his assault on Requiem for a moment, preferring to approach the ropes. Kowalski trades blows with Rogers to a big pop -- but suddenly Rogers jumps down off the apron, and as Kowalski reaches down over the ropes to grab at him, Requiem, who has got back to his feet, hits Kowalski with a huge boot to the back of the head, knocking the Fury out of the ring! Big heel pop! Kowalski lands awkwardly on the outside, and while the official warns Requiem, the massed hordes of Genesis quickly move round to the side of the ring facing the aisle and begin stomping away at the downed Fury. In the ring, Requiem does his best to keep the official occupied, while the crowd gives a huge heel pop as the onslaught continues on the floor.] TD: And this is where Genesis are so dangerous, Steve Roberts, particularly to a short-tempered man like Kowalski, who will back down from absolutely nobody. He takes his attention from Requiem just for a moment, and that's all it takes for Genesis to jump on you like a pack of dogs. SR: Come on, Fury! Get the hell out of there! [Genesis finally back off, parting like the waters of the Red Sea, as Requiem stops arguing with the official and steps through the ropes to the outside, dragging the battered Fury to his feet by his hair -- and whipping him hard into the steel ring steps! Kowalski collides with the cold, hard metal with a loud clang! Big heel pop! Sanders immediately follows Requiem out of the ring and orders him back into the ring. Requiem, however, pushes past the official and drags Kowalski to his feet once again, hoisting him up as if to bodyslam him, but holding him in the air -- and Requiem rams Kowalski into the steel ring post! Big heel pop! Requiem rams Kowalski into the post a second time... and a third... and a fourth! Finally, Sanders forces Requiem to roll Kowalski back into the ring.] TD: What power from Requiem! He held Kowalski as if he weighed nothing at all. The tide of this match has well and truly turned in the favour of the huge "Angel of Destruction" now, Steve Roberts! SR: Disqualify that man, ref! Disqualify him! Give the Fury the belt! [Requiem climbs back to the apron as Sanders also re-enters the ring. Kowalski, meanwhile, tries to pull himself to his feet, but he is met by clubbing blows to the back from Requiem which drive him back to the mat. Requiem drops a leg across Kowalski's back, then rolls him over and makes a cover, hooking the leg: 1 - 2 - Kowalski kicks out! Big pop! Requiem pulls Kowalski to his feet, and whips him into the ropes. Kowalski is sent for the ride -- and hit by a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker on the return! Big heel pop as Kowalski crashes to the mat. Requiem hauls Kowalski back up in a cross-body position, and then proceeds to hit him with a series of backbreakers, bringing him hard down onto his right knee, and then hoisting him back up again before bringing him down again. Finally, after three backbreakers, Requiem allows Kowalski to fall back to the mat, and the big man makes the cover: 1 - 2...] TD: Thr... No! Kowalski kicks out! The Fury's in trouble in there, Steve Roberts. SR: Come on, Kowalski! TD: We're once again seeing that tried and tested gameplan from Requiem, Steve -- methodically working on a body part to soften the opponent up for one of his trademark finishing manouevres. Here, Requiem is clearly isolating Fury's back, that back which has gone through hell tonight, particularly in that breathtaking match with Joe Petrow earlier on tonight. I presume that Requiem is softening Kowalski up for that Final Lament, that top rope superbomb. SR: No way, Dross. Kowalski's not going down to some cartoon freak. No way. [Requiem drags Kowalski back to his feet again, and grabs hold of his opponent's forest green trunks. With Kowalski facing away from him, he shoves him away, and then yanks him back by the tights, driving a forearm into the base of the Fury's spine as he does so. Kowalski's back arches with each blow, as he is repeatedly struck by forearm after forearm. Finally, Requiem cinches Kowalski in a waistlock -- and hits a tremendous belly-to-back suplex, dumping the Fury hard on the back of his head! Huge heel pop! Rogers and the Highwayman beat their fists on the canvas in encouragement as Requiem goes for the cover...] TD: This one could be over right here, Steve Roberts... Requiem has the cover, he's hooked the leg -- Sanders is there -- one... two... No! So close! Kowalski just gets a shoulder up. I'm absolutely at a loss for words at the endurance and grit of the Fury, Steve Roberts. Steve? Steve, are you sweating? SR: Gotta gets the Soundbite a little drink, Dross. Gotta gets me a drink. [Requiem once again drags Kowalski to his feet, the Fury lashing out with a big right hand which catches Requiem on the side of the head. The big man is momentarily staggered, but as Kowalski leans into his opponent, partly to shield himself from further blows, partly for support, Requiem brings a knee up sharply into Kowalski's lower abdomen, doubling the Fury over. The referee tries to warn Requiem, but the "Angel of Destruction" is not listening, as he goes for a DDT -- but Kowalski grabs the ropes, and Requiem hits the mat alone, Kowalski escaping his grasp! Huge Fury pop!] TD: Kowalski counters the DDT! He escapes the DDT -- and he drops an elbow on Requiem! Kowalski is absolutely fighting for his life in here, Steve Roberts. This is incredible. SR: Come on, Fury! TD: I can see that getting any sense whatsoever out of you during this match is going to be an impossible task. SR: Ionian... Corinthian... aw dammit, Dross... Come on, Fury! [Kowalski drags himself to his feet and pulls Requiem up with him, softening him up further with lefts and rights as he does so. The Fury whips his opponent into the ropes -- and floors him with a running lariat! Big pop! Kowalski stomps away at his opponent, then bends over him and once more flips him the bird at point blank range. Big Fury pop! Again, Kowalski drags Requiem to his feet, and whips him into the ropes. As Requiem rebounds towards Kowalski, the Fury attempts to hit the "Angel of Destruction" with a powerslam -- but the Fury's back gives out on him, and he topples, Requiem crashing down on top of him. The big man hooks the leg...] TD: Oh no! Kowalski's back gave out, Steve Roberts! His back gave out! Requiem has him -- One! Two! Three! SR: No! No, Dross! He got his shoulder out! The Fury got his shoulder out! [Huge pop as the referee does indeed only hold up two fingers. Immediately, Requiem stands and begins questioning the count, Highwayman leaping to the apron and joining in the dissent. Meanwhile, the Fury groggily pulls himself into one corner, and drags himself to his feet. While the argument continues, Requiem coming close to shoving the official, Kowalski begins untying the top turnbuckle pad. He seems to get the pad free -- but suddenly, from the outside, Serge Annis grabs Kowalski's legs, pulls them out from under him, and pulls hard, crotching the Fury on the ring post! Huge heel pop as Annis poses to the crowd!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Steve Kowalski is going to be singing a few octaves higher in the shower after that! What a devastating tactic by Serge Annis! [The referee finally persuades Highwayman to leave the apron, and turns his attentions back to the match. Requiem takes the opportunity to go into the corner where Kowalski is lying in pain, and grinds his boot into the Fury's face, grinding it into his wounded forehead. The official lays the count on Requiem, who refuses to break -- until the count reaches four, and Requiem quickly backs off. Sanders warns Requiem, who now drops to the mat and drags Kowalski towards the centre of the ring, tearing away at the bandage on the Fury's head.] TD: Oh no, Steve Roberts, Requiem is trying to take that bandage off the Fury's head... he's trying to open up that wound again! SR: Come on, Fury! Come on! [The official puts the count on Requiem yet again, and again Requiem continues his infraction until the very last moment, when he finally relents and raises his hands in the air. Kowalski, meanwhile, turns around -- and drives his head into Requiem's lower abdomen! Huge Fury pop!] TD: Oh, that blow was low, Steve Roberts. That was a low, low blow! SR: Come on, Fury! Come on! [Requiem winces in pain, his face contorted by the excruciating pain, and Kowalski pulls himself to his feet, yanking at the bandages on his head, pulling them off, unwrapping them, finishing the job started by his opponent. Kowalski, his wound now apparently weeping slightly under the steri-strips, wraps the ends of the bandage around each wrist, and pulls the bandage taut once or twice, nodding to the crowd.] TD: What's Kowalski doing... what's he doing? [Huge Fury pop!] SR: Oh yeah, Dross! He's choking Requiem with those bandages! He's choking him! Choke him out, Fury! [Requiem, sat in the ring near the ropes, facing the aisle, clutches at his throat, his airway closed by the bandage being pulled tightly around his neck by Kowalski, who shields his illegal tactic from the referee by bending over Requiem, standing behind him and bending over him, his head near the ropes -- his head near the ropes as Scott Rogers jumps up, grabs Kowalski by the hair... and pulls him clean out of the ring! Rogers pulls Kowalski clean out of the ring and to the outside! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh, the referee didn't see it! Chuck Sanders didn't see it, but Rogers just yanked Kowalski right out of that ring, and I think he landed on his head, Steve Roberts! He landed on his head, right on that concrete floor! SR: Unbelievable! Disqualify that man, ref! TD: Well, Kowalski was choking Requiem with a bandage, Steve. SR: I didn't see that, Dross, but I sure as hell saw Rogers pull the Fury out of the ring! Disqualify that man! [Chuck Sanders bends over Requiem, extricating the bandage from around his neck, as Scott Rogers puts the boots to Kowalski -- when suddenly, he is set upon by three men! Three men come over the restraining barriers and attack Scott Rogers!] TD: Scott Rogers has just been waylaid by the Paris brothers, Steve! Ronnie Paris, Daniel and Dave Paris -- they just came out of the crowd -- and look at this! [Scott Rogers is rammed into the crowd barriers by Ronnie Paris, who still shows the effects of his earlier beating, while his two brothers throw kicks and punches at the Highwayman and Serge Annis, who attempt to intercept their attack. Ronnie rakes Rogers' face across the top of the barrier, and then hits him with a huge uppercut which sends Rogers over the barrier and into the stands! Rogers seems to hit the ground running, and makes a break for it, with Ronnie Paris in pursuit, his brothers following behind. Highwayman holds Annis from following, telling him that they are needed at ringside. The brawl between the Paris brothers and Scott Rogers continues up into the stands as security staff home in on the disturbance.] TD: Oh, there is action all over the place right now, Steve Roberts! Ronnie Paris is running Scott Rogers plain out of this arena, and Requiem is on the outside, laying a beating on Kowalski -- Requiem now, ramming Kowalski into those steel ringsteps -- no! SR: The Fury reverses! The Fury reverses, Dross! [Requiem clatters into the steel ringsteps, the top step being dislodged by the force of the blow. Kowalski, his hand reaching to the small of his injured back, puts the boot to Requiem as he stalks around to pick up the dislodged step -- and slams it down on Requiem's head... not once... not twice... but three times! Huge, huge Fury pop! Sanders berates Kowalski, attempting to snatch the steps away from him -- but Kowalski is nailed from behind by the Highwayman! Kowalski barrels over forwards -- and hits his own head on the steel step he was carrying! Huge heel pop as Highwayman attends to Requiem, while Chuck Sanders seems to give up on trying to stop the rulebreaking and returns to the ring, where he lays the count on both men.] TD: This is bad, Steve Roberts. I think Kowalski's head wound was opened up by that landing on the steel steps. Yes, look -- he's gushing blood... this man has bled so much here tonight, he must be in need of a transfusion! [Highwayman helps Requiem to his feet, and assists him in rolling back into the ring, where he breaks the count. Highwayman yells for Requiem to simply let Kowalski be counted out, and the dazed "Angel of Destruction" does indeed sit in the ring, his chest heaving, while Sanders starts the count anew for Kowalski -- 1 - 2 - no motion on the floor from Kowalski, the members of Cold Spell watching from one corner, and Annis watching from the other, as Kowalski lies dazed amidst the ringside carnage. "Fu - ry! Fu - ry!" begins the chant, as the crowd begin to pick up in support of Kowalski - 4 - 5 - the count continues...] TD: It could be over right here, Steve Roberts. Kowalski is not moving! SR: Dammit, Dross! [Roberts throws down his headset with a thump and bolts from the broadcast table.] TD: Come back here, Steve Roberts! Where's he going?! [Roberts grabs a soda from a ringside fan and pushes past the Highwayman, ripping the lid from the soda cup and pouring the contents over Kowalski, who finally begins to stir. Chuck Sanders leaves the ring and breaks the count, ordering Roberts back to the broadcast table. Roberts flips the bird at the official. Big Soundbite pop!] TD: Good grief. Steve "Soundbite" Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. Hang on -- the Highwayman is confronting Steve Roberts! This could get ugly! [Highwayman squares up to Steve Roberts, standing some three inches taller than the leather jacketed announcer, who dismissively shakes his head and orders the Highwayman to stand aside in no uncertain terms so that he can make his way back to the broadcast table. Highwayman, however, makes no move to step out of the way, so Roberts shoves him! Big pop! The furious Highwayman takes a swing at Roberts -- which he blocks, and fires back with a right hand of his own, which staggers the wrestler more out of shock than anything else. Big Soundbite pop! This time, Roberts is successful in pushing past the Highwayman and making his way back to the broadcast table.] TD: Steve Roberts, I dare say you will have to pay a heavy fine for that little outburst. SR: As I said to that cartoon freak, "Bite me!" TD: Well, Steve Kowalski is now stirring on the outside, and Requiem is out there to bring him back into the ring... the fight is at last moving back into the squared circle... [Once back in the ring, Requiem drags the bleeding Kowalski back to his feet, and backs him into the corner. He attempts to send the Fury for the ride to the opposite corner -- but Kowalski reverses, and it is Requiem who is sent for the ride... crashing into the bare steel of the turnbuckle exposed by Kowalski earlier on! Requiem's sternum hits the bare steel hard, winding Requiem, who staggers backwards. Kowalski runs across the ring, beside Requiem, jumps to the second buckle, and then bounces off with a neckbreaker, catching Requiem's head under his arm and bringing him down hard on the back of his head! Huge Fury pop from the crowd! The Fury makes the cover -- but he is dragged out of the ring by Serge Annis, who pulls him by the feet! Big heel pop as Annis and Kowalski begin slugging it out on the outside!] TD: Kowalski had Requiem -- perhaps he would have had him for the three count, and Serge Annis interjects himself! SR: Those low-down, cheating freaks. If it weren't the Fury they were trying to screw out of the title, and if they weren't such a bunch of mid-card cartoon losers, I'd almost be impressed. TD: Praise indeed from Steve Roberts as Annis and Kowalski continue to slug it out on the outside -- oh, a rake to the forehead from Annis, and that's sure to open Kowalski up even more! Hang on -- what's this?! [The lights in the arena suddenly drop. Huge pop! A few seconds later, they rise again, and Deathbringer is standing on the floor, clutching Serge Annis by the throat!] TD: Oh my goodness! Deathbringer -- out of nowhere -- the dark destroyer, absolutely out of nowhere -- and listen to this crowd! SR: Deathbringer's got Annis up for a chokeslam -- Dross, did you hear that impact?! [Huge pop from the crowd as Deathbringer hoists Annis up and then brings him crashing down with a huge chokeslam onto the arena floor! Again, the referee rolls out of the ring as Kowalski slumps against the ring steps, fighting to regain his breath. In the ring, Requiem is beginning to stir -- but on the outside, Deathbringer drags Annis to his feet, and begins throwing him up the aisle and away from the ring, whipping him into the crowd barriers first on one side of the ring, and then on the other. Fitz attempts to assail the huge Deathbringer, but is met by a sharp kick to the midsection, followed by a piledriver, which lays him out in the aisle! Huge pop! Highwayman beats the mat in frustration, yelling at Requiem to finish the match!] TD: Unbelievable scenes here in the Fleet Center, Steve Roberts! First, we see Ronnie Paris and his brothers eliminate Scott Rogers, and now Deathbringer has dragged Annis away from ringside -- Genesis' ringside presence is down to just the Highwayman and Cold Spell! SR: About time the score was evened up a little, Dross! Kowalski is bleeding like a stuck pig over there... [Requiem rolls to the outside, and sees Kowalski slumped against the ringsteps, blood running into his eyes. He moves to the corner at the other end of that side of the ring -- and then charges at Kowalski, running full-pelt at the Fury in an effort to squash him against the ring steps -- but at the last moment, Kowalski dodges out of the way, and Requiem clatters into the steel steps, flying over them and hitting the steel crowd barriers with force! Huge Fury pop as Kowalski drags himself to his feet, wiping the blood out of his eyes.] TD: Kowalski was playing possum, Steve Roberts! He was playing possum, and Requiem just hit those steel steps at full speed! Unbelievable! [The crowd begins to pick up the chant once more: "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" Kowalski nods, and yanks at the steel ringsteps, tossing aside the top step and leaving the bottom half of the apparatus, which he drags a little futher away from the ring post. Kowalski stands on the steps, and pulls Requiem to his feet, bending him double, and underhooking one arm... "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"] TD: Oh my goodness! Kowalski is going to Skullpump Requiem onto those steel steps! SR: Yeah, Dross! Yeah! Come on, Fury! Do it! Plant the big freak in the steel! [Kowalski hooks the other arm... "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" -- and is then nailed in the back of the head by a chair wielded by the Highwayman! Huge, huge heel pop as Kowalski drops like a sack of potatoes, letting Requiem slump to the floor once more.] TD: This is bad, Steve Roberts. Chuck Sanders has completely lost control of this match -- he's back in the ring, counting both men out... SR: That English moron, what the hell does he think he's doing?! TD: The Highwayman -- he has that chair up again -- he's going to nail Kowalski again! No! [Referee Chuck Sanders leans out of the ring and grabs the chair as the Highwayman wields it above his head -- and Sanders yanks the chair away. Highwayman turns to argue with Sanders... and doesn't notice a figure climb and stand on top of the steel crowd barriers behind him!] TD: It's the Phoenix! The Phoenix is balanced on those crowd barriers! What incredible poise! The Phoenix has come out of the crowd -- and... oh my! [The Phoenix launches himself at the Highwayman, scissoring his head -- and hitting him with an inverse hurricanrana, driving his skull into the arena floor! Huge, massive pop!] TD: Incredible! A hurricanrana from the crowd barriers to the floor! Just take a look at this, Steve Roberts -- ring steps strewn amidst the bodies... the Phoenix is down, the Highwayman is down... Requiem is down... Kowalski is down... Fitz is only just stirring in the aisle after that piledriver from Deathbringer... Unbelievable. SR: Looks like all those enemies Genesis have been making are finally catching up on them, Dross. TD: It would appear so -- hang on, the Phoenix dragging Highwayman back to his feet -- and a snapmare over the crowd barriers into the crowd! [The fans scatter as the Highwayman slams into chairs on the other side of the barrier, sending a couple of rows of ringside seating flying. Nightwing leaps to the ring apron... then launches himself forwards, springs off the crowd barriers -- and hits the Highwayman with an incredible full body splash! Huge pop!] TD: Did you see that, Steve?! Did you see that?! Off the apron, onto the crowd barriers... and then into the seating! Unbelievable! SR: That kid has no regard for his health whatsoever, Dross! [Security descend on the Highwayman and Nightwing, who continue to brawl in the crowd, attempting to isolate their path of destruction, while Icehawk helps his partner back to ringside. Meanwhile, both Requiem and Steve Kowalski are starting to stir! "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" The chant picks up momentum again as Kowalski picks himself up...] TD: And we are now down to just Cold Spell at ringside. Slowly but surely, all of Requiem's allies have been taken out of the equation. Now it's just the World Tag Team Champions on the outside... I have never experienced a night like this in my life, Steve Roberts. I have never seen such carnage. [Kowalski nails Requiem in the head with a hard kick before dragging him to his feet and rolling him back into the ring under the bottom rope, and following him in himself. Kowalski is still bleeding heavily from the wound in his forehead, his hair matted and his face caked with blood, as he drags the "Angel of Destruction" to his feet and attempts a suplex -- blocked -- Kowalski tries again -- blocked again -- and now it is Requiem who tries to hoist Kowalski up -- but Kowalski manages to remain on his feet as he suplexes, and ends up behind the groggy Requiem. Big pop as Kowalski rushes Requiem into the ropes, and pulls him back with him, rolling him up and getting a good handful of tights as Sanders, looking relieved that the match has at last re-entered the ring, makes the count: 1 - 2...] TD: Three! He got him! Hang on -- no, no he didn't. Sanders is holding up just two fingers. SR: Slow count! Slow goddamned count, Dross! Unbelievable. TD: I thought for sure we had a winner right there, but Requiem just slipped that right shoulder out. [Kowalski wipes the blood out of his eyes again before choking Requiem with his boot, driving it into Requiem's windpipe. Requiem grabs desperately for the ropes -- and gets hold of the bottom rope! Requiem grabs the bottom rope! Big heel pop! Sanders calls for the break, and Kowalski does not oblige, instead using the ropes to put even more pressure on Requiem's neck. Sanders puts the count on Kowalski: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4... and Kowalski finally breaks! Sanders yells at Kowalski, but the Fury isn't listening, instead driving the heel of his boot repeatedly into Requiem's ribs, the crowd once more beginning to be worked up into a frenzy as Kowalski's blows rain down faster and faster -- kicks to the ribs, to the legs, and then a devastating blow to the side of the head! Huge pop from the crowd as Requiem's head snaps to one side!] TD: Oh my! Kicks like that could break a man's neck, Steve Roberts! Kowalski could have broken Requiem's neck right there! SR: Yeah, snap him like a twig, Fury! Snap him like a freakin' twig! [Kowalski once again drags Requiem to his feet, and whips him into the ropes -- flooring him with a big lariat! The "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" chant is almost deafening as Kowalski wearily but determinedly draws his thumb across his throat... Huge, huge Fury pop!] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts. He's signalling for the Skullpump. SR: He's finished, Dross! That oversized albino is finished! [Kowalski drags Requiem to his feet and places his head between his legs. He underhooks one arm... and... Requiem backdrops Kowalski! Requiem backdrops Kowalski clear out of the move! Huge heel pop! Both men are down on the canvas, and Sanders begins to count them down: 1 - 2...] TD: Both men down, and neither one is moving. Both men have fought three gruelling matches tonight before they even reached this final. Can you imagine how their bodies must be hurting -- every muscle screaming, every tendon, every joint and ligament positively burning with the exhaustion? SR: I'm exhausted, Dross, and I'm just watching the damned match! TD: Chuck Sanders' count has reached three, and still neither man is moving... hang on, somebody else is coming out of the crowd. It's Joe Petrow! Oh my goodness, Joe Petrow has come out of the crowd! [The Sychopath with the boombox is blaring out "Supper's Ready: Apocalypse in 9/8" as Petrow emerges from the crowd, battered, bruised -- but electrified, apparently full of energy, despite his exertions in his brutal semi-final against Kowalski. The crowd pops in confusion as Petrow walks around the outside of the ring, attracting the attention of referee Chuck Sanders, who breaks the count on the semi-conscious combatants in the ring. Petrow heads directly for the timekeeper's table, where the IIWF President is sitting, the World Heavyweight Championship belt still folded neatly in his lap. Petrow approaches President Dan -- and snatches the IIWF title away from him! President Dan stands and tries to grab the title back from Petrow, but is shoved to the floor by a jubilant Petrow, who is holding the belt aloft. Petrow begins a victory lap around the ring, whooping and hollering, waving the title above his head. The Sychopaths begin chanting, "KIWI! KIWI! KIWI!"] TD: This is truly bizarre, Steve Roberts. Joe Petrow seems to believe that he has won the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! SR: Whoa, this guy is several anchovies short of a pizza, Dross. Crazy Joe has absolutely snapped. TD: Referee Chuck Sanders has left the ring to tend to the IIWF President -- Requiem and Kowalski are actually stirring, they are actually getting to their feet... but Petrow... Petrow... SR: Petrow is entering the ring and climbing the turnbuckles, celebrating. Whatever this guy is taking, I want some, Dross. TD: Petrow seems completely oblivious to the fact that there is a match going on here. These fans are utterly confused, Steve Roberts, and so am I! [The crowd give a confused pop, apart from the Sychopaths, who continue to chant, "KIWI! KIWI!" -- their interest is split between Petrow moving to each corner in turn and "celebrating" with the title, and the exhausted trading of blows between Requiem and Kowalski, who are now on their feet, hitting out at one another with rights and lefts, both men out on their feet, looking for that knockout blow. On the floor, Sanders helps the IIWF President to his feet...] TD: This is crazy, Steve Roberts! Hang on -- Petrow and the two warring competitors in this match are on a collision course! Petrow is heading for the corner -- Requiem and Kowalski still slugging it out... Oh my, Petrow... Petrow just lashed out with that belt! Unbelievable! SR: He knocked him out, Dross! He's out cold! I can't believe it! [The crowd is popping like crazy as Joe Petrow rolls out of the ring, having taken a hard right hand and dropped the World title belt... the IIWF President motions for Chuck Sanders to get back in the ring...] TD: We have a cover, Steve Roberts! We have a cover! [The crowd is on its feet, more than eighteen thousand separate voices yelling at the top of their lungs, an absolute cacophany of noise as referee Chuck Sanders drops to the canvas and makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Oh my goodness! It is over, Steve Roberts! It is over! We have a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! [The crowd explodes into an even louder pop than before, a deafening row over which Sparkplug Lee struggles to be heard:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner of the Coronation Clash Tournament... and _NEW_ IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... SR: I can't believe it, Dross! RA: ...REQUIEM! [Huge, huge heel pop as referee Chuck Sanders raises Requiem's arm in victory as he still lies on the mat in the ring next to the unconscious form of Steve Kowalski. Requiem pulls himself to his feet and basks in the negative reaction from the crowd, his chest heaving, his face running with sweat, his body bruised.] TD: Joe Petrow nailed Steve Kowalski with that belt -- I don't know that he meant to, Steve Roberts... he just swung that gold belt, almost at random -- and it caught Kowalski right in the temple. SR: [sobbing] I can't believe it, Dross! TD: Kowalski fell like a ton of bricks... and Requiem simply had to make the cover. [Debris is now flying into the ring -- shredded and balled up signs, cups of soda, cardboard containers -- as Requiem stands, apparently emotionless, in the centre of the tumult, where he is joined by Fitz and Icehawk, still clutching their World Tag Team belts, Kowalski still lying in one corner of the ring. And Petrow stands at ringside, his back to the ring, his arms still aloft, apparently celebrating some kind of victory.] TD: Steve Roberts, I think Petrow thinks he is the new champion. I think that inside his warped, strange mind, being hit on the head by a kiwi fruit is somehow symbolic of him winning the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship -- he thinks he is the champion! SR: [sobbing] I cannot believe it, Dross! TD: And now, the Sychopaths -- grabbing Petrow, carrying him on their shoulders... carrying him away on their shoulders! [Petrow is indeed hoisted up on the shoulders of his Sychopaths, who shove security aside as they make their haphazard way towards an exit, the Sychopath with the boombox playing "Supper's Ready: As Sure As Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Feet)" at full volume as they depart. Requiem still stands motionless in the centre of the ring, not flinching as missile after missile hurled by the hostile fans bounces off his imposing form. He is flanked by Icehawk and Fitz, who congratulate him to no response... and down the aisle come the other members of Genesis...] TD: Here they come, Steve Roberts -- the rest of Requiem's army, apparently having shaken off their attackers... Here come Serge Annis, Scott Rogers, and the Highwayman... Take a look at their faces, Steve Roberts. They are elated. SR: [sobbing] I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it. [The Genesis hordes join the new champion in the ring, while Chuck Sanders retrieves the World belt and hands it to the IIWF President, who is climbing the ringsteps in readiness for the presentation of the belt to the victor. The IIWF President seems almost reluctant to enter the ring, but he does step through the ropes, and approaches the collected forces of Genesis. At last, Requiem shows some emotion -- snatching the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt away from the IIWF President and turning his back on the official, thrusting the title high into the air! The heel pop is renewed as President Dan drops his head, shaking it as he leaves the ring once more, Requiem being surrounded by his stablemates.] TD: What arrogance from Requiem, to snatch the belt away from the IIWF President. Folks, while Steve Roberts weeps openly on my left, and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski lies flat out in the ring, you can be sure that this is indeed a monumental moment -- possibly a pivotal moment -- in the history of the IIWF. There has indeed been a revolution. SR: [sobbing] I can't believe it, Dross. [As Highwayman straps the World belt around Requiem's waist, a party begins to form in the aisle. Slowly, wrestlers are emerging from the locker room and standing together in the aisle, their faces displaying emotions ranging between shock, anger, and surprise. First to emerge is Brody Thunder... then Mad Dog Watkins and the new Intercontinental Champion, Creed... Casey James comes down the aisle, his hands on his hips, almost unable to believe what he is seeing, closely followed by Tiger Claw... Chris Quigley follows, still in his wrestling attire... Otto Verhoeven steps out into the aisle and towers over most of the others assembled there... Marty Warnett steps out, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair...] TD: Take a look at this, Steve Roberts. Take a look at these men standing in the aisle -- the very top superstars here in the IIWF... any one of them could lay claim to this title, and I suspect that every one of them, as they stand there, looking at this scene in the ring, is unable to believe what he sees... Here they are, the IIWF's biggest superstars -- and they are now on the outside, looking in. SR: [sobbing] I can't believe it, Dross. TD: Who knows what the implications of this victory will be? Only time will tell -- but I am gravely concerned that we may be heading for some dark days. Genesis... Requiem... Requiem has been crowned. Requiem is the new World Heavyweight Champion. This arena is in shock. [In the ring, Serge Annis and the Highwayman hoist Requiem onto their shoulders, and parade him around the ring while Scott Rogers and Cold Spell applaud. They celebrate as if the entire eighteen thousand strong crowd were cheering them on, rather than hurling debris at them and jeering them, aghast at the turn of events.] TD: Folks, we are right out of time here tonight in the Fleet Center. On behalf of the entire IIWF, I want to thank you all for being with us for this historic night of action... Quite remarkable scenes here in the Fleet Center. For "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, and the rest of the broadcast team and crew here, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody. [Chuck Sanders helps the bloodied and exhausted Steve Kowalski from the ring as Genesis continue to parade the new World Champion around the squared circle. Cut to a close-up of the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt as worn around the waist of Requiem. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+