Match of the Millennium

Description: With Marduk in the hospital, Armor King has finally decided to answer a challenge... from the Blue Pro Belt holder, MURDERHOUSE. And where else should this challenge take place than at the very hospital that Marduk is being held, right in the lobby? MURDERHOUSE is giving up his claim to the Blue Pro Belt for the Red Champion Belt. Who will win between Armor King and MURDERHOUSE? Well the gates of hell are open, and it's time to fight in the name of the King! (Winner: Armor King)

[ARMOR KING]
This place was picked for a reason.

Craig Marduk, in the wake of his encounter with Hotaru and also someone else or another, was left in a body cast. He was recovering, still recovering. Whatever happened at that fight... the level of nerve damage was staggering. Wounds heal, broken bones recover. But this was something deeper. Marduk had nearly died. There was a strong chance that this would be Marduk's last home. Or even his grave. A dire situation for a dire man. But only one thing was certain.

This hospital was the site of the Red Champion Belt fight.

Armor King would have preferred to have throttled Marduk right here, right now. But this was a better idea, a much better idea. The challenge was made for his belt, and not from Marduk... and not from a no-name either. An interesting challenge. And Armor King accepted. The stage was set. The hospital lobby was cleared out, the audience consisting of a mix of the sick and the nurses. For his opponent, some adjustments were made; the lucha did not normally take part in garbage wrestling, but this was not a true wrestling match. This was a challenge. Thus, the stage was filled with broken and old hospital equipment; tables, gurnies, all the works. The only thing missing right now were the challengers.

And the defender arrives first.

The dark-skinned man that was Armor King was dressed in his classic black breastplate, bearing the sinister spikes of a real heel. Upon his head, naturally, was the black jaguar mask, with the single red eye. Around his waist? The Red Champion Belt. Striding out from the interior of the hospital, the wrestler keeps his fists high in the air, as the audience cheers on. Stepping his great boots upon some syringes on the ground, he kicks over a chair, resting his boot on it as it points a finger towards the glass doors of the entrance to the hospital. And there, he calls out for his opponent to come.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

[MURDERHOUSE]
Mick had barely survived his SNF fight against Neon, so much so that even now, days later, he still didn't feel like he was one hundred percent. Being slammed into those walls of light, the way his jaw was nearly kicked off of his face and his neck and joints being bent in ways they were not meant to be bent, meant that the seven foot footer was mostly in the recuperation phase. Ice baths, agonizing crosses between massage and medieval torture, and deep sleeps that were sometimes interrupted with deep aches. If Mick were playing it safe, he'd call his little challenge off, reschedule and count his wins without getting greedy.

But he was not about playing it safe, he was about putting it all on the line at any given time, and proving that no matter the circumstances that you were tough enough to stand tall throughout it all.

And it was for this reason that despite his team's advice, the MURDER Express pulled up to the Mike Haggar Center For Wellness, right here in Metro City. And the challenger stepped off the tour bus to walk through the sliding glass doors where the battle would take place.

And it seemed that, as opposed to his previous public appearances, the bigger wrestler of the two was taking things seriously this time. He was wearing proper black wrestling boots this time, the kind that laced up his shins and went up to his knees, where they were extended into a pair of hardened black kneepads(The left kneepad had various holes in the face of it, which caused it to resemble a hockey mask. Which was truly strange.). Instead of the usual cargo pants, he was wearing what looked like greyish silver wrestling tights, form fitting and allowing for ease of movement, and around the waist was a thin black band, with a similar looking hockeymask design around the front, but this time in white.

Wrapped around the man's left hand was a fingerless black glove, and around that left elbow was a black elbowpad. Dangling from his grip was the Blue Professional Belt, scarred and dinged up, evidence that the belt had been accompanying the garbage wrestler on some hellacious adventures.

Around the right arm was a black wrapping, that went from the hand up to the bicep, which was a strange design choice indeed. Perhaps that arm was in worse shape than Mick wanted to admit? There was no shirt, allowing the tanned, barrel-chested warrior to be displayed in all of his muscular glory. Although, there were a number of splotchy bruises here and there, along his ribs and shoulders, and definitely along his back.

Finally over his face was that by now trademark black leather mask, the emotionless 'face' staring out at the opponent, as those horrific freaky eyes glared daggers right at the Luchador. Immediately the giant made a beeline for the armored jaguar, ignoring any cheers, or boos, or looks of fear from the onlookers. He instead would get as close as he possibly could, not backing away but also not attacking. This was called the staredown, and Mick was really damn good at it. Only after a few long moments would he slowly raise that belt of his, letting it dangle even as he tilted his head toward the smaller, legendary grappler.

"You're wearing my belt. That ain't gonna fly with me, kittycat. You understand me, huh?"

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE has started a fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Armor King has joined the fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0       Armor King

[ARMOR KING]
Armor King was not used to larger opponents.

The stoic visage of Armor King fixes dead on as the wrestler crosses his arms in the face of the towering MURDERHOUSE. The muscled lucha meets those eyes with his own mask's eye, the glowing red eye beaming straight into Mick's own. And MURDERHOUSE claims that Armor King had -his- belt. Oh, he understood. Armor King uncrosses his arms, and angrily jabs a finger in Mick's direction. He makes it clear that he understands Mick all too well.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

Growling aloud, Armor King steps in. He was pressing the 'safe distance' between the pair. Already, the nearby operating table and gurneys were suddenly set aflame. This was turning into MURDERHOUSE's territory. And yet, the lucha takes a step closer. His eye locks hard, as Armor King's head tilts upwards to face up at Mick. The judge was in position. He was about to call for the beginning of the fight. But staring up at the towering Mick, Armor King interrupts the judge.

By spitting poison right up at Mick.

The blast of caustic mist fires from the maw of the Jaguar Mask up to the face of the wrestler. The crowd roars at the attack. A mix of boos. A mix of cheers. When two heels face off, it becomes a battle of the fans, not a battle of the righteous. Armor King was opening with the eye-searing spray, to stun, to confuse, to blind. The mist wouldn't actually harm the skin. Only those dark, dark eyes.

******

Somewhere, upstairs, Marduk blinks his eyes open in the full body cast.

"Huh?"

COMBATSYS: Armor King successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with Poison Mist.

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MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0       Armor King

[MURDERHOUSE]
"Ah, fuck!"

That didn't go to plan, and instantly the entire demeanor of the big man changes. The second that mist gets past his mask and into the eyeholes, Mick starts to retreat, turning his back and clawing at his eyes while crying out in surprise and pain. Hunched over, he looked so vulnerable, so unlike the unstoppable juggernaut he'd appeared to be before. The Sultan of Slaughter was, at the moment, decidely very human.

Unfortunately for Armor King, that didn't last very long at all, because he turned on a dime and rushed forward, eyes still burning and a bit puffier and red now, black mask covered with a green sheen. In his arms was that Blue Professional belt of his, the hard metal faceplate aimed to crash right into the side of the jaguar's face, possibly the side with that one good eye left.

"That's how you wanna play it, huh?! Alright, let's fuckin' play then!"

COMBATSYS: Armor King interrupts Light Random Weapon from MURDERHOUSE with Shadow Lariat.

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MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0       Armor King

[ARMOR KING]
It was a dirty trick.

The mist would burn like a bastard. And while it wasn't permanent, all it needed to do was work long enough. Already, Armor King was backing up, throwing his arms in the air as he growls aloud. The mixed response from the crowd comes, as the shadows of the burning hospital equipment dance on his armored form. Almost instinctively, he was already turning as Mick was charging. The entire thing was unscripted. And yet, the moment the experienced wrestler catches a glimpse of what was in Mick's hands, the wrestler's hands dance subtly.

In tandem with Mick, Armor King took HIS belt as well.

Armor King was now charging right back at MURDERHOUSE, Lucha and Garbage coming in perfect harmony. Both champions of their respective belts were charging at the other, their own belts leading the vanguard. Red vs Blue. MURDERHOUSE had size and initative. Armor King had power and experience. Bringing his arm straight out, Armor King slams his belt longways right into Mick, as Mick slams HIS belt right into Armor King's face. For a moment, a brief second, it was two powerful forces coming straight into each other. For a brief second, it wasn't clear WHO would be coming out on top, and who would be going down.

But Armor King doesn't drop.

Mask knocked sideways, Armor King powers straight through. Struggling, he keeps his head down a moment. Sweeping his hand swiftly, he straightens the head, overplaying the pure force from the joust. Recovering, he turns back towards Mick. And defiantly, holding his belt over his head, he roars aloud, asserting his dominance.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

[MURDERHOUSE]
The burning green mist in his eyes wasn't going to blind him permanently. Good to know, but that didn't really help him in this immediate sequence of events. Running down that smoothly waxed hospital floor, Mick only saw the dim figure of Armor King charging back towards him, and Mick had decided to commit to the move and throw his all into that running title shot. Unfortunately for him, he never saw that his opponent was doing the exact same thing...until it was far too late.

Belt versus mask. In both cases, the belt won.

The Blue Title was dropped and clattering across the ground and Mick was run down. The force of Armor King's ferocity was such that Mick actually flipped through the air, crashing back down into the hospital tiles as if he'd been killed. On his back with his brains trying to unscramble themselves, it seemed as if though the fight had been over as quickly as it had started. He was still as a board even as the Jaguar held that title high, and roared throughout the building to let his dominance be known. And though some of the people weren't happy with the result, they had to admit that such power and decisiveness had to at least be respected. Unfortunately for the Jaguar, Mick was not one of those people.

His fingers twitching were all the warning the Luchador would get before the seven footer suddenly sat right back up, eyes suddenly popping open even as he stared icily at the man before him. Somehow, it was as if the hit he'd just taken didn't even matter. And as the wrestler slowly started to rise to one knee, he slammed his fists across that bare chest of his while he snarled. Without speaking a single word, a challenge had just been issued to the Red Champion. What was he going to do about it?

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE Mick catches a breather.

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MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0       Armor King

[ARMOR KING]
********

Upstairs, Marduk groggily looks around in his hospital room. There wasn't any pretty nurses, no fans, not even Mama. His eyes drift around lazily. Something was wrong though. He could feel. Casually, he glances up to the television. On the screen, was a fight. Marduk loved fighting, so he wanted to watch fights while he was recovering from his fights. It kept him up to date on the big fighters.

And there, he sees MURDERHOUSE just PLOW into someone.

HAH! What the fuck is he fighting." Marduk rumbles. He knew MURDERHOUSE. He watched the SNF in Miami. He liked him, he was an asshole. But as he watches Mick stagger, dropping the belt, the camera passes around. Marduk wasn't feeling that things were as funny anymore, when he narrows his eyes. That looked a lot like the hospital lobby that he was brought into. But that couldn't be right. "That can't be right..." He murmurs to himself. Was there a fight in the hospital? "Was there a fight in the hospital...?"

And the screen cuts to Armor King, standing defiantly.

"What the hell?" Marduk states firmly. "Armor King is fighting MURDERHOUSE? But MURDERHOUSE is in the hospital lobby. And if Armor King is fightning MURDERHOUSE, then he is in the hospital lobby. But if Armor King is fighting in the hospital lobby..."

Marduk suddenly spasms in the body cast.

"AW HELL NAW. AW HELL NAW!!?!?! IS HE FUCKING DEFENDING HIS FUCKING TITLE IN THE SAME FUCKING HOSPITAL AS ME?!"

********

Armor King was.

Looking dead on at the snarling MURDERHOUSE, Armor King nods firmly. Challenge was accepted. With a deft movement, the lucha slaps that belt right back on, to the roar of the crowd. Pounding his own breastplate, Armor King begins to charge. Storming forward straight for Mick, the wrester pounds the ground with every stomp. Once Armor King closed in, the wrestler would not waste time. He would sweeping one arm low, one arm high. And there, he would attempt to lift the larger wrestler off his feet. There, he would turn him around, to bring his legs straight up and his head straight down. And should he get Mick that far? He would give a quick hop up.

And slam him right between his knees, right to the ground, in a Tombstone Piledriver.

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE fails to counter Power Throw from Armor King with GORE! GORE! GORE!.
-@- Dazing Hit! -@-

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MURDERHOUSE      1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0       Armor King

[MURDERHOUSE]
The fact that King could lift him at all was incredible. Mick was prepared to run at him at the last minute, he didn't do much more than stand back up before he was grabbed, and incredibly enough, flipped upside down. He knew what was coming up next, his hair hanging upside down, but there wasn't much he could do before his skull was spiked on the ground underneath him, and the impact went all the way down to his tailbone. Mick flopped to the ground, dazed and unable to function even as he struggled to even struggle.

[ARMOR KING]
Tombstoned.

Armor King unleashes the piledriver, as the whole hospital shakes. Swiftly releasing the man, Armor King backs away from the titanic wrestler. The one eye glows brighter and brighter, as crowd bellows. The lucha holds up one finger, telling the crowd to wait a second. Armor King swiftly hops up on top of one of the lobby chairs. Putting one foot on the headrest, he throws his arms in the air shaking his fists, roaring out again.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

And almost immediately, he bounds off, leaping through the air, straight for MURDERHOUSE. To unleash an overwhelming double-legged dropkick, right into the man, to send him SMASHING into one of the burning gurneys in the middle of the ring.

*****

"OH FUCK YOU ARMOR KING! FUCK YOU MURDERHOUSE! YOU GOD DAMN... FUCKING... CUCKS!" Marduk screams at the top of his lungs, shaking back and forth in his hospital bed. "YOU CUCKED ME MURDERHOUSE! YOU CUCKED ME FROM MY ARMOR KING! YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING CUCKING BASTARD!" And with a shake, Marduk finally rips himself free from his hospital bed.

And his catheter.

"... MAMA..."

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE blocks Armor King's Satellite Drop Kick.

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MURDERHOUSE      1/-----==/=======|====---\-------\0       Armor King

[MURDERHOUSE]
When King leapt up to the chair, Mick was finally starting to shake himself awake, finally starting to feel more than a slight tingling in his fingers and toes. He slowly managed to roll over, making his way to his hands and knees while his hair hung down, obscuring his mask and the look in his eyes. It was good, too, because it meant that he could see the armor-clad jaguar-masked missile heading toward him feet-first, and it meant that, at the last minute, he could move to the side with his arms covering his chest, the impact rough on his arms that had already taken so much abuse the fight before. But even as he winced he was rolling with the impact and the momentum of Armor King's trajectory, rolling along the ground and finally pushing himself up to his feet. The masked red champion would still be getting to his feet, Mick made sure to be right there in the moment, grabbing at the man's armored waist, and attempting to hoist him up upside down. He dropped down just like King had done prior, but he went down to only one knee. That's because his other knee, that hockeymask-resembling kneepad, was aimed right for the back of the champion's neck, right for the bit where he wouldn't be so armored. With any luck whatsoever, this would be a turn in the battle for him.

COMBATSYS: Armor King endures MURDERHOUSE's Rebound Throw.

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MURDERHOUSE      1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0       Armor King

[ARMOR KING]
Full force coming in.

Armor King smashes those boots hard into Mick's guard, the drop kick coming with staggering force. But staggering was not the same as finishing. As the massive lucha comes crashing down to the floor, his opponent was already recovering from the dazing assault. Armor King was cornered, and found the hands going to his waist. He couldn't break out. So he goes with it. Swept up, Armor King is heaved upside down. The crowd cheers and boos as the champion goes down. The entire body of Armor King spasms as it hits the chink in the armor, right at the base of the neck. Armor King rolls his head, unleashing a howl of pain.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

But as the impact comes, the man isn't stunned. No, in these close quarters, the meaty legs of the lucha makes a precise, forceful lash. He whips his leg HARD right back at MURDERHOUSE. To slam that foot -hard- into MURDERHOUSE own chest and neck.

To break free from the grapple.

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE endures Armor King's Medium Kick.

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MURDERHOUSE      1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0       Armor King

[MURDERHOUSE]
The crowd, it seemed, was divided. Mick, however, wasn't divided, he was frustrated and hoping to do some sort of damage to the smaller, more experienced competitor. Clearly the giant Irishman wasn't an amateur wrestler, as his idea of "grappling" involved lifting you up in a move approximating a wrestling maneuver, and dumping you on your head. And thus far, he hadn't even gotten the chance to really try anything else, so overwhelming was the metal-suited grappler.

Case in point, before Mick even got the chance to stand back up, a heel was smashing into the hard leather nose of his mask, staggering the wrestler and causing blood to clearly spray down from the nose-opening below. His head rocked back a little, but if Armor King was hoping for a reprieve, he wasn't gonna get one. Instead, Mick would grab at the smaller man again, to try and stand the both of them up. Left hand grabbing that mask by one of the ears in an attempt to keep the man doubled over, Mick would soften Mr. Jaguar up by raining down elbow after forearm after elbow, raining that taped up right arm down across the back of the head and the neck. Each one was vicious, each one was rough, each one thrown out with absolutely zero regard for the health of his opponent. And incredibly, -these- hits were only to soften Armor King up. Because soon after, assuming this worked, King would be scooped up sideways, across the shoulders of the giant.

The bad news about this hospital, was that the hallway ceilings just weren't large enough to allow the kind of massive vertical leaps that some fighters were known for. Mick solved this by leaping up, smashing both Armor King and himself through lighting fixtures and drywall, in fact, if this worked they'd end up the floor above them, before smashing back down and causing even more destruction.

Underneath, one of the thicker wooden tables was still set on fire, still blazing dangerously and super-heating the barbwire that had been wrapped tightly around it. If this was what broke their falls, Armor King might just learn why "MURDERHOUSE" Mick carried the reputation he did, in his very brief fight career so far...

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE knocks away Armor King with Hellfire Hammer.
- Power hit! -

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MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-------|=======\===----\1       Armor King

[ARMOR KING]
It was a noble effort.

Armor King was hoping for reprieve. What he got instead was a barrage. Struggling in the grips of his opponent, the brute was setting him up... and then slamming him. Again and again. Blow after blow comes, with Armor King trapped in the clutches of the brutal fighter. Grunting from each blow, the lucha is finally forced to unleash a cry of pain, the assault finally overwhelming him. It was only to soften him up. But right before he is swept overhead? He roars out in agony.

"*Jaguar Noises*"

There is a sudden flash of sparks as Armor King is ripped through the overhead light fixtures. Blue lightning rushes over the lucha, revealing the skeleton underneath the costume for a brief moment. Ripped through the ceiling, they pass briefly before Marduk's room, before slamming right through the floor to the arena below. Armor King is helpless, helpless in the grasp of MURDERHOUSE's ultimate technique.

And there, Armor King is smashes right through the burning table.


The only thankful moment comes when Armor King is rebounded free from the grips of MURDEREHOUSE. Entangled in barbed wire and burnt splinters, the lucha comes to a roll away from the point of impact, at the edge of the crowd. The man growls in pain, rolling around uselessly. He tries to rise up once. And then twice. The force of effort comes with a surge on the third attempt, buying MURDERHOUSE more and more time. He was knocked away. He had to close the distance.

He had to close this match.

As Armor King surges up, he surges forward, blazing it at crack neck speed. He had ways to go, and MURDERHOUSE had his warning. But Armor King was going to make up for the lack of initative with pure force. Once he closes on MURDERHOUSE, he was gonna answer the man with a dazing open-hand blow to the face, right for the center of the mask. Should he get the opening, he would slip around, attempting to bring his arm around MURDERHOUSE's neck. It looked just like he was going for the Cobra Clutch...

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE interrupts Three Count Pound from Armor King with Enter Sandman.
~ Cruel hit! ~

[                      \\\\\\\\  <
Armor King       0/-------/---====|

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE can no longer fight.

[                      \\\\\\\\  <
Armor King       0/-------/---====|

[MURDERHOUSE]
The good news, was that Mick didn't take the brunt that Armor King did, through the ceiling, through the second story floor and through that most hellacious of tables. The bad news, was he still shared much of that impact. The voltage coursing through his body, the drywall and glass breaking against his flesh, the final horrible impact that drives Mick into the metal-clad form of his opponent. If Mick had been soft, if he'd been weak, he would complain about a man wearing a suit of armor to a wrestling match, but to the Harbinger of Hatred, such things did not matter.

What did matter, was rolling away from the site of impact, on the ground just like the Jaguar and his body pouring sweat. His black hair clung to the sides of his face and was matted to the back of his neck and his shoulders. That black mask was an interesting mix of colors at the moment, the upper half around the eyes covered in green splatter, whereas from the mouth downward, splotches of red blood were visible. There was a bit of barbwire sticking to his right shoulder, caught on the armwrap that started to pull it apart, but just a little bit before it was grabbed and ripped away. Everyone around was now losing their collective minds, the sheer violence and brutality stunning the onlookers out of the good vs evil mindset. This was violent. This was brutal. This was where "MURDERHOUSE" Mick thrived the most.

When Armor King charged down that hallway, Mick actually had his back turned, clinging to one of the walls and bent slightly over one of the metal trashcans set out for them. One of the ones filled with weapons, actually. And when King got close enough, Mick whirled around, both of his arms stretched overhead! This meant that the palm strike hit true, and now even more blood sprayed out from the nose of that mask, flowing down across the chest of the giant. His head knocked back and he staggered backward a step, but those arms still came down. Those hands were holding a rather thick, poorly 'cut' kendo stick, the especially reinforced bamboo sword coming down and smashing across the forehead and "snout" of the smaller masked wrestler. Mick staggered backward, back hitting the wall, eyes rolling around in his head from pain and shock. But he still came forward, bringing that practice "weapon" down again and again, aiming that singapore cane for the side of Armor King's face(where his one good eye lay), for the crown of the skull, just not stopping. Half of the swings were so wild that they didn't even connect, but the ones that did were just -cruel-, and would continue until the wooden "blade" of that "sword" snapped clean in half from the impact, the ends of it had been frayed and ruined from the abuse anyway. Poor Mick, he was rocked so hard from that palm strike, that he didn't even notice, instead half-stepping forward and going for one more wild swing with that now useless weapon. But unfortunately for him...

[ARMOR KING]
... Armor King wasn't just doing the Cobra Clutch.

As the initial grips doesn't come, the feisty and tenacious MURDERHOUSE was bursting back, exploding out with a kendo stick out of nowhere, SHOCKING SWERVE. Armor King's neck grinding clutch wasn't going to go anywhere now. But the offensive wasn't stopping. Armor King was still leaning hard, still struggling into the man as blow after blow comes into the mask's face. The mask actually begins to get bangled, before the kendo stick finally gives up. As the weapon breaks, Armor King just -snarls- as he hurls himself in, grabbing. Scooping up the larger wrestler, he leverages his entire body as he twists around.

And with that, he slams Mick face down.

Armor King doesn't waste time, and aims to finish this. Rattled, bloodied, and bruised, the masked lucha was still in it to win it. Sitting on Mick's back, he hurls out three punches right to the back of the larger wrestler's head, before aiming for the pin. Wrapping his arm and leg around MURDERHOUSE, Armor King tries to keep in place... as the judge figures out what is going on. Reaching the side, he taps the ground, beginning the count.

"1..."

"... 2..."

[MURDERHOUSE]
Mick was hoisted up like dead weight, and thrown bodily to the hospital floor, his masked face bouncing off of the hard tiles as he lay splayed out. He didn't resist or even show much reaction toward the punches to his skull, aside from the force of impact smashing his face into that ground even more. By the time he was tied up and twisted to his his back, his shoulders were flat on the ground and his instinct to kick out did not kick in. This match was over.

[ARMOR KING]
".... 3! It's Over!"

Armor King slaps the ground, and rolls off Mick. Rising up high, he raises his fists in the air, as the crowd goes wild. The lucha strides through the debris, circling around the ring. The mask was caved in, distorted. But Armor King was looking for something. He was kicking over the gurneys, the tables, the debris. It was hard to move, the man was bleeding. But he had to find it. Suddenly, his neck jerks.

And he found it.

Dipping low, he picks up the Blue Pro Belt. MURDERHOUSE'S Belt. Holding it high over his head, he turns to the camera. Throwing back his head, his muscled arms strain as he pulls at the belt. And with overwhelming force, he -rips- apart the Blue Pro Belt, to the mixed response from crowd. Holding both broken pieces in his hands, he strides back over to Mick, and shoves him over with his foot, facing him up. Sticking each half of the belt in each of the wrestler's hands, Armor King then takes each of his hands, and plants them firmly across his own chest. Rest in piece, MURDERHOUSE. Armor King turns back to the camera, thrusting a finger to the people watching. And then, he lays down his ultimatium.

"*JAGUAR NOISES*"

*******

Upstairs, Marduk whimpers pathetically as he lays on the ground. The only thing he could see... was the TV screen. He was in indescribable pain. And yet, he heard those fighters come up. He saw it on the screens. He was SO CLOSE to beating Armor King's ass. Physical close. And yet, so far. The helpless brawler vows, as he twitches his arm, as Armor King points at HIM. "GOD DAMMIT YOU TWO!"

"I'm gonna BITCH YOUR ASSES once I am out of this HOSPITAL!"

Log created on 21:33:45 07/23/2016 by Armor King, and last modified on 17:57:13 07/24/2016.