Description: Promoting the Brute Force Wrestling League, Vernon Cross AKA Vyle tours across the US. Not only looking to show off the best the BFW has to offer, but Vyle extends an open invite: Whoever comes forward to face Vyle, has a chance to get a contract to become a member of the league. Lone Wolf Sven Maesters, having gotten wind of this 'tour,' take him up on the offer, and bring into the ring the true battle: The Serpent versus the Wolf.
The CWA is still top dog in the US when it comes to wrestling. And while upstart organizations are trying to take on the king, some places are content with their own niches. As such, there are always places across the country running minor shows, with those hoping to break through into the big leagues, or otherwise just get exposure doing their damnedest to make their mark. And occasionally, you get someone with an eye for talent coming in to scout and try to pick from the litter.
However, some of them take a more proactive approach to it....
"o/` LAAAAAAA LAAAAAA LAAAAAAA (We will never diiiieee) LAAAAAA LAAAAAA LAAAA (My Own LIttle World!) o/` As the lights turn off in the regional arena and start swiveling through green and purple, people take notice, not recognizing the theme or the lighting motif. It takes some time for the song to go before through the curtain, a mohawk of purple and green bursts through, the crowd booing before The Sickness himself, Vyle, charges down the entrance aisle. Smirking like the asshole he is, arms wide, he turns to each side, giving all corners of the crowd a look at his smug mug before running down the ring.
Dressed in a black sleeveless shirt bearing the Brute Force Wrestling logo, as well as his signature purple and green tights, the infamous gringo rudo slides into the ring, snatching a mic from the nearby announce table at ringside without even a 'please'. "Tonight, you lowlifes get a special treat. Because yours truly, the man behind the next big thing in wrestling, Brute Force Wrestling, has decided to grace your little backwoods corner of filth with a promise. A promise that the next asshole who comes through that curtain is going to get a taste of what it really means to get their big break. And by 'big break', I mean when I break their freakin' neck and ruin their big dreams of ever hoping to make it in an exclusive club like BFW. And as for all of you? You better just jump aboard the winning train...and GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS."
Tossing his mic away haphazardly, the mohawked jerk smirked and hopped atop a turnbuckle, sitting and waiting....of course, he wasn't just here to self-aggrandize...he wanted some fresh meat to analyze....
Fresh meat had arrived.
Shortly after Vyle throws away the mic, the crowd churns and boos. But soon, the lights die down. A spotlight fixes on Vyle, while another latches right at the curtains. Over the speakers, the drone of swedish death metal fills the air.
"./' Odin! Guide our ships, our axes, spears, and swords! ./'"
Bursting from behind the curtains, a topless man in cargo shorts thunders down. Boots stomping, he was clad in a wolf-pelt, and a wolfman mask. As in, not a true wolf mask, but a from the old MGM movies. Twisted up in a snarl, the tall Swede rumbles in. As he reaches the ring, he is handed a microphone. Rolling under the ropes into the ring, he points a finger, as he speaks into the mic.
"I am Sven Maesters, of the Sweden Wrestling Federation, and former member of the Ragnorok." The sweded speaks with a gruff gutteral, though his accent twangs in his speech. Circling Vyle slightly, he continues to point at him. "I is accepting your challenge, Vyle. But let me warn you. You might think you are the big snake of the BFW, but all you are to me, is a little lamb. Now let me ask you this, Vyle." He hurls the mic away, before bellowing aloud, falling into his broad wrestling stance.
"Are you ready to face the Warwolf?!"
COMBATSYS: Sven has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: Vyle has joined the fight here.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Sven
Well...this isn't what Vyle quite expected.
This guy isn't who was scheduled to come out (as far as Vyle's interruption had any actual 'schedule'). He was expecting a local, not...wait....Ragnarok. That name sounds familiar. Not familiar enough to jog any memories immediately, mind, but he swears he's heard that name in the European wrestling circles before. Intriguing....not that Vyle shows that quite yet. After all, he can't let his character falter right now...at least, not in a way that shows anything behind his 'mask'.
Rolling his neck, Vyle scowls and hops down from the turnbuckle, letting the interloper circle him, narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm a little lamb? You're the one calling himself Woolworth or something. And as far as I'm concerned, Fuzzy, until you show your fangs, you ain't got nothing but bark." He doesn't have the mic at this point, but he's loud enough to project to much of the arena anyway...and the attempted poke to Sven's forehead to shove him away speaks volumes anyway.
"That is the Warwolf!"
Puffing his chest up, Sven steps up as Vyle moves in. As Sven is poked, he stumbles backwards, hamming up the fingerpoke of doom. While Sven was bigger than the wile lucha, he was the big boss in here. Sven was used to being a nobody. And nobodies... nobodies had a job to do. Regaining his balance, the swede pumps his fist in his hand, stomping down. "You want to feel the fangs of Ragnarok?"
"Then let the blood moon rise!"
Sven Maesters turns away. Running towards the center of the ropes, he hops up on the top rope with both legs. Pumping down hard, he turns as he launches off, firing through the air into a reverse crossbody, attempting to slam his body straight into Vyle's own, to bring both of them down. An aerial technique, not too unfamiliar for a lucha like Vyle.
But Sven isn't lucha.
COMBATSYS: Vyle dodges Sven's Fierce Punch.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Sven
The timekeeper rings the bell as Sven hits the rope, making this into an official match. Nevermind that neither are part of this federation, or that it was an unsanctioned match. When people need to Slam? LET THEM SLAM.
Vyle doesn't care if it's sanctioned or not though. THis little pup is stepping up? Let him step up. When the Warwolf springs off the ropes in a twisting cross body, the Sickness doesn't waste time in sliding underneath it, letting Sven fly over head before popping up and hitting the ropes himself.
Bouncing off the ropes, he lunges toward the Warwolf, leaping in and trying to wrap his legs around Sven's head in a crisp headscissor takedown.
COMBATSYS: Sven blocks Vyle's Quick Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Sven
Sven was fast, for his size.
But Vyle was also fast for his size. As the Sven slams down on the mat, he grunts. The little snake was fast. As he staggers back up, Vyle was roaring in towards him. The smaller wrestler catches Sven by the head, the momentum coming to bring him down. Sven Maesters brings his arms up, grabbing the man. Holding Vyle up, the swede refuses to fall to the takedown. Staggering backwards, he smashes his own back into the turnbuckle, grunting in pain.
But Sven wasn't down.
Sven pats Vyle once, telegraphing what was coming up next. Pushing off the turnbuckle, Sven staggers forward towards the center of the ring, struggling to lift the Vyle off of his face by his hips. Should he manage to pull the spry lucha off, he will heave back a moment, before letting himself drop. Sven would try to turn it around with a powerbomb, attempting to slam Vyle down to the mat, backfirst.
Unless the slippery snake had something up his sleeve...
COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Sven's Power Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Sven
Speed IS a key component to Lucha Libre, and much as he had experience in the American circuit, Vyle was very much steeped in the Lucha style (or if you want to be more broad about it, Junior Heavyweight style). So it's not unexpected that rather than go toe to toe, he's trying to use techniques steeped more in using bodily momentum and centrifugal force rather than sheer lifting power.
That doesn't mean he's not unfamilair with power moves though. When Sven stalls his headscissors takedown, and lifts him up, Vyle is forced to push off Sven's head, overshooting over the Warwolf when he's pushed upward. The landing is awkward as he lands on his hands and knees, but it's preferable to being slammed forcibly on his back and neck. "Hurf...."
Scrambling off the mat, he jumps onto the ropes himself, springing off the top and flying back toward Sven. And again, rather than muscle him down forcefully, he instead tries to loop his arm around Sven's neck and swing past him with an attempted Sleeper SLam.
COMBATSYS: Sven dodges Vyle's Strong Throw.
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Vyle 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Sven
Back in the Ragnorok days, Sven WAS the fast one.
Sven was used to wrestling around opponents with power moves, and as he attempts to unleash one, he was hoping to slam down the agile wrestler. As he struggles to bring down Vyle, the snake rips slither free his grips. "Harumph!" He grunts, staggering back. He hadn't gone for the drop yet, and as Vyle swiftly recovers, the crowd begins to hoot and holler. Not against Sven.
But not for him yet, either.
As the swede steadies his footing, already the serpent was striking. Vyle was on the ropes, diving down on the Warwolf. The swede takes a harsh side step, bringing both of his muscular arms around to shove aside the diving lucha. Rather than a clumsy stumble, he runs away from the smaller wrestler, hitting the ropes. "You is fast for this battle, you snake!" He growls, his thick accent rumbling through the ring.
"But this is war!"
The wrestler charges back in, attempting to hook his arm into Vyle as he rises with a clothesline. Should he land the clothesline, the wrestler will then scoop him right up, stopping dead as he spins Vyle around, back facing the ground. And there, he would fall to one knee, and gripping the man with both hands, smash him across his knee into a nasty backbreaker.
If he could catch him, of course.
COMBATSYS: Vyle counters World Wolf III from Sven with Antidote.
- Power hit! -
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Vyle 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Sven
Stumbling to remain on his feet as he's shoved away from his Sleeper Slam attempt, The Sickness looks quite unsteady as the Warwolf hits the ropes. IT's one of those prime moments that seems ripe for a game-definiing strike. And when Warwolf charges in with an attempted clothesline, Vyle....
...ducks, his own arm hooking over Sven's chest while the meatier arm flings over his shoulder. "War is hell. So why don't you go ahead of me and tell me how it is, hrm?" he asks, before gripping around Sven's thigh and lifting him up. Sure, Vyle is mostly lucha...but that doesn't mean he doesn't lift. It's not pure power, mind, just enough to lift Sven off his feet. By that time, he's already dropping down to sit out as well, using his grip to both direct Warwolf's chin toward his shoulder, and turning him into a similar sitting postion, just directed straight onto his tailbone.
And when both of them finally land in an impact that reverberates the ring, the tandem jawbreaker/spine drop hits, the rudo shoving Sven away before extending his arms out toward the crowd. "WHO WANTS A NEUTERED PUPPY?!" he shouts, eliciting a not-insignificant amount of boos as he starts to stand.
Sven just goes wide-eyed from behind the mask.
As his arms goes over the wrestler, he suddenly finds himself lifted and swung. Now in the coils of the viper, he just finds himself... dropped. He doesn't even have time to register what kind of drop it is, until he feels the shoulder smash into his chin... and the mat smashes into his tailbone. The swede moans in pain, stunned by the counter as he slumps to the side. Crawling on the ground briefly, his hands tighten into fists.
And Sven gets up MUCH too fast for a mere pup.
"GRAAAGH!!!" Comes the roar as he surges back up. Turning towards the showboating wrestler, the Warwolf winds back a boot. "Youse gots it!" The swede roars, as he swings the boot right at the rudo.
And right between his legs.
COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Sven's Light Kick.
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Vyle 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Sven
Ok...he didn't expect the wolf to get up quite so fast from the Antidote. That's something Vyle tucks away in his head about Sven: He's tough. Still, when the kick comes, Vyle see's what the plan is....
And catches the boot before it can get too far. It still means his hands sting as he holds onto the leg at the ankle before the toe can impact The Sickness' most volatile spots. "Nghh....oh....that's how you want to play?" he asks, grunting and glowering at Warwolf....before a sharp scoff. "Let me show you how it's done."
And then he drops to his knee, releasing Sven's leg before trying to essentially uppercut him straight in the tenders.
COMBATSYS: Sven interrupts Fierce Punch from Vyle with Wolfensteiner.
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Vyle 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Sven
That is how he wanted to play.
Sven Maesters had a hot temper. If he didn't, then he might still be part of the SWA, instead of showing up at road shows like this. As the boot is caught, though, he just snarls under the mask, growling like a beast. As Vyle drops to one knee, the swede himself grabs at the clasp of his wolf-pelt cloak.
"Let ME show you how its done!"
As Sven hurls the cloak out of the ring, the uppercut fires. The blow hits cleanly and painfully, as Sven takes to the air, front flipping from the sheer impact of the blow. And like that, from a standstill, he wraps his thighs around Vyle's neck, clenching hard. Reversing his momentum, Sven Maesters then slams Vyle headfirst to the ground with his legs, smashing him hard. The swede then carries with the momentum, rolling once with his prey his in grasps, before launching him away with his legs. Sven flexes his arms, raising them in the air as he bellows.
"THE NIGHT OF THE WARWOLF BEGINS!"
The big low blow comes and seems to hit its mark, eliciting a shower of jeers, just as Vyle had hoped....
What he hadn't accounted on was being attacted straight out of the low blow. But that's what happens, Warwolf wrapping his legs around the rudo's neck and managing to pull him over from his kneeling position into a vicious Frankensteiner, head smashing into the ground. "NGHhgnn!!!" comes the groan of pain as he hits the mat hard enough to rattle the ring, before he's flung away with another roll and throw of the Swede's neck.
Rolling away, Vyle pushes himself up, until he's on all fours, hands and feet on the ground in a low stance almost like a spider rather than a snake. He glowers from his feral position, eyes narrowed. Then a smirk comes to his face, despite the welt on his exposed head that just glows all the more as time goes on.
Skittering forward, he does his best to look confusing, making the masked man guess which way he'll go....until he pops up, trying to get right into Sven's face and give him a faceful of poison mist.
COMBATSYS: Sven blocks Vyle's Venom Breath.
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Vyle 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Sven
The crowd was beginning to feel Sven now.
As the Wolfensteiner is unleashed, hoots and clapping comes from the crowd. Rising back up, Sven was already on the prowl for Vyle. Rushing down the rudo, the swede would normally be unnerved by the scuttling wrestler. Hell, between the pain in his groin, his butt, and his jaw, he should be limping. But with the cloak off, the Night of the Warwolf had begun.
And now, the Warwolf had to bring the pain.
As Vyle spews out the poison mist, the Warwolf howls. "ARROOOOO!!!!" Comes as he just breaks out in a loud snarl. As Vyle spews the poison in his face, the caustic vapors burn his eyes and lips. Immediately, he swipes his hand around, clawing the air as he disperses the mist. What may stand out to Vyle, and may end up changing Sven's fate forever, is the simple fact of the matter that the lucha had spit poison right in Sven eyes.
And Sven wasn't slowing down.
"AROOOO!" Comes the howl again as Sven just reasons out with both hands now, the mist not even stopping him. Staring out from the mask, his puffy eyes were swelling. But Sven was not backing down. Should he get a grip on the rudo, Sven Maesters would put the rudo in a front-facing chokehold. The swede would just grab Vyle by his neck, and lift him off the ground. And there, he would just SQUEEZE, turning to show the audience what he was doing.
Before just dropping him to the ground.
COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Sven's Choke Hold.
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Vyle 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Sven
Usually, when someone gets a face full of the Venom Breath, or even is forced to cover up from it, they tend to back up a bit and give Vyle some breathing room to try something truly sneaky. But this guy? He just blew right through it without care and just surged toward the rudo. "Oh hell..." he mutters, backing up instead. When he gets lifted up off the ground, he's forced to bring his hands in and force them in the way of those cinching arms, preventing Warwolf from putting on a full choke. It hurts, but it keeps him from losing any air or blood just yet. It's a few seconds that he can use as he tries to wriggle free.
Finally, he squirms free, and in the process, he twists his body around, trying to latch onto one of those arms and pull. The idea? Wrench it hard enough that'll hurt just to use it for the forseeable future with a hanging armbar.
COMBATSYS: Sven endures Vyle's Improvised Throw.
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Vyle 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Sven
Sven wasn't slowing down.
As he grips Vyle tightly in his hands, he doesn't manage to get a perfect grip on his neck. No matter. Veins bulge in his arms as he just keeps squeezing, before dropping him... or does he squirm away? The timing was tight, as the man crawls on his arm. Vyle wrenches it hard, pulling a tendon in the process.
Sven doesn't even recognize the pain.
Berserker blood flowing through him, Sven just snarls. "GRRAAGH!" Comes the roar as he attempts to seize the agile rudo with his other hand. Should the swede get the grips on him, he will bring his own arm between the lucha's legs, and spin him up around until his back is facing the ground. And there, he will simply drop down, smashing his back-first to the ground, clinging to one leg to guide him. Whether he finishes the technique or not, will end in the same way: Him completely releasing Vyle, and grabbing his previously wrenched arm in agony.
The Night of the Warwolf had ended.
COMBATSYS: Sven successfully hits Vyle with Jaeger Bomber.
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Vyle 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Sven
There's always a rather dangerous possibility when you try to hang off some man's arm, hoping to tear something. And that's the possibility that they're strong enough to handle a grown man's weight pulling on their arm long enough to lift you up, and slam you down. It's always a rare possibility, because the act of lifting can hyperextend your arm even further. But it's always a possibility...and it's one that Vyle ends up facing as he finds himself wrenching back on Warwolf's arm, only to get lifted up.
Eyes go wide, showing the crowd just how dire the situation is. And as he tries to release the arm and push off, he's cut off by the sudden downward thrust from Sven that sends the mohawked luchador down to the mat. A groan of pain escapes the rudo, rolling back and feeling his spine burn in protest.
But as he rolls back up, he sees Warwolf grabbing his arm. It's an opening that he's not going to be remiss in taking advantage of. Crawling himself forward in a scramble, he tries to grab hold of Warwolf's head from behind, taking him into an inverted headlock. "DEAD SPIRAL!" he shouts to the crowd, giving them a signal for what move he's going to use, before twisting to the side onto his back, the aim to crash Warwolf's face directly into either mat or his shoulder. Either way, if Sven doesn't react fast enough, his arm won't be the only thing in agony.
COMBATSYS: Vyle successfully hits Sven with Dead Spiral.
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Vyle 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Sven
An opening indeed.
The pain suppressed was surging back now. The wrenching was the worst though; the most recent, the most grinding. The swede DID overextend his arm, making the injury that Vyle started even worse. Only the rage of his berserker blood concealed it. And now, as he was coming off 'The Night of the Warwolf,' Sven was off-balanced and wounded.
And one never wanted to be dead in the water in the presence of Vyle.
As he struggles with his injury, the viper strikes. As the grips come on his head, the larger wrestler tries to bring up his good arm, to force him off. But with only one arm to shove him off, the swede is helpless as Vyle takes him up into an inverse headlock. As he is flipped over, smashing the wrestler's masked face into the mat.
The moan of pain escapes the Warwolf's mouth as he rolls to his side. He rocks back and forth, his body sore almost everywhere. The rudo was really giving back whatever the swede gave. Right now, he was backed into a corner. Backed into a corner. The swede's mind comes to, as he staggers back up. Stumbling away from Vyle, he hits the turnstile, leaning into it before turning around. Hanging his arms over the sides of the ropes, he stares across at Vyle, rolling his head. Finally, he motions with his good hand, as the pain continues to grind into him.
"I'm not done with you yet!"
COMBATSYS: Sven focuses on his next action.
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Vyle 1/----===/=======|=======\====---\1 Sven
With the Dead Spiral hitting home, Vyle was intent on trying to get a pin before Warwolf could recover. However, landing on his back as it was, the pain from the earlier Jaeger Bomb consumed him long enough that by the time he could will himself to roll over and dive for a pin, Sven was already crawling away into the turnbuckles.
Gritting his teeth, he sees Warwolf beckoning him, the luchador scowling. It was a trap, that much was for sure. But it was whether he could out pace the trap before it could spring, or fool the Swede into springing it early. "No...you're just done...." he sneers, before racing forward. Deciding to try and simply pressure the European in the corner and try and stave off whatever he was setting up, the luchador springs up, trying to dropkick Warwolf straight in the face and posterize him back into the corner.
COMBATSYS: Sven interrupts Light Kick from Vyle with Full Moon Rising.
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Vyle 1/-======/=======|===----\-------\0 Sven
The trap was sprung.
The wounded wolf was backed into the corner. As Vyle unleashes his drop kick, Sven pounces. Pushing up off the ropes, he rises up steady, both arms moving in. Sven deftly catches the dropkick, wrenching his bad arm even more as he eases the impact. Hefting Vyle up on his shoulder, he holds over neck using his good arm as he turns around quickly.
And he begins to climb up on the ropes.
Climbing up on the middle ropes, he holds both himself and Vyle steady over the turnbuckle. Removing his bad arm, he overextends it more to wave at the crowd. Bringing the arm back, he heaves Vyle up off his shoulder, balancing his hip with his bad hand, an arm around his neck with the other. And there, he jumps on the ropes as he finally unleashes the dreaded technique of Ragnorok: A brainbuster straight into the turnbuckle, smashing Vyle headfirst straight into the post as he howls.
Sometimes, speed kills.
Sometimes, speed isn't enough. And as Vyle tried to dropkick Sven and outrace the trap, it was clear that this was the latter, as his dropkick is caught, and before he even hits the ground, he's lifted upward into the classic vertical suplex position. But rather than just your classic suplex, he's held up...and with each step up the turnbuckle, Vyle's dread grows more and more, and the crowd grows more tense. And then...he falls.
The sound of the impact can't even be heard over the crowd's collective "OHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" as Vyle falls headfirst into the turnbuckle, folding inward and falling into the ring looking like he just had his spine compressed into his nasal cavity. Boneless as he collapses, Vyle looks barely conscious. And while he finds himself moving still, it's with the erratic jerks and flails of someone out on their feet and not realizing it yet.
But Vyle's used to these kinds of impacts. Doesn't mean they're any less painful, but he knows a way to work through them...and after a long moment of flailing, he gets enough control to push himself up on all fours again. Dazed but still dangerous, he charges straight toward Sven, the intent to tackle him straight into the mat with a full speed charge.
COMBATSYS: Sven blocks Vyle's Outbreaker.
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Vyle 0/-------/----===|=====--\-------\0 Sven
Plowing Sven to the ground, Vyle doesn't waste any time, turning him over slowly into a HIgh Angle Boston Crab, legs wrenched under his armpits and pulled back to fold the Warwolf unnaturally in a way that put pressure on his back. But he's not done with that. Not by a sight. "OUTBREAKER!!" he shouts to the crowd, a few in the crowd starting up a low 'ooohhhhhhh...' as they anticipate the move while others boo and jeer. Vyle doesn't pay them any mind as he leaps into the air, still holding onto Warwolf's legs and pulling him into their air with him. Somersaulting backwards, the rudo's toes hook onto Warwolf's shoulders, keeping him in that Boston Crab position even in midair....
....Until the impact finally comes, Vyle slamming Warwolf facefirst into the mat, still holding onto his legs long enough to pull back and made that landing even more unnatural, another loud "OHHHHH!!!" erupting from the crowd, along with repeated stomps in the stands as if to sell their appreciation of the move, even as most of them follow it with echoing jeers.
Sven had his fists in the air.
"ARROOOOOO!" He howls again, trying to work the crowd. The Ragnorok signature moves were some of the biggest crowdpleasers, just hitting so hard visually and actually. He barely has time to notice that Vyle was not down. As the lucha pounces, the swede turns, ready to catch him. And to his credit he does.
Doesn't stop him from being knocked to the mat, though.
As Sven is twisted into the Boston Crab, he fights back every step of the way. He isn't wrenched harder, except his bad arm. Humilated, yes. But not out. But when the Outbreaker is threatened, he doesn't know what is coming... unless he takes to the air. As Warwolf is slammed into the mat, he takes the impact to the face, arms tense. The second slam comes, as the calls from the audience fill his ears. His arms were fine. But his face... his face was now bleeding under the mask.
As the final slam comes, Sven Maester breaks from the hold. Blood dribbling out of the mouth of the wolf mask, the visage looks even more feral. The swede was staggering, stumbling in a zig-zag. He finally reaches a turnbuckle, leaning on it, holding on to the ropes on each side again, facing it. He had a last ditch. A last try. He tightens his grips on the ropes.
And he jumps up on them.
The first hop merely stops on the middle ropes. The second hop, however, he lands on the top ropes. The final jump, however, brings Sven's legs over the top ropes, as he bounces against them hard. With a final, desperate launch, the Warwolf takes to the air into a corkscrew springboard, spinning through as he sends himself flying. And aiming his landing, naturally, straight on top of Vyle in a staggering Moonsault. A moonsault so staggering, in fact, that not even the Warwolf will handle it. Whether or not Vyle is underneath, did not matter to the swede. Once he hits the ground?
He isn't getting up.
COMBATSYS: Sven can no longer fight.
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COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Sven's Three Wolf Moonsault.
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The Outbreaker slams down, Vyle's trump card sprung and seemingly putting Warwolf down for the count....
Or not, considering how he manages to break free of the finishing Crab, shocking even Vyle. "Th'hell?!" he shouts, dazedly, watching the Swede stagger to the turnbuckle. With his own reserves running dangerously low and his head still swimming from the brainbuster on the turnbuckle, he stumbles to his feet and watches. Waits...to see just what the hell this maniac does. And when he flies? Vyle just looks amazed and a little terrified. Arms up, he seems ready to try and catch the crazy beast....but instead, he falls, seemingly flattened by the triple jump moonsault....
That is, until he manages to roll through, turning over on his side and rolling with that momentum to somehow turn up on top of Warwolf. Desperately, he hooks the leg, and the ref (from a safe distance) counts...One. Two...
THREE! Soon as the hand falls for the third time, Vyle releases the leg and falls back, sprawled in disbelief and more than a little dazed. "HERE IS YOUR WINNER....'THE SICKNESSSSS'...VYYYYYYYYYYYYLE!" comes the announcer's call, the boos making him almost inaudible. Scrambling to the ropes, the luchador himself desperately tugs himself up to an approximation of 'upright', looking back to Warwolf with a healthy dose of apprehension, making it clear to the crowd that even if he won, he learned to respect, if not fear, The Wolf.
Log created on 21:47:47 12/17/2014 by Sven, and last modified on 03:16:05 12/18/2014.