Neo League 0087 - NL#0089: MURDERHOUSE vs Tizoc

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Description: Metro City continues to heal from the scars of its otherworldly tragedy. The Capcom Wrestling Association, as to best get a bit more funding for continued rebuilding efforts, coaxes two wrestlers into a Neo League bout. "MURDERHOUSE" Mick, the garbage wrestler who sought far better than what the bush leagues had to offer. The Griffon Mask, a luchador looking to salvage his career by taking steps into the uncertain world of "real" fighting. Together, the two would be among the first to duke it out at this stage of reconstruction, much of the arena still exposed to the elements. The slams shall rain anew, as sure as the coming rain brewing in the sky... <WINNER: Tizoc>

The Capcom Wrestling Association was still repairing the damage to their main classic building. Unlike other structures it still stood and still retained a bit of its old identity, but it was made abundantly clear that they were going to have to spend a lot of money and spend a lot of time if they wanted it to be look brand new ever again. So, well, the current state of the historic sporting arena was a bit...interesting.

For one thing, because two of the walls were knocked out, and had wire fencing put around to provide some minor protection against people just walking in, and there was currently half of a roof, which meant that any wrestling event being organized would be an outdoor event, for all intents and purposes.

The metal entrance ramp was mostly undamaged, which was good for Mick as he purposefully strode down it as driving hard sludge rock hit the PA system(which really was just a cd player hooked up to a shitload of speakers until they fixed more of the wiring in the building). His leather facemask was white on the left right, black on the right, with his wrestling pants being white on the right and black on the left, thin black t-shirt covering his muscular beefy torso. Padded gloves, black painted fingernails, knee-high wrestling boots, the seven foot hardcore wrestler was ready as ever to do this even as he quickly slid under the bottom rope of the ring and quickly worked his way to his feet to a chorus of mixed cheers and boos. Some people hated him, others loved him, but far more just wanted to see the spectacle of violence that this was going to be. And if Mick had his way, he was going to deliver!

(The song in question, in case any readers are curious: )

Following the events down further south, Tizoc was given a clean bill of health. They weren't sure what was going on with his heart - he'd never known of any family history involving heart disease, no heart defects show up in an utlrasound... the lingering questions about that entire encounter with the mysterious noodle-like assassin are left to dangle unanswered, in the face of new opportunity for his livelihood. Whatever was going on, things calmed down after a good night's rest or two.
Coming to Metro City puts entirely new questions in play. What was truly the magnitude of horror that people suffered here? He grew up in poverty, as did many from his part of Mexico. He has seen plenty. His life experience does not compare with what's on display here, even this many months later.
It is in the spirit of Metro City to endure and carry on, but even some things seem to only just hold themselves together by threads. This very arena, of the Capcom Wrestling Association, only just seems to make the standards of whatever safety code they follow.
All this consideration goes on merely on the inside, as Tizoc, the man. The Griffon Mask, the hero... he is ready to perform.
As he is called down the metal entrance ramp, the crowd is treated to a lower-quality rendition of that theme he's always had back during his run in the more... "staged" leagues. The same guitar notes that open it up,
What seating capacity they have today, it is filled. Running up to the ring, he can see them - the young. Many of whom have been scarred by great loss, thanks to the horror that had taken place within this city. Numbed. Would he be able to reach out to their hearts from here, now as a warrior who draws real blood between genuine blows...?
For their entertainment, a giant of a man from Mexico, dressed in primarily red tights, matching boots, open-fingered gloves. Gold trim lines the waist and wrists. Atop his head, the red masked of a bir-- a griffon! It's a griffon, he would insist, the mask trailing off almost into a cape of its own with the red and white feathers that adorn it. Around his shoulders, currently, is a red cloak.
It is flung into the air just as he gets to the ropes, backflipping up onto the ring and nailing the landing with arms wide, facing back to the crowd he passed on the entrance ramp...
Slowly, he turns to face his opponent - a man nearly his height, but over thirty pounds (imperial) heavier. There is much more to say of them, but... that can be gone over in a moment.
"MURDERHOUSE!" The Griffon Mask calls, getting the proper inflection of the name right. One can feel the capital letters just oozing from his voice. A baseline form of proper respect. "For every HOUSE of MURDER you erect..."
His voice projects rather well, even accounting for the mask! He might not even need the microphone that's now in his hand.
"I shall construct a HIGHRISE of JUSTICE to tower over it! The light of righteousness cast over its form shall leave such a blight in the shadows, where it belongs!!" A bold declaration! A challenge, unto itself. The sort that would bring forth cheering frenzies from those who came here for a good show, a safe bit of fun.
There are cheers, sure, but... there aren't many cheers. Even accounting for the smaller capacity of a stadium still undergoing repairs, the reception seems... tepid.
The audience is here for a show, but what do they truly seek out of the battle ahead? It may not be for a classic clash of good versus evil, any of those cozy, simple narratives...

Though his mask is a clash of contrasts, the black facepaint he wears around his eyes gives off the impression that the darkness is winning the contest. Was it a metaphor, or some sort of omen? (Mick would probably slap someone who asked a question like that.)

And as the Griffon Mask started running his mouth, the Deathmatch artist very quickly walked up, standing toe to toe, eye to eye with the massive Luchador the second he put that microphone down. Mick's freakish looking eyes were glaring pure malice and hatred towards Tizoc, and the tension was no doubt palpable even as the referee looked nervously between the two men. And the second he turned his head to tell the officials to ring the bell, a split second before the match was made 'official', Mick would suddenly act.

Bringing up both of his hands, he'd place them on Tizoc's chest and with a sudden display of strength, would try to shove the Griffon Mask back as far as he would go. More of an insult and a statement rather than any kind of devastating maneuver. But moments later, he'd clench his fists and bring his arms out in a 'crucifix' sort of pose, and hold it there. The message was clear, he wanted Tizoc to take his best shot. No doubt a one time offer.

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE has started a fight here.

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MURDERHOUSE      0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Tizoc has joined the fight here.

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Tizoc            0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

COMBATSYS: Tizoc barely endures MURDERHOUSE's Fast Throw.

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Tizoc            0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

The hands lay upon the chest of the Mexican wrestler, and with it, one foot stomps back as though he were to be thrown over. Before one continues with the present...
To take a moment to go back to a detail that had to be saved for later... "MURDERHOUSE" Mick.
Tizoc, for his eagerness to be the Griffon Mask anew, did at least some homework. This man before him, the man that just shoved him and aptly demonstrated what a difference another thirty pounds can make, was - no, is! - a pioneer in the hardcore wrestling circles, a prodigy among "garbage wrestlers." A man who wasn't signed on by smaller leagues, so much as a man who chewed them up an entire alphabet's worth of gum, and spat out flavorless, worthless, used husks only good for being stuck under his shoes.
A man who was quoted, infamously... 'I don't care what the name is. I just wanna hurt somebody,' after deciding he was through with the (lack of) talent he faced.
Returning to the present... MURDERHOUSE set the pace with a simple schoolyard shove. A show of force, and an invitation to do better. Given the violent, sudden downfall of his earlier days by that mysterious martial artist, there is little reason to suspect the man underneath the mask is anything more than a showboater - the recent exhibition against that kickboxer aside.
The simple shove itself almost escalates from insult to humiliation as he catches himself from losing further - no, any! - ground with the bend of a knee. A shove is the only sample size the audience has of just how strong the MURDERHOUSE is compared to the Griffon Mask.
To put forth an apt and easily understood comparison, the challenge is met in turn - perhaps not with a grandiose, over-the-top, all-powerful strike like the Irish man of mayhem invites as a one-time deal as the bell sounds.
He is met with the very same movement almost the same time MURDERHOUSE gets his arms fully extended, a quicker return than he might expect. A retaliatory shove, with the same method. An attempt to lay both hands upon MURDERHOUSE's chest, and shove him back as far as /he/ would go.
This one, however, has a shout appended that makes the fencing a ways off rattle - a total picture making up the promise that the Griffon Mask will not bow nor crumple so easily to simple schoolyard bullying!
...And also, for Tizoc, the man underneath, to break eye contact without having to turn his head away. There is something he does not like about those eyes. The sooner he can - if he can - push Mick away, the better!

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE endures Tizoc's Fast Throw.

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Tizoc            0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Mick's challenge is met, and with authority. "MURDERHOUSE" is the heavier of the two giants, but that doesn't mean as much as you'd think when faced with the strength and fury of the legendary Griffon Mask. Case in point, Tizoc's shoving display of masculinity causes Mick to nearly run backwards, only catching his footing when his back hits the ring ropes and keeping him from spilling out to the ring floor. The cheering audience, then, was left with the strong message that both of these men were strong and powerful, and neither man was backing down from the other.

For Mick's part, after a moment he bent forward slightly then pulled back, to allow that long black hair of his to swing out of his face and hit his shoulders, all the better to stare at the bigger man yet again. And for the first time in this counter, it was the dastardly monster who spoke. And even from across the ring, it was impossible not to hear that soft, whispery voice that smothered every syllable with malice.

"I thought you'd split forever after that Chinese poof made you look like a clown. You shoulda stayed retired, left the business with a little dignity."

Tizoc's very public loss was a controversial one within 'the business', with some angered at his loss, and others very understanding of the situation. It was clear today that Mick was not one of the latter. Even as he quickly held out his hand, out of the ring, catching the object that was thrown up to him. What was in his hands now? A steel chair, the number one equalizer and cause of concussions in the sport of professional wrestling, and thus a symbol of savagery to those who understood. Mick took a running half-step...and then hurled that folded up weapon straight at the face and skull of the legendary returning Griffon Mask. Chairs weren't designed to be thrown as fast as baseballs, and any impact would be horrendous. And far more importantly, would hammer in just what kind of match this was going to be!

COMBATSYS: Tizoc blocks MURDERHOUSE's Angry Chair.

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Tizoc            0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Underneath the mask, the eyes of the man named Tizoc narrow. He knew what he was getting into, or so he thought. A violent, rowdy man, keen to use every 'dirty trick' in the book of more reputable...
...Less realistic leagues.
In a straight-up fight like the ones popularized today, there are far fewer rules. The greater world of organized fighting has proven esepcially lax, when it comes to random weapons. They showed up in the past, in the comfort of scripted stories, very carefully controlled.
To speak of the situation that ruined his career, shook the faith of the children he sworn to be a champion of, that laid bare his place in the greater world?! That's a foul no matter the venue!
The chair should be swatted out of the way with one big, confident, outward sweep of his left arm that gives a deafening 'CLANG' noise on impact between chair and flesh - as if almost empowered by the idea that the Griffon Mask should have put his career behind him, to let the children who believed in him down...! (It also allows him to hide his face from Mick's eyes, if for a moment.)
What doesn't go behind him is the chair. It pops up vertically, threatening to bounce down upon his head as he takes a defiant step forward. It necessitates him to reach up and catch it with his right hand, only for it to fumble out of his grip and go onto the floor, one of the legs poking outward like it might take kneecap if he walks into it at just the right speed...
It is punted out of the way with his left leg, though it does end up angled that he does poke himself in the calf with it. The chair, now having gotten the message, is sent gliding in a spin across the mat where it will come to rest in a corner.
The bruise that starts to form from that original arm sweep suggests - no, blatantly says - that he did not escape injury for the effort, for the three tries it took to get the chair out of his way. He maintains his forward momentum with the other masked man without regard for the pain that shoots through his left forearm.
"What would the MURDERHOUSE know of dignity?!" Comes the reply - but this seems less... theatric, more angry. The words are spoken quickly enough with less regard for volume and ability to be heard, as he tries to grab a hold of Mick by his waistline in one hand as he looks past him towards the ropes...
"HERCULES THROW!!" Comes the call of the technique, as he moves to hurl him against those very ropes he spies. Showy, flashy.
Mick would likely be familiar with this one - a set-up toss that hurls an opponent towards something, to bounce them back towards him as part of some one-two punch. This is the one, of the one-two. This move, on paper, worked better in more scripted scenarios where of course his partner would come back towards him...
If Mick isn't wary, it may turn out that, indeed, the Griffon Mask is very good at coaxing bodies he's hurled to come rebound back towards him. (Couldn't that also be used against him, for his arrogance in using such a cartoonish technique?)

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE fails to interrupt Hercules Throw EX from Tizoc with Redemption City.

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Tizoc            0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Funnily enough, the technical name for this move was the 'Irish Whip', and despite what many thought, this move was absolutely legitimate. With Mick's hand and forarm gripped tightly, a special nerve ending was pinched that quickly shot pain all throughout the garbage wrestler's body, forcing them to shut on and off in a brief bit of panic. This meant that Mick had minimal control over his legs running themselves across the ring, and the big in the ring ropes meant "MURDERHOUSE" was being sent right back towards the Griffon Mask. Tizoc had all the momentum in the world right now, as Mick was running headlong into danger!

The Griffon Mask segues into that second part of the one-two he has neatly arranged out for the MURDERHOUSE's new extension of pain. The Hercules Throw just put down markers on the lot for the foundation...
Inside the mask, Tizoc steels himself. The MURDERHOUSE has long since earned the right for all legal papers and public speakings of his name to be as though one shouts them. He is a powerful man who would not be so easily pacified - it would be arrogance to believe that any singular success would clinch the match. Boots stomping the canvas, the Griffon Mask charges forward...!
"POSEIDON WAAAVE!!" The follow-up is announced, clenching his right fist tight as he moves to intercept Mick's return with a rushing clothesline - attempting to lay one big, beefy forearm against the upper body as the Griffon Mask moves to dash past the Irish garbage wrestler in the process, facing outward to the open air of the fence that yet filters light upon the arena in repair.
The skies will be the witness that the Griffon Mask is for real, one distracting flight of fancy may yet enter his head to proclaim!

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE blocks Tizoc's Poseidon Wave.

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Tizoc            0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Mick is sent running, but even then Tizoc was wise not to count the big man out. There is still the big collision of humanity in the center of the ring, as the Griffon Mask's powerful clothesline smacks against the chest and sternum of the other masked man, and the sheer impact of it rang out, echoing against the two good walls of the building and causing the audience to give a 'ooooooh'.

Unfortunately for the Luchador, the big brawler didn't drop the way he might have hoped, instead giving out a masculine roar from under his mask and turning around even as he grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, and ripped it right off of his body. This showed the heavy dense musculature of the giant as well as the tough, tanned skin...and the red across his chest from where that impact hit him. And though the pain was enough to keep the big man constantly distracted, he still had a presence of mind to 'chase' the Griffon Mask and try and spin around the guy. If he did, he'd wrap his right arm around the Luchador's waist and immediately try and hoist him overhead, an ugly impromptu 'suplex' that aimed to smash Tizoc not into the mat, but into one of the hard unforgiving turnbuckles. Playing dirty, it seemed, was in Mick's very blood!

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE successfully hits Tizoc with Medium Throw.

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Tizoc            1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

The manly roaring is, unto itself, disarming. There's something about the way it carries in this open arena that gives it a bit of an edge that could disrupt the composure of just about anyone.
Mick gets a hold of the luchador with little effective protest (an attemt to push down against the arm with one of his own notwithstanding), allowing him a heightened look at some of the younger members in the crowd.
They don't look too into it. The majority of those gathered here... they're survivors of one of the greatest tragedies of humanity, one of the most terrifying experiences recorded in the modern world.
Some of them seem to be here only out of some obligation to return to normalcy, less than to be actual enthusiastic spectators of one of Metro City's finest global exports (televised violence).
To see the disheartening effect of it all is a distraction. His left arm goes around the ropes too late to look like a convincing attempt to catch himself from being suplexed against the turnbuckles, a shout of pain as it shocks up and down his back. Fingers spasm to the instructions of a brain that understands the trauma it has just suffered.
In a daze, the Griffon Mask slinks to the seat of their tights, arms tangled up against the ropes. A shot to the back like that is not easy to stand back up against, but as they say, it could have been worse. If they were any further away from the turnbuckle to start, that might've been his neck instead...
Tizoc finds another battleground in his mind in which to be stuck upon. To fight and defeat a man who will stoop to any low is one thing, but it would not be enough to simply defeat him. It would not be enough to humiliate him. It would not be enough to end him.
No, the way of the Griffon Mask... is to be the hero of the children! Metro City is no different... so he would internalize. He does not comprehend the depths of just how horrible things were, are, and will continue to be. Some traumas cannot be lived down.
The most he can manage in this next step is more one of symbolic defiance as he pulls himself up from 'seated' to 'crouching,' with the help of a rope held in his right hand to rise. With his left, he shoots a knife-hand strike upwards that would go at around chest-level in hopes of forcing the MURDERHOUSE back, to respect the property lines...!
That he doesn't yet have anything snappy to say, is a sound reflection of the pain that has just been inflicted - body and mind. To the body, MURDERHOUSE's well-spaced suplex. To the mind, the louder vestiges of silence from a not small portion of the audience.

COMBATSYS: Tizoc successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with Strong Punch.

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Tizoc            1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Mick himself was slow to rise, and in fact angled as he was, it was easier for him just to roll out of the ring, leaving the crumpled mess of Griffon over in the corner while the Bishop of Barbwire had time to gather himself, even while fans stared at him. Some screaming in his face, throwing plastic cups of beer and other such garbage at him, others cheering him on and yelling at him to take things farther, and these people he ignored and shrugged past.

Perhaps he should have hurried up, though, because by the time he slid back into the ring with a trashcan full of weapons, Griffon Mask was on him with a knife-edged chop right across that chest, right where he took that earlier devastating Poseidon Wave. Normally the giant wall of MURDER wouldn't budge from such a maneuver, but Tizoc's brute strength combined with the earlier abuse caused Mick himself to drop from the impact, trashcan knocked away and rolling more toward the center of the ring. Mick clutched his own chest, rolling and quickly crawling away from the face that used to run the place. Tizoc might want to pursue such an obvious display of weakness. This would be a mistake if he chose to do so, however, because with both of Mick's hands grabbing the very top rope to pull himself up and keep his balance, the kick he shot out at the Mexican powerhouse was one that would aim south of the border, aiming to double the man over and make him vulnerable. If this happened?

If this happened, Mick wouldn't waste much time at all in putting the Luchador's head between his thighs, clenching around that neck and mask to keep it pinned, even as Mick reached down to scoop up Tizoc's legs, and keep him cradled upside down in a precarious position.

With this done, in an open rebellion against physics Mick would launch upward, spinning and hurtling through the air as he came down in an arc, aiming the Griffon's head for that very trashcan he had introduced to the fight, the one currently rolling on its side. With their combined weight it would be almost flattened, its weapons either launching out from the force, or adding to the awful, awful impact. Either way, it would be a bad situation for the crown of Tizoc's skull if he got hit with the infamous MURDERDRIVER!


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Tizoc            1/----===/=======|=======\-------\0      MURDERHOUSE

Though shaken, stunned, and struggling, the Griffon Mask rises up to his feet, crossing his arms at the apex of his standing height as if to scoff in the face of dirty play! The old hero of the ring looks to stare the garbage king down, his posture a promise of further pain to come!
It is a promise for further pain. It's not specified as to whom will be claiming it, as he moves forth to follow u--
That's a mistake.
Curiously, the beak halves of the mask part open with the impact down low, as though even the mask were to shout a cry of pain! It makes the man's wheezy grunts juuuuust that much more audible. It sounds like he had something to say moments before the speed limit of the low road got violated.
Silenced, clutched in MURDERHOUSE's grasp, the open sky appears to have gotten overcast awful fast. What light filtered through the fence has started to dim. Precariously set with his legs between MURDERHOUSE's thighs, he's treated in brief to another view of the mish-mashed audience in what seating has been considered safe for use.
A lot of the children still seem... disinterested. (They might not even know that the Griffon Mask was a thing before, or what they stood for, but in a moment of vainglory, that doesn't quite come to mind.) So another big bad guy is going to destroy someone good. Who cares, right?
A voice can be heard during the ascent...
"You won't throw this mask away in the garbage, MURDERHOUSE!" So is the bold declaration as the Griffon Mask starts to wriggle around in Mick's grasp, starting to highlight his particular advantage in this bout. Mick has the superior weight, physically stronger... and with far less boundaries as to what is considered just, proper, and fair in a fight.
On the descent, Mick loses a complete hold on the luchador, as the Griffon Mask employs the one thing relative to his height, size, and build that helped him stand out that much more over other heavyweights in the ring...
His remarkable agility.
Fighting and re-negotiating the way he's held, he can't escape. MURDERHOUSE locks his opponents in, latches the door shut, and eats the key to ensure they stay an honored guest in the HOUSE of MURDER.
The best the Griffon Mask can manage, and this is no mean feat, is to have his knees pointed down upon the ground as their combined bulk smashes into the trash can, which predictably compresses and flattens into a rusted pancake with jagged metal edges.
This is not any less painful than the original intent. One can argue the threat of concussions versus the real risk of destroying one or both knees. Both are terrible to the long-term career prospects of any athlete. Wrestlers, one of the chief ones among them!
Finding cause to fight further - to light the spark into those children that seem to be here largely for sake of their loved ones trying to find something, anything, to get their minds off of their personal tragedies and find a new thing to believe in and cling to...
He fights past the pain, using his newfound superior position of having his feet effectively on the ground to try and spring back up, with another boast...
"There is no expiration date for a hero!!"
With this act of defiance, he tries to take Mick in both hands, clutching around his midsection. If he manages this much, his legs kick out and away the useless trash can, its purpose in life fulfilled. (It can go drink its sorrows in that same corner with the chair from earlier.)
If all this comes to pass...
Leaping high up into the air, a smidgen higher than MURDERHOUSE as if to make a point, he goes inverted at the apex and starts to spin the whole way down, to introduce MURDERHOUSE against the canvas head-first in an attempt to trump one trademark technique with another, with the expected call...

COMBATSYS: Tizoc successfully hits MURDERHOUSE with Justice Hurricane.

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Tizoc            1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1      MURDERHOUSE

Agility was a good thing. It meant that, despite the two men being ovsersized bruisers, that Tizoc was to his feet and ready even while the seven foot Irish monster was still lumbering to a vertical position. It meant that Griffon Mask had a firm grasp across that muscular waist, and that the big man was taken for a ride and hurtling through the air for a second time. This was bad because he was still dizzy from his own move, and didn't have time to recover from his own landing. Both men were so heavy, that it didn't take much to tip the duo upside down and cause the big man to plummet head-first toward the ring. He hits so hard the ring itself shakes, ropes wobbling violently even as Mick crumples to a heap. He rolls purely from the sheer pain wracking his entire body, his hands cradling the back of his neck even as his eyes spin from the sheer shock of it all. He's sucking in oxygen through that thick leather mask of his, sweat covering a body that had been spending a lot of energy in a very short amount of time. He needed to slow down and relax. Instead, his instincts kicked in even as his eyes narrowed.

Crumpled as he was near the ropes and turnbuckle, he might have looked a tad pathetic to an approaching opponent. Until he spun around, swinging a surprising weapon: A length of thick dry rope, and on the very end is a huge, thick jingling cowbell, that bell currently aiming for what else, but the side of the Griffon Mask's masked face? Even on his back experiencing vertigo, even then Mick couldn't be trusted. Even now was "MURDERHOUSE" dangerous!

COMBATSYS: Tizoc interrupts Random Weapon from MURDERHOUSE with Medium Punch.
- Power hit! -

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Tizoc            1/--=====/=======|=======\====---\1      MURDERHOUSE

Rebounding off the impact skillfully in such a fashion as to not suffer the same shock and injury just inflicted upon Mick, the Griffon Mask does not stand and take in his handiwork against the garbage wrestler. He's taking off right after him, not allowing him much of a chance to ready a swing - the luchador's shadow envelops them in darkness.
"FALL!" Is the call from the Griffon Mask, throwing himself prone atop the Irish heel. The speed in which he's on Mick does not suggest any sort of concern for where he's going, or what he's doing.
The turn-around is so immediate as to seem a completely practiced force of habit off an endlessly rehearsed script - a body splash against a downed or weakened opponent, ostensibly to go for the pin after a dramatic, heavy throw.
This is a real match. Without scripted outcomes, it is nothing short of a miracle that the luchador avoided throwing his own head right into it, but it is what it is - an attempt at a pin, where falling into old habits in established routines works in his favor.
"The MURDERHOUSE... is marked for demolition," says the Griffon Mask between labored, tired breaths. Between the shot down low and the screaming of names and boasts, that's a lot of breath to catch up on...
"Boobala!" Okay, he's always got enough wind in his sails to throw that one, as Tizoc finds the momentum and will to tilt his head down and look Mick in those terrifying eyes.
A breeze blows through the arena. Is it about to rain? Will the sunlight yet return, in an arena that stands scarred by the tragedy that struck Metro City...?

Twenty hundred and sixty pounds of humanity came crashing down on the giant, and for the first time some kids came off their feet as Mick was crunched into the mat so close to the ropes and turnbuckles. If this were a 'regular' match they would be his safe haven from getting pinned, but here, there was no such luck. The referee was almost caugh off guard by this new development, though after a brief moment of surprise he dove right in, slapping at the mat with his thick protective gloves(A recent precaution taken during hardcore matches, as the mat can get covered with things that aren't nice) even as the kids in the audience finally came off their feet.


Mick didn't move, and the crowd got louder.


The kids actually started making noise, even as the referee prepared for the final slap. Unseen by almost everyone, Mick's fingers on his right hand...twitched.


Nanoseconds before the hand slaps the mat, Mick suddenly pushes the Griffon Mask off of him, throwing him to the right side, through the ring ropes. An agile man like Tizoc, there's no way this would cause any damage or do any harm, but it did succeed in depriving him of victory. Mick was still on the mat, but a moment later?

He SAT BACK UP. It was sudden, as if he were struck by lightning even as thunder clapped up in the sky. Those eyes without irises were glaring around, but became focused as "MURDERHOUSE" Mick snapped his head suddenly to the right, to stare right at the griffon-masked hero. The look in his eyes was one of rage and disgust all at once, even as he swiftly went from sitting in the ring, to rolling directly right and landing on his feet, out on the concrete. His hands both balled into fists, he smacked them into his own chest, a display of testosterone and aggression even as he spat out.

"You can't hurt me!"

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE Mick catches a breather.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Tizoc            1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1      MURDERHOUSE

The Griffon Mask is flung free from the clutches of victory - at least victory by the customs and rituals he is so familiar with - tossed against and then right over the ropes! The landing is not made completely on point, the ropes of this arena having a level of give he is not completely familiar with. He goes over sooner than his rote instinct would have instilled, as he hits the concrete with a dramatic crouch.
Lightning strikes, and the Griffon Mask stands up to look upon the MURDERHOUSE, whose eyes feel like they glow with added enmity in the eyes of Tizoc. It just might be the way the light from outside hits them, as he takes a cursory backwards hop when Mick comes down into the concrete.
That can be a moral victory for the MURDERHOUSE - the simple act of coming outside the ring was enough to make the Griffon Mask give him a few steps' worth of space. It's not an unnatural response. The way MURDERHOUSE demonstrates with sheer bloody-mindedness... to the average man, frightening. Staring down an ultra-violent maniac of a wrestler whom survives after having one trademark move overturned by another, caught at a moment of weakness... standing defiant, as both men are now out of the safety of the ring.
Though he stands looking battle-ready, slightly hunched over with both arms out and hands open, the man underneath, Tizoc, feels uncomfortable with the hard concrete under his boots. He is out of his element. The ring is his home. He has kept everything in the ring. What courage saw him have the power to look this guy in the eyes starts to fade...
But he looks past the chest-beating, the pointed gaze of those iris-less eyes. To the children, and those gathered who stood and chanted in excitement... the Griffon Mask crosses his arms, looking a little too far upward.
"MURDERHOUSE Mick." This isn't a shout. This is a chat, word for word, between two men of the ring. "I need not hurt you to claim victory."
"All I need..."
He points a finger up into the air where he stands, "All I need are the cheers of my young fans, wherever they are! Whenever they are!" Whenever? He must mean...
"Even outside of the ring I call home, I will bring hope and happiness... as long as this mask is my witness!" And so, he stands there triumphantly, pointing a finger into the air as he soaks in the attentions and cheers of would-be new fans of his. He cannot erase their past tragedies, broken dreams, things lost that will never return...
His strength looks renewed, ready to prepare that decisive blow... but would he dare strike it from outside the ring? Does he so believe that just the mere cheers and words of well-wishing would be enough to overpower the MURDERHOUSE, to make him give up?
The finger still points towards the open sky, as though operating under the belief that the sun will part, and shine a new light... which is, naturally, the perfect time to start punching his lights right back out!

COMBATSYS: Tizoc focuses on his next action.

[             \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Tizoc            1/--=====/=======|=======\===----\1      MURDERHOUSE

Tizoc looked up into the sky, after saying all of those inspiring words, but Mick, Mick was focused purely on destroying the man in the griffon mask. In pure anger, Mick lashed out, reaching out with his right hand to try and reach past Tizoc, and grip the back of those long white feathers as if he were gripping someone's hair, all the better to run with the man, and try and smash his head into the big blue metal ringpost. If the turnbuckles on the inside were painful, then this was going to be devastating. If it hit.

"You bring happiness?! Are you fucking kidding me? You're the one that ran away. You take one little beating from a man in his pajamas, and you fly back to your nest with your tail between your goddamn legs! And now you think you're allowed to come back after all that, as if you have any pride at all?!"

He'd follow this up by quickly grabbing Tizoc and trying to raise the man above his head, a display of his own supreme power even as he lined things up perfectly...and finally dropped Tizoc. Of course, Tizoc's throat or face(or even chest) were aimed for the edge of the guard rail separating the talent from the fans who were now completely on their feet, one hundred percent of them yelling, and screaming, and cheering and booing. All around them, energy could be felt. And Mick was hoping to cut that energy away by destroying this man's comeback before it could even begin. Usually laidback, it was rare to see him this emotional. This eager to do such cruel damage to another human being.

COMBATSYS: Tizoc interrupts Crushing Throw from MURDERHOUSE with Big Fall Griffon.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////                         ]
Tizoc            0/-------/---====|=======\=======\1      MURDERHOUSE

MURDERHOUSE reaches down the metaphorical welcome mat for an equally metaphorical key to let the Griffon Mask into the HOUSE of MURDER by invitation. Less metaphorically...
There is no stopping Mick from doing as he sees fit, so incensed and inspired to further violence as the luchador is struck up against the ringpost. The air seems to get sucked out of more than a few fans.
There's a stunned silence that washes outwards from that first point of impact, like a wave, as the MURDERHOUSE screams into addled ears. Tizoc, effectively concussed and saved from worse only because of the mask, hears words as an echo. His eys are a blur.
The noise starts up again from the crowds as the man who fell from grace is lifted on up high above for all to see, as though to put on display a coward. A fraud. A man who speaks nothing but empty nonsense that he cannot back up, and the man inside - Tizoc - exhales loudly as he seems to be about to forfeit some critical piece of his upper body to the guard rail...
Red boots press against the very edge of the guard rail. Crouching, the Griffon Mask has once again re-adjusted himself in the garbage wrestler's nearly inescapable grip... what happens here is the absolute limit of how close any wrestler would be allowed to come to the audience. There's enough of a forward lean that absolutely none of him crosses that invisible barrier above the guard rail.
"The Griffon Mask will rise again, MURDERHOUSE!" So declares the luchador, as he brings his arms down around his waistline and simply... takes off with a leap.
High. Very high. So high and quick, that it seems like the surrounding world abstracts into blackness, streaks of yellow indicating acceleration and movement.
"Higher than any HOUSE of MURDER you would build...!"
As they climb higher, his grip separates to hold Mick in one hand, with the first word of that finishing move which gets everyone up and out of their seats...!
Mick is slammed into some surface or another, the nature of which is vague from on high. Grasping him in both arms again, he spins about and goes inverted before spinning horizontally, twirling ever faster with the great descent that is about to follow.
Even in the safer, more carefully performed matches of a time now forever gone, being able to pull off the majority of this maneuver without lasting injury to either party was a thing of pride, of such incredible workmanship, cooperation, and physical ability. Much of the subtle safeguards that border on nonsense are still in play...
"FAAAAAAAAAALL!!!" Comes the second word of the finishing blow, as both men spiral to meet the mat... yes, the mat! The maneuver was set to bring them both back into the ring, and finish it then and there.
This fight would be finished in the very ring... dead center. Mathematically, to an impossibly small decimal point of error, dead center. MURDERHOUSE Mick would be piledriven dead center of the very ring after one very big, great fall.
The Griffon Mask did fall from grace before... but now, it seems he is sincere in his desire to once again rise up in the face of adversity. How long could that resolve truly hold...?

It was all in Mick's hands, but the second Tizoc landed on that guard rail with perfect, cat-like balance? The hardcore wrestler's eyes widened in surprise, and shockingly enough, he even took a step backward. Of course that display only lasted a moment, and it could be argued that he only took that step to better aim a punch right for that masked face, but it was a moot point as that punch never connected. Instantly he was grabbed and flown up to the edges of that half-roof. His head clanged into...something up in the rafters, some metal piece of construction that left the big man dazed and unprepared to make that speeding, 200 mph descent down to the wrestling mat. The fact that this wasn't killing him was a testament to A, Griffon Mask's supreme skill as a wrestler, and B, Mick's own supreme, frightening endurance. But monster or no, this was the second sheer piledriver the man would take the second the impact hits.

And hits it does! The absolute impact is so powerful that the ring shakes violently, the ring ropes shaking up and down so fast they were almost invisible. There was a deep creaking sound from beneath both men...when the ring collapsed, one corner and then another, and then another, just giving up. The ring turned a whole lot flatter, as the ringposts fell over, the ropes up and shaking right out of the turnbuckles. The crowd was completely silent, shocked at this recent turn of events.

For his part, Mick lay on his back, staring up at the lights and the sprinkling of rain, even as his vision turned hazy and every fiber in his being wanted to collapse and give up just like this ring they were fighting in.

Instead, the second Tizoc got close, just like in a horror movie the monster suddenly acted. Mick's left hand went back to those feathers, as his right hand came around, that giant beefy, muscular arm shooting around in a hard, hard forearm strike aimed at the man's cheek and the side of his head. Followed by another. And another. And another and another, forearm shot and occasional hard punch thrown with those padded mma gloves, trying to daze the man over and over even as Mick quickly worked back to his feet, to a standing position, even after all the abuse he's taken. If this worked, all of a sudden Mick would move to try and lift Tizoc one more time, this time to hoist the giant hero up on his shoulders. If this worked? If this worked, this would only be the start of Tizoc's bad day...

COMBATSYS: MURDERHOUSE can no longer fight.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Tizoc            0/-------/---====|

COMBATSYS: Tizoc blocks MURDERHOUSE's Hellfire Hammer.

[                    \\\\\\\\\\  <
Tizoc            0/-------/-======|

Tizoc's moderately difficult day would continue with Mick now leaping into the air himself, not quite hitting the lights in the ceiling. But he did fall in an arc that brought both men outside the arena entirely, past the wire gated fencing into the outside.

Table. Fire. Why? Questions that go unanswered as Mick smashes Tizoc's head and himself through the thick wooden flaming structure even as both men impact hard into the sidewalk underneath it.

His skill as a wrestler is commendable, indeed, but it was all within the parameters of a safe, staged performance. Some of the know-how and abilities gleaned from it cross over into actual fighting. Today, those skills that do cross that gap, were given the opportunity to see him through.
The hard truth is, however, some of it does not carry over to real fights, with real stakes, real injuries. Taking the limiters off, to throw blows for real, to deal with opponents who will move unexpectedly and without warning...
The Griffon Mask, and by extension, Tizoc underneath it, still have much learning to do. Even on the offense, he can't help but subconciously hold some of it back. It might yet prove a fatal flaw when he lets his guard down long enough to try and move for that final pin--
His head is gripped, and it is his turn for eyes to widen underneath the mask as he is battered. The mask does not soften the blows. It is a surprise the mask itself doesn't buckle under every shot, one after the other, though there is violent jerking here and there that might suggest any one punch could come knock it off clean...
Mick holds him up above again, for all to see. There is yet one more act of acrobatic agility on display as the MURDERHOUSE up and takes him out to the site of where the heart of the building lies.
The flaming table. An inevitability. An inscrutible force of nature, as the light rain dances upon bloodied and bruised brutes. The Griffon Mask's head turns to see those fans looking on from below... gasping...
No! He will not lose their faith now! He swears this anew, even as Mick starts to descend towards the final destination...!
Mere inches away from the table, the Griffon Mask's feet touch down against the hard, dampening concrete with an audible cry of pain! How did he...
The wrestling hero willed himself to adjust the orientation of their bodies as to now have MURDERHOUSE on his back. This also means that the heavier man is sandwiching him between themselves and the ground. Yet, he endures - if barely, holding together.
Underneath the mask, tears of pain stream down Tizoc's cheeks. Breathless, injured, unable to stand so readily, it takes a shrug of his shoulders to try and force Mick off...
His left hand sweeps outwards, knocking the burning table over. Wisps of smoke pour out the tiny gaps in the concrete as the flames die down.
The table, this time, is spared its flaming destruction, as the Griffon lay kneeling. This may have been foolish. There's nothing to grab onto to rise up and stand.
People leave their seats to go over to the fence and see what's going on. Many of them, children... they're interested in seeing how things have turned out. (Some of them are probably more fans of the MURDERHOUSE, but this is beyond the point.)
He can see them stand there with hopes, fears... interest... and with that, red tights blackened with blood from the knees and shins, he rises up...
And pumps both fists into the air, with a single, defiant cry to the heavens that dares it to cast the rain away and bring forth the sunshine.
...The weather doesn't cooperate. It continues to rain. Mother nature does not care to kow-tow to the showboating of mortal man. The real world never lines up that neatly for sake of a flight of fictional fancy...

COMBATSYS: Tizoc has ended the fight here.

Log created on 15:57:21 09/24/2016 by Tizoc, and last modified on 04:52:18 09/25/2016.