(I still feel pretty awful, so I hope no one minds but I cut this one a lot shorter than I'd intended since Meth said he won't be able to make it and frankly, I just don't know if I'll be able to stay up to put more work into it after I get home. I hope those of you who read it still find it plenty entertaining)
As the bell signals the beginning of the evening's second contest, Vladimir and Jakob approach the center of the squared circle, each measuring up the other as the fan's watch on ever eager to see what the Master of Majik brings to the company and whether the legendary GodKing will be able to maintain his flawless XWA record. The Barbarian Lord raises his hands before him, looking for a classic test of strength from his adversary until Azazel motions for him to spare a moment. Strife entertains this idea, lowering his dukes as the Magician produces a white handkerchief seemingly from thin air. He leans in carefully, his fingers going behind the Behemoth's ears and coming away with a quarter, which he waves about whimsically to sparse applause. Sir Realist forms a circle with his index and thumb and rests the cloth upon it, pressing the quarter down into the middle with the cloth down into his hand. He waves a hand over it once, twice, and then thrice before pulling the cloth out and revealing that the coin has vanished just as mysteriously as it appeared, eliciting more scattered cheers for his trick.
The Czar of Scars gives a slow clap to the effort and holds his hand out, asking for a turn with the snowy shroud. Azazel grants him this, a smile on his face as it seems he's temporarily won over the infamous Romanian. Vladimir pulls up his left sleeve and holds his hand out, knuckles up. He waves a hand across the surface and then turns it over and repeats the action along his palm. Having done his best to prove, most literally, that there's nothing up his sleeve, he covers his open hand with the silky shroud. The Sinner takes his free right hand and begins to circle the air over the cloth with it, a stoic impression upon his countenance as he does. A rounded lump begins to form at the center, Jakob taking a rather theatrical step back in amazement as it begins to do so and rise. It continues to levitate, lifting higher away from the GodKing's palm as his opponent raises a hand to his agape gullet. As it's ascension brings it before the eyes of the Warlock, Strife pulls away the cloth, revealing his middle finger extended high above the rest. The Shining Superstar's face quickly loses it's luster to disappointment before Vlad surprises him with a his other hand, clenched tight as it pounds across the rookie's jawline. Azazel goes down and a chorus of jeers goes up, the GodKing's modicum of support from last week having not carried over to whatever fucking city they were now performing in.
Jakob scrambles on the mat, quickly rising back up to his knees as the Romanian War Machine steps in close, ramming another series of knuckles into his features. The Demon Hunter tries to defend himself, throwing a wild punch in return that lands across his opponent's ribs. Vladimir brings his arm down over it, holding it in place tightly before bring his other arm over toward it. He fires away, driving a succession of three elbows down across the Magician's cheek before lifting a knee into his chin and leaving him gazing at the stadium lights. The Shining Superstar rolls out of the ring, giving himself some space and a chance to regroup as the GodKing taunts him.
Vlad: "Come on, I'm going to make my foot disappear up your ass!"
Azazel is none too pleased with the offer, but keeps himself collected, already finding it evident that the last thing he wants to do is engage the GodKing in a slugfest. He climbs back onto the apron cautiously and the Behemoth charges, jutting his patella forth once more at the visage of the younger man. Jakob's prudence pays off, allowing him to slip back off of the edge before the Czar of Scars can connect. He swiftly scoops his arm under the bottom rope, displacing his opponent's stance as he cries out "SHIH-ZAH!" Strife, sour about being left on his bottom from the sweep, grabs the ropes and pulls himself back. The Magician takes a short run, hopping up onto the steel steps as Vlad gives chase, following him as he rounds the turnpost and steps onto the apron. The Englishman doesn't simply stop there, continuing across the outskirts as the 84-3 Titan makes a beeline for him. He dips down, holding onto the upper tandem of cables and swinging his legs through. The wiley Warlock rotates about the Romanian's waist, planting his feet down behind him firmly on the canvas. He wraps his arms about the Hardcore King's midsection, leveraging him into the air and taking him to the mat, dumping his just over his shoulder with a thunderous clatter. A wave of cheers sounds off for his impressive display of skill, XWA's newest star having shown them that he might yet possess enough to deal the Barbarian Lord his first loss in over a year.
As the pair rise back to their feet, the GodKing dons a smile, seemingly excited over the showing.
Vlad: "So, you actually have a little more than smoke and mirrors.. Good for you, kid."
The Master of Magic, having afforded himself some sliver of respect from the legend, decides to bring the pace down a notch as he takes a step forth and raises his hands, looking to oblige the Barbarian Lord in regards to the test of strength he sought to begin the contest with. Vladimir meets him, the pair vying for leverage shortly before Jakob bows out of the contest, opting to take the left arm of the Behemoth and duck under it, popping up behind Strife with a hammerlock. The Czar of Scars, not one to be tripped up by such a routine hold, reaches overhead and slips his fingers through his opponent's hair. He drops down to a knee, flipping the Warlock over his shoulder and down to the canvas. The Demon Hunter is back up as quickly as he went down, catching the oncoming Romanian with a hooked arm and whipping him over now onto his back. Vlad rises to meet him again, but is greeted instead by the soles of his boots as Jakob pounces off of the mat and pounds them onto the Behemoth's biceps, using the force to bring him over his head and safely beneath him. The crowd is excited by the picture perfect dropsault, their fervor only growing when it's recipient rebounds off of the ropes and into a teeth-rattling super kick. With his back now toward the fallen King, Azazel takes off, bounding once more and stomping down upon the middle rope. It bows beneath his force as he grips it's brethren to stabilize himself, then snaps back, flinging him back toward the center of the ring. The Heir of Empty Breath goes with the momentum, arching himself back into a crescent and tumbling over as he comes down to cross torsos with the Titan.
Jakob clutches his chest as he rights himself, holding the Barbarian Lord by the back of the skull and assisting in him doing the same. He tucks his opponent's head under his arm, then forces him to mirror the action. He takes Vlad by the waistband and hunkers down before ripping him off of the mat with a burst of strength, throwing himself and his catch back against the mat. Holding onto him, Azazel flips over onto his stomach, rolling the GodKing over and begins to tug at him, working him back up for an encore. As they return to a vertical stance, the Behemoth's feet leave the ground once more, this time to lock about the waist of the Magician. He tightens his arm around the Englishman's head, pressing it down as though trying to bring his chin to touch his collar bone in spite of the forearm between them. Strife falls to his back again, but this is precisely where he wants to be now, cutting off the flow of oxygen to the Master of the Mystifying's brain. The newest addition to the XWA roster waves his arm wildly in search of the ropes, struggling against the hold as a retard might struggle with the concept of pure wrestling. With no moves at his disposal, he's left feeling as though he has no fucking business being in the ring and has momentarily been limited to little more than a poorly trained shaven ape. In his defense, he fights back with a set of sloppy haymakers, many of them missing their mark entirely. Vlad breaks the hold, perhaps backing off out of pity and the men stand, ready to keep going. The Magician waves his open palm before his face as they stand there, clearly in some attempt to hypnotize the dreaded Romanian Scourge. He then moves back in, setting up for a suplex once again as though he's taken nothing away from their exchange and refuses to acknowledge anything he could possible have learned from it. The EVPW legend shoves him away, but Jakob simply raises his arms to garner cheers as though he were victorious in his quest anyhow.
The blood begins to flow properly to Azazel's brain again and he begins to act himself again, keeping a careful eye on the opposition. He reaches into his pants, producing a playing card as the GodKing takes a step forward. The Magician holds it up to eye level and Vlad stops dead in his tracks, fixated upon the object.
Jakob: "Is this your card?"
Vlad's eyes run over the king of clubs over and over, the gash in it's center mesmerizing the Barbarian Lord. He would recognize that card anywhere, having pinned it to the doorway of a former comrade years ago to mark his time as running out. It proves a worthy distraction, allowing the Heir of Empty Breath to land a punishing kick along the GodKing's thigh. Another comes through along his ribs, two more following it. Each lands higher than the last before one pounds across his cheekbone and he stumbles into the ropes. The Warlock follows in, but as the Czar of Scars looks back in his direction, the murderous stare of rage chills his blood. Strife comes barreling at him and Jakob abandons the squared circle, looking to steer clear of the danger of an enraged Titan. As he rounds the steel steps, he stops, reaching under his arm and shockingly producing a pigeon, which he presents to the pursuing Hardcore King.
Jakob: "I choose Pidgey!"
The joke meant to disarm the GodKing only stills him a brief moment before he violently grabs the pigeon and slings it down across the stairs, it exploding in a flurry of crimson feathers.
Vlad: "Arceus used Seismic Toss! It's super fucking effective!"
Jakob stands there, slack-jawed and horrified at the stark cruelty to an animal. His eyes begin to well up, Pidgey McPidgerson the Third having been a beloved and loyal assistant of his for some time now. Strife cuts his mourning short, grabbing the competitor by the hair and shoveling him into the ring swiftly.
The Magician gets to his feet quickly, swinging his arm about in long, deliberate sweeps as he rattles off an unspellable conglomerate of vowels and guttural sounds. The GodKing slips into the ring and stands before him, a puzzled look on his face in regards to the utterance.
Jakob: "You've done it now, Vladimir... My poor, beloved Pigdey.. I've disabled your finishing moves. Good luck walking out of this one, you monster!"
Vladimir plants a foot down and behind him, baring into the canvas. His muscles bunch and surge as his energy shifts up through the grounded limb supporting him and shifts across the length of his body through his torso. His compressed arm fires away suddenly, snapping forward with a burst of speed, strength and inertia. His knuckles crash across Jakob's upper lip, transfering the product of the kinetic linking to his skull and dropping him into a motionless heap. The GodKing drops down upon him and hooks his leg, Ryu Sanu getting into place to make the call.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
The bell rings out as the match comes to in an end, XWA's newest member falling victim to the Czar of Scars and a grave miscalculation of his powers.
Subject: MATCH 2.) Vladimir Strife vs. Jakob Azazel 
