Heart & Soul Wrestling Chapter 8: Innuendo: Chris House Carnage Challenge, a X-overs + Wrestling Crossover fanfic

Innuendo

November 7th, 2020

Pro-Bending Arena

Republic City, United Republic Of Nations

...

Part Uno

...

The camera fades from black…to mostly blackness. There are 3 rings of dull lights seeping through what one presumes are crowd entry portals high above the floor, and a noticeable block of black so dark its unnerving. The chattering of the presumably huge crowd bouncing all across the screen, the originators of the sound masked by the dark veil presently over everyone. For about 20 seconds, one would be totally lost as to what they were watching aside from the HSW purple blocks in the lower right hand corner…

…

["One, Two, Three, Four…"]

The drone of keys being held down on a electric keyboard vibrates throughout the obscured arena. Its "Innuendo" by Queen being played through the audio system. Suddenly the tone increases exponentially, a series of lights beam over the outline of some sort of curved marquee resting on the floor. They shoot initially white light from left to right, right to left, back and forth to the vibration of the varying keys. Each pass of light tinges it with a bit more and more purple. The swish-washing of lights ceases as vocals pierce through the loudspeakers.

["While The Sun Hangs In The Sky And The Desert As Sand"]

["While The Waves Crash In The Sea And Meet The Land"]

["While There's A Wind And The Stars And The Rainbow"]

["Till The Mountains Crumble Into The Plain"]

A flurry of drum rattles kicks off rapid fire of sparkles. They are all jutting overhead of the curved marquee, racing left to right and back to where it began. The last of the sparks drops behind, the music continues.

["While We Live According To Race, Color Or Creed"]

["While We Rule By Blind Madness And Pure Greed"]

["Our Lives Dictated By Tradition, Superstition, False Religion"]

["Through The Eons, On And On"]

The instruments behind the vocals grows increasingly bombastic. The marquee begins to rise up from where it'd been resting. The lights come on in full to reveal all the unique face of the thousands seated in the building; whether around the permanent ringed bleachers or crammed on the rough earth below.

["Oooooh Yes, We'll Keep On Trying"]

["We'll Tread That Fine Liiiiine"]

["Till The End Of Time"]

["Oooooh Yes, We'll Keep On Trying"]

["Till The END OF TIME!"]

The music shimmers into the cheers releasing the pent of anticipation of the crowd. We are given several establishing shots of the crowd and the arena. One can now fully appreciate the size and scale of the grandeur. A masonry wall encircles the floor seating of about 10,000 spectators, a whose who of the fandom of the FWM. Sitting on top of the wall is the first of three ringed tiers of permanent seating, meant for another 20,000 (though only holding half that). Here local curiosity seekers who may not be as die hard for pro wrestling take their seat. Their ragtime attire clashing with the more modern dressed people on the ground. All have their heads shrouded under the iconic golden glass dome of this particular venue. We're not in Johnstown anymore.

"Its Republic City, It's The Pro-Bending Arena, But Tonight It Hosts The Climax Of Our First Year In Operation. This Is Heart & Soul's Innuendo!" Bennett bursts open with.

A crane shot shifts right, across the fans seated below but concentrating in upon the massive staging area. In all honesty its quite basic. The Innuendo marquee curving above and a reflective black triangular stage sandwich the IMAX-esque screen against the back wall (two smaller screens, typically promoting the live feed, flank each side). A long ramp extends from the tongue of the stage, making the gradual decline to the floor precisely where the barricades box out around the squared circle. The ring's bordered by black ring skirts, all purple ropes, and a plain baby blue canvas closed in by a purple border. The buckles are of the Japanese variant, one long rectangular buckle for each corner. A red & blue corner are designated by respective buckles, the other two are silver.

But time to admire the scale is abruptly cut, with the sound of a motorcycle revving to live echoing throughout the building.

"ImTheNostalgiaCritic,IRememberItSoYouDontHaveTo,IDon'tGotTimeForOtakuOverHere, Because The Psychotic Bastard Is Already Here!" Critic exclaims, rushing through introductions.

The whining guitar riff of Fusion Rocker's cover of "Death Rider" squeals through the audio system of the Pro-Bending Arena. The IMAX screen begins the long crawl of the bloodied metallic outline of a weed wacker pulling into view. The crowd pops as that iconography shrinks to be the bottom border of the name of the man making his entrance…

…

But That Revving Hasn't Stopped, Even When The Bass Drops To Begin The Instrumental…

…

As The Franchise Of Carnage Rides Up The Slope From Backstage To The Top Of The Ramp On Two Wheels!

"And He Got A Sweet A** F***in Ride, Bennett!" Critic shouts with glee, possibly shaking Bennett to direct his attention.

"I See It-I See It" Bennett cries back.

He pauses on the apex between the slope & ramp, taking in the massive crowd all around him. One of the biggest crowds this man had ever been in front of. One could argue that the corpse of the championship he's got slung around his neck was one of the things keeping him from achieving this level…or helped to propel him to this moment. It didn't matter, as the Psychotic Bastard knocks his basking aside with his sadistic grin. Gives two more good revs before GUNNING it down the long ramp. The cameraman on the stages catches a soon to be iconic rear shot of the Franchise Of Carnage sailing on his motorcycle between a sea of flash bulbs popping off to capture his visage. Briefly we see "KING OF CARNAGE" scrawled in chalk on the back of his denim vest before he dusts off into the history books.

"Llllladies And Gentlemen, Innuendo Kicks Off With The The Carnage Invitational. Riding To The Ring At This Time, Weighing In At One Hundred And Ninety Nine Pounds, The Psychotic Bastard…Christopher House!" A New York Ring Announcer Who Sounds Like Bruce Campbell But He Isn't, We Assure You…soo…Not-Bruce Campbell announces, creating another wave of admiration while Chris has reached the end of the ramp…probably should question the mental well being of said cheering fans.

"Christopher House is defending HIS championship for the first time under HIS rules." Bennett clarifies. "We have NO involvement aside from providing the ring."

"I Saw Him Down At Ringside Last Night, He Was Stuffing The Underside Full Of Instruments Of Torture!" Critic exclaims.

"Why are you happy about that?" Bennett asks worryingly, but gets no answer.

Chris didn't kill any excess seconds getting down the stretch of the lengthy ramp. He veered sharply to the right, letting the momentum coast his motor bike around all four sides of the ring. Chris didn't care if he was at his destination, though. He kept revving on the gas, a gaping smile as toughs of smoke shoot out of the exhaust. Pivoting on his left heel to dismount, the battered belt swinging around his neck slightly. He beings marching toward the ringsteps, only for something under the apron to catch his attention.

"Oh god…" Bennett whimpered…

…

A chain is catapulted between the ropes, dropping down to the canvas. Followed by a spare chair that'd been tucked under the ring for sake keeping. A commemorative Innuendo cup with some sort of sticks is chucked in for good measure.

"Are Those…Are Those Skewers?" Bennett asks.

Chris's head pops up as he starts storming around the ring post, the cameraman is shooting low to the canvas across the ring. The Franchise of Carnage disappears again, the apron fluttering up moments later…

…

….

A kendo stick is launched up in the air, followed by another chair. There's a delay as Chris is fishing around…

…

Before He Props Against The Ringpost A Section Of Lattice Covered With Mouse Traps

"Oh you got to be kidding…"Bennett begins murmuring before bursting out laughing. "Oh God, I just got this visual of Chris Leaving Some Sort Of Crumb Trail For Security So He Can Run In And Stuff All His Toys Under His Christmas Tree."

"I Just Figured He Hogties And Stuffs Their Mouths With Grenades." Critic deadpans.

Chris is on the move again, now on the hard camera side of the ring. The ring skirt goes up, some chants for tables are heard…

…

A steel bat is shoved into the ring…no, that's it.

"You see the dent on that bat? That was made by the skull of Jesse Alvarez in a world title match in San Antonio five years ago." Critic states.

"Really?" Bennett asks, genuinely sounding appreciative of this bit of knowledge.

"…No." Critic abruptly says. "But It Could Be!"

Chris hurries around the corner, jump running upon the ring apron to a chorus of…boos?

"We Want Tables! We Want Tables! We Want Tables!" The crowd more vocally demands, and won't go quiet til they get what they want. Chris goes full Hogan on the apron, acting shocked by the demand (he's not) by darting his head side to side.

"WE WANT TABLES! WE WANT TABLES! WE WANT TABLES!"

Chris drops back to the floor, ring apron puffs up over his head…

…

….

…

And Out Come TWO Tables, He's Pulling One By Each Hand! The Crowd Pops!

"YES!...WE HAVE TABLES!" Critic exclaims with delight.

Chris doesn't bother taking the time to strategically set them on their legs. He wants to cause as much carnage as soon as possible. He quickly leans on against the ring post on the left side from the hard camera perspective. The other table is slide into the ring, being propped against the southwestern corner buckle. Chris yanks the microphone from Not-Bruce Campbell's hand.

"CUT THE F***ING MUSIC!" The Psychotic Bastards shouts with a equally psychotic laugh. "Welcome One And All To My Carnage Championship Complimentary Challenge!"

There's a pop of sadism from the blood-thirsty elements of the crowd, forcing the rest of the arena to join in the ovation out of fear. Chris staggers erratically around the ring, looking out to all corners of the venue to ensure everyone is consistently geared up for the upcoming bloodshed.

"Pretty Good, Pretty Neat, But We're Gonna Change That Shortly. Because We're About To Have Ourselves A All-Out Brawl….The Rules Of My Challenge Is There Are None Save One. Whoever Manages To Get A Fall And Get Out Of The Arena Gets To Walk Away With My Carnage Championship. Pretty Simple….So, Republic City, I'm Ready To Busts Some Heads! But In Order To Do That, I Need Actual Heads To Crack! So Whoever In The Back Things They Can One Up Me In The Department Of Innovative Violence, Please, I Invite You Down To This Squared Ring And Allow Me To Prove You Wrong In Front Of Everyone In This Dome Tonight!"

The microphone plummets, being pulled away to the outside by its wire. Chris takes to lounging comfortably back in one of the corners, casually enjoying he has the time before somebody answers his challenge.

"The door is open for ANYONE to come in….my god have mercy on their souls…" Critic ominously declares…

…

["RE-"]

["-SPECT"]

["WALK"]

["WHAT DID YA SAY!?"]

The crowd rises to their feet, instantly knowing what the iconic opening shouts mean. "Walk" by Pantera triggers Green & gold lights shine down across the floor of the arena, the IMAX screen that serves as a backdrop to the ramp being showered by a series of tan variants of the Earth Kingdom logo, as the words "WHOLE DAMN DEAL" in a rocky font rise up from the floor.

["RE-"]

["-SPECT"]

["WALK"]

["WHAT DID YA SAY!?"]

"Making His Way To The Ring….From….REPUBLIC CITY, Weighing In At 235 Lbs, He Is The 'Whole Damn Deal'…..BOLIN!" Not-Bruce Campbell announces

"The Whole Damn Deal is the only one brave enough to answer the challenge of the Psycotic Bastard!" Bennett states.

"That, or he's stupid…REAL stupid." Critic claims.

"Bolin has never been one to back away from a fight. One of the greatest midcard champions in FWM history, having held the Hypersonic Championship in NCW for almost 2 years…but he always wanted that belt that Chris has stuffed and made into a prop." Bennett explains. "Its no longer a sanctioned world title, but I have the sneaky suspicion Bolin is answering this challenge tonight so he can give that old belt a proper home."

"It would look foreign around anyone else's neck BUT Chris's." Critic claims.

"Belts Aren't Suppose To be Worn Around The Neck, Doug!" Bennett exclaims.

["RE-"]

["-SPECT"]

["WALK"]

["WHAT DID YA SAY!?"]

["RE-"]

["-SPECT"]

["WALK"]

["WHAT DID YA SAY!?"]

The crowd breaks into a crowd of cheers after singing along to that leg of the chorus. Bolin reaches the end of the lengthy ramp with a proud and joyous grin on his face. He begins the unusual walk around the ringside area, high-fiving all the fans in the front rows and welcoming them to the show.

"Man, We've Never Got The Chance To See Bolin In Front Of A Crowd This Scale!" Bennett exclaims, signs of genuine joy in his voice getting to hear the fans singing along and cheering on the Backbone of the Fire Ferrets. "This will be his first time getting to wrestling in front of what's essentially a hometown crowd…but every match of Bolin's seems to occur with home field advantage."

"Are any of these 20,000 fans going to stop Chris from tearing Bolin's flesh apart? Are any of these 20,000 fans willing to take a chair shot to save discount Sokka?" Critic questioned Bennett.

"Are you willing to go down there and feed Chris weapons?" Bennett asked.

"Yes!" Critic shouts, his voice trailing off as if he's getting out of his seat.

"Sit Down, You Goof!" Bennett snaps back.

Bolin pops up upon the edge of the ring, facing back toward the crowd to get once last good look. Gets in one last synchronized arm & thumb pumping with the audience within the Pro Bending Arena…before entering the domain of Chris. The music subsides, reality hitting Bolin like icy water at the sight of Chris's redecorating.

"This is for the Carnage Championship, these are Chris's Rules. Anyone was invited, and anyone can join in at any time. Everything goes." Bennett reminds the home audience.

When the bell sounds, a segmented roar from the crowd is sent racing across the Pro-Bending Arena. Some casuals in the crowd have no idea what to make of seeing the ring littered with weapons of destruction. Bolin eyes seemingly held these uneasy sentiments, whereas the Psychotic Bastard across from him was completely giddy to bust out the weapons. His hands part wide across the vista of weapons he's purposefully scattered across the canvas, inviting Bolin to have the first pick of the lot. At first the hesitation persists…

…

But Bolin quickly takes up the chair nearest to him, having to rush as Chris latches on to another one within seconds.

Bolin & Chris start to play a little dance of suspense, slowly rotating counter clockwise in tandem. Each one waiting for the other to flinch first and go for the first swing…

…

Chris Makes A Wild Swing Forward, Bolin Blocks With The Seat Of His Own! Bolin Tries Swinging Toward His Foe's Ribs, Chris Side-Steps Out Of The Way. Bolin Has To Pivot Quick, Managing To Block Another One Of Chris's Shots. Chris Fires Another Shot Quickly Off, Bolin Manages To Nudge Himself Out Of Harms Way.

"Oh goodie, we got ourselves a duel of the chairs." Bennett says to open the match.

"Bolin's Quivering In Fear!" Critic overenthusiastically claims.

"He's trying to judge how to return fire." Bennett clarifies as Bolin cautiously was backing up toward the eastern set of ropes. Chris makes a sadistic crawl forward, hand twitching to make Bolin second guess when the next shot of the chair is coming…

…

Chris Makes A Wild Swing For Bolin's Skull, The Whole Damn Deal Bolts Forward To Evade! Chair To The Back Of Chris! A Second Shot To The Back Brings The Psychotic Bastard To His Knees! Bolin Unfolds His Chair, Placing It In The Middle Of The Ring…

…

And Runs Up And Off It Like A Platform To Execute A Step-Up Enzugiri That Timbers Chris To The Mat!

"AH! My God!" Critic cries.

Bolin tries to boost himself back up, feet & hands all on the mat. In front of him is the bat that was slid into the ring. He uses it as a crutch to stand, but shows no sadism of wanting to actually pummel the 'champion' with it. Chris has grabbed hold of the ropes, slowly pulling himself up to his feet…

…

And Gets DROPKICKED In The Side Of His Ribs, Tumbling Out Of The Eastern Ropes And To The Floor!

"AH GAWD!" Critic screams, almost to a annoyance as the Psychotic Bastard is looking far from being a champion. Even a undisputed champion…

…

Who Has Salt Added To His Wounds When The Crowd Is Dazzled By Bolin's Plancha To The Outside!

"Bolin Is Firing On All Cylinders Tonight!" Bennett exclaims, as chants of "BOLIN BEAT! BOLIN BEAT! BOLIN BEAT!" ring out throughout the Pro Bending Arena.

"What…what happened? Where did the Psychotic Fandom go?" Critic asked in distraught, Bolin taking just a brief moment to soak in the crowd before turning to the matter at hand.

"Psychotic fandom?" Bennett questions in dullness. "You mean the FBI Most Wanted list?"

"It goes by many names, yes." Critic deadpans.

Chris's body tosses and rolls across the mat, and not by choice. Bolin slides in after his favoring opponent and whips him away into the red corner (northwestern corner). Bolin then rushes forward but whatever was intended never came to fruition; Chris wills his way aside and allows Bolin's shoulder to hit the corner pad. Its only some minor shoulder damage as The Whole Damn Deal wheels about. Chris throws a wild left that Bolin ducks, a wild right that is averted, Bolin's more calculated palm connects!

"Chris still pretty dazed, Bolin thinking more rash in such a unrash match." Bennett tells.

Bolin tries to push Chris by the head toward the ropes, but the Psychotic Bastard keeps his feet firm. Bolin tries pulling by the arm instead, wanting to whip west, no give. Chris counters, taking control of Bolin's own arm and trying to whip him east. Bolin turns it into a positive, however, running with the momentum of being whipped and rebounding his foot off the top rope. He drops toward the middle of the canvas, his momentum and weight yanking Chris down with him via a arm drag.

"Bolin pulling Chris to the mat, a canvas where Bolin shines." Bennett comments.

"Yeah well….Chris likes painting it with one color and one color only. Don't get comfortable, Bennett." Critic reminds his co-host.

Bolin rights himself, gazing around at the crowd….and at the lattice tucked against the southeastern buckle.

"…And don't think Bolin won't go to such lengths, Doug." Bennett retorts as Bolin tries grappling Chris back up to his feet. "He's looking to suplex him into that lattice!"….

…

No, Chris averts. Managing to rip free of Bolin's waist lock. A quick spin around and Bolin takes a kick to his fibula.

"Maybe not…Maybe Its Bolin Going Into That Lattice…!" Bennett begins to exclaim as Chris tries for a Irish Whip….

….

…

….

…

That Send Bolin FEET FIRST Through The Lattice. Its Newly Formed Jagged Holes Tear Up The Outer Layer Of The Skin!

"Ah Crap…that hurts folks…that hurts….100% relate to those types of scrapes…" Bennett grumbles, sounding as if he himself is in pain from it.

"That's Nothing. Wait Until He Gets To The Kendo Stick!" Critic reminds Bennett.

"Oh please no…" Bennett moaned, Chris dragging Bolin out of the splinters.

Chris casts Bolin aside, not really carrying where he ends up. Chris is more worried with finding something to arm himself with…

…

And indeed, as Critic predicted, it's the kendo stick!

"yeeeeeeeah, Now You're Going To See Some Serious S***!" Critic exclaims.

"F*** HIM UP CHRIS, F*** HIM UP!" Some of the more sadistic elements of the crowd chant.

Chris head tilts slightly, his hands acting independently and tossing the kendo stick back and forth in all sorts of fancy twirls. He brings it to a abrupt stop, aiming the taped up tip down at Bolin, whose struggling to his feet. Chris makes the plunge down to his own knees, trying to get as much momentum as the Kendo Stick comes swinging down…..

…

Bolin NARROWLY saving himself, rolling slightly out of the way. The crisp echo of the stick hitting mat rings throughout the building, followed by gasps. Chris pops back to a vertical stance, trying to hit Bolin again. Once more the Whole Damn Deal averts. He gets on his feet and is in a squatting position, being confined into the northeastern corner.

"Chris has full say of what occurs in that ring as long he got that stick." Bennett asserts.

"Hang on, Bolin, be careful with that…" Critic sarcastically acts cautiously as Bolin as grabbed hold of that bat Chris had tossed in.

As Bolin raises the bat, Chris's confidence fades. He seems a bit worried, knowing that steel of the bat out-harms his wooden stick. That smirk is now gifted to Bolin, who begins tip-toeing forward. Chris is giving ground, not wanting to find out if Bolin can use the bat.

"Whose gonna flinch first?" Bennett asks.

"This…this isn't fair like the chair duel…" Critic whined…

…

Bolin tosses the bat up in the air…

…

And RAMS Into Chris While He Was Briefly Distracted, Trying For A Spear Through The Propped Up Table! But Chris Starts Wailing Blindly On Bolin's Back, The Kendo Stick Cracking Along The Side, The Shots Are Enough To Drop Bolin Just Short Of The Table!

"Props for trying a distraction, but-" Bennett begins to say.

"But Never Will You Outsmart Christopher House!" Critic declares.

Chris pushes Bolin a hair away, getting enough space so he can punch into Bolin's right shoulder with his knee. He grabs a hand, gaining a bit more distance to make the next knee strike even more powerful. This time its right to the head. Bolin's seemingly at Chris's mercy, a harsh irish whip sends him hurdling into the eastern ropes….

…

Bolin Curls His Arms Behind The Ropes, Preventing The Whip Back Chris Intended.

"Bolin Holds Fast!" Bennett exclaims, Chris makes a beeline to hit a clothesline before Bolin can thi-BOLIN SCOOPS UP CHRIS! Bolin Tilts Chris Over The Shoulder And Tries For A Piledriver…

…

Chris Rakes The Eyes, Getting His Feet On The Outside Of The Ropes, Tugging At Bolin's Neck, Wanting To Yank Him Over….

…

Bolin Manages To Worm His Skull Free, Jumps High And SAVATE Kick Sends Him Tumbling Down To The Floor!

"Bolin Kicking Chris Unceremoniously Out Of The Ring!" Bennett exclaims as Chris's hip crashes upon the unforgiven hard flooring.

"And Bolin's Not Done, Chris, Stop His Taunts!" Critic shouts as Bolin has hurried out upon the ring apron, pointing his thumbs…

"WHOLE!"…

…

"DAMN!"…

….

"DEAL!"…

…

Chris Was Leaning On The Barricade At The Worst Possible Time, The Spinning Leg Drop Connects Across The Back!

"Oh, It Connected…" Critic wimpered.

"The Heel Spiking Into The Spine!" Bennett exclaims.

"I Saw, I Saw!" Critic shouts back in frustration.

Bolin's back to his feet in no time, both hands raised high in the air to trigger a swell of applause out of the audience. Chris needs to be yanked up from the floor, being thrown back into the ring.

"Bolin trying to keep this as professional as one can…considering the stipulations." Bennett reminds in a grumble.

"What are THOSE stips again, Mr Otaku?" Critic asks mockingly.

"….no stips…." Bennett deadpans, tinge of fear knowing anything is legal, that anyone can come in at any time and do anything.

Bolin ascends the southeastern turnbuckle, full confidence of display that's undeniable contagious amongst the crowd…

…

"WHOLE!"…

…

"DAMN!"…

…

"DEAL!"….

…

FROG SPLASH ATTEMPTED BATTED OUT OF THE AIR…LITERALLY, STEEL BAT SWINGS INTO THE MIDSECTION!

"Da Bat! Da Bat! He should have held on to it." Critic claims as Bolin drops to the mat, hands concealing tender ribs.

"The crazed bastard is smiling!" Bennett cries out. "He's proud of breaking ribs"

"What's there NOT to be proud of?" Critic asks. "Everyone else seems to be loving it."

"Not everyone…" Bennett grumbles, Chris using said bat to push himself off his knees. He playfully tosses the bat over and under his hands before BRINGING THE COLD STEEL DOWN ACORSS BOLIN'S SPINE!

"And AGAIN, Now His Discs May Be Herniated!" Bennett exclaims.

Referee Gallatin seems to want to intervene, but is frozen by Chris pointing the bat right at him.

"My Belt, My Rules." He seems to remind the referee, Referee Gallatin hesitantly stepping aside as Chris rounds up for a third swing.

Bolin makes a wild roll over, throwing his boot up and managing to kick Chris in the wrists. He loses control of the bat, bending over to retrieve. Bolin struggles to crawl, but manages to find temporary sanctuary within the nor western corner.

"Oh now you've really pissed him off, Bolin." Critic claims, Chris acquiring a grip on the bat that's so tight his knuckles go white….

….

There's A Metallic PING As The Run Misses, Bolin Darting Throw The Ropes And To The Floor, Chris Gets Nothing But The Top Of The Post.

"Bolin saving his skull…" Bennett says in a huff of relief, "...He Could Have Smashed His Skull In, Doug, What Do You Say To That?"

"Well…..it's not a SANCTIONED championship match so not our worry…." Critic confuses, trying to save face.

"Oh now you admit it." Bennett states.

"I wasn't denying anything!" Critic exclaims as Bolin backs up against the barricade.

Chris's face was locked in a sadistic snarl, scaling up the turnbuckle and gleaming down upon his wounded prey. The bat pointed down at him, Chris shouting; "WHHHAAAAAA? FINDING OUT YOUR NOT FIT TO FILL MY SPIKEY SHOES! COME ON, WHERES THE INNOVATOR OF CARNAGE? OH RIGHT, THAT WAS ME!"

"He should do less spitting and more fighting if he's wishing to cement himself as that." Bennett quips.

Bolin has been leaning over the guard rail, gasping for air through his possibly crushed chest. Chris's continually berating starts pulling him out of this slump. Fans are patting Bolin on there back as he staggers away, not toward the ring…

…

But Toward That Second Table Leaning On The Outside, Setting It Up To Extend The Eastern Side Of The Ring.

"What is he doing? We Already Got A Table In The Ring!" Critic shouts.

"He Wants Chris Out There!" Bennett exclaims, as Bolin jumps on top of the table. A narrow platform where he and Chris and duke it out and see who can throw the other off. Chris tilts his head, the bats cast aside, crowd applauding as Chris walks fairly out on this newly established platform…

…

And Chris Gets The First Shot In…

…

But Bolin Fires Back Heavily…

…

Chris Rebounds…

…

Bolin Sends Chris's Head Reeling Back…

….

…

Back And Forth, Blows Back And Forth….

…

Chris Finally Dazes Bolin, Dropping Him To His Knees!

"Chris, Chris Separating Back To The Ring….and he's….no, no, you don't think?!" Bennett asks in fright.

"The Carbon Footprint Through The Table!" Critic exclaims. "A Curb Stomp Variant Of It!"

Chris Has Backed Up To The Top Of The Turnbuckle…

…

Bolin Forces His Way Toward The Bottom Of The Ringpost, Grabbing Hold Of One Of Chris's Feet Before He Can Jump Of!

"Get Off Him, Bolin, You're Ruining The Spot!" Critic shouts out of bias.

"He's Gonna Ruin Chris's Day Alright, He's Gonna Make Everyone's Day…" Bennett claims as Bolin gets a footing on the bottom of the turnbuckles. He blocks a punch from Chris, hooking his adversary's head…

…

NORTHERN LIGHTS BRAINBUSTER THROUGH THE TABLE!

"AAAH!" Critic screams in horror, the table buckles into splinters as Chris's head is seemingly drilled into the unforgiving cold floor below.

"Wuh-oh…Oh…..Oh They're Going To Be…Pretty F***ed Up Come Morning…" Bennett exhaustively gasps, realizing the damage that was equally distributed!

"Chris Might Be Dead And That's All You Have To Say!?" Critic shouts at ridiculous levels of volume.

"He's not dead…..he's not moving more than a inch-worm, though…" Bennett replies.

While the crowd relishes in the scenery of the move, Bolin and especially Chris are left frozen by the effects. Bolin twitches slightly, trying to return to full conscious. Chris only musters his forearms over the back of his head quite slowly. Bolin's palm curls over the end of the broken table, pulling himself out of the rubble and to his feet to great applause. He hurls Chris over the lip of the canvas, scaling up on top of the apron to pull back on the top rope…

…

Slingshot Belly Flop! Cover Attempt…

1…

…

2…

…

Chris Fights His Shoulder Free!

"Oh Thank Heavens, the man is alive." Critic sighs with relief.

"I think its been pretty well established it'll take a lot to not pin Chris but to nearly murder him just to get a victory." Bennett deadpans, the realization of horror on that front.

Bolin is up and away to think of a quick, new approach. He seems to have one, trying to hit a fisherman's suplex. Chris, however, manages to hold firm to Bolin, Chris whipping Bolin into the eastern ropes. But his momentum is cut abruptly by a sweeping dropkick, a classic signature of The Whole Damn Deal who sticks a wide landing on his feet perfectly.

"Even In This Sadistic Environment, Engineered By Chris House, Bolin Still Is Landing On The Mark Beautifully." Bennett states.

Bolin shoots up to a perfect stance, fists in the air close together to motivate the crowd to get louder on his behalf. Chris is pulling himself together in a ball near the northwestern corner, Bolin pursues…

…

But Jumps Back Erratically, Something Is Sticking In His Arm!

"What! What Did Chris Do!" Critic exclaims….

…

"HE SKEWED HIS SHOULDER, THAT'S WHAT!" Bennett cries out, as a lone wooden skewer falls from the puncture it created in Bolin's arm. "Good God, He Could Have Cut Through A Blood Vessels, A Critical Artery, Or-"…

…

CHRIS LUNGES FORWARD, JAMMING THE BUNDLE OF WOODEN SKEWERS IN HAND IN THE TOP OF BOLIN'S HEAD!

"OH MY GODILIVEINMYOWNEYES!" Bennett screams in disbelief, the crowd gasping, Bolin staggering deliriously before slumping against the eastern ropes.

"ah, that's nothing…" Critic downplays it all…

…

Chris Flapjacks Bolin HEAD FIRST INTO THE CANVAS, Driving All The Remaining Skewers Deeper Into His Flesh!

"…Now THAT'S Something!" Critic affirms.

Chris is still a bit sluggish, only propping himself into a kneel, Dabbing Streaks Of Crimson Under His Eyes From A Small Pool Forming On The Canvas!

"…you-You've Heard The CDC All Year, Wash Hands Frequently And…Don't…Don't Do That." Bennett stutters.

"That your great pandemic advice?" Critic asks.

"Yes, Don't Be Chris." Bennett finishes.

"PSYCHO CHRIS! PSYCHO CHRIS! PSYCHO CHRIS!" The crowd has begun to chant, something most people would take as a insult…but in this one instant it's the biggest motivator Chris could ever get. Chris's gapping smile grows wide, rising to his feet. He's still a bit off balance, swerving but giving a two gun salute of the fingers,

"BANG BANG!"

"Oh, That's Great, Now He Thinks He's Cactus Jack." Bennett deadpans.

"Roleplaying never hurt in the ring…." Critic worriedly muttered…

Bolin senses the boiling pot he's sitting in, and wisely rolls over the purple border of the canvas and to the floor below. There's a surprising mixture of boos, people craving for more violence.

"BANG BANG!"…

…

Chris staggers through the ropes, out to the ring apron. He's back resting upon the southeastern post, towering over a crouched Bolin on the floor….

…

"Chris, What Are You?…" Bennett begs to no avail…

…

Chris Runs And Drops Off The Ring Apron, Bringing His Diving Elbow Across The Back Of Bolin's Shoulders!

"OOF! Diving Elbow To The Shoulder Blades!" Bennett exclaims.

"In case you all forget, Chris Began Life As One OF The Best Cruiserweights." Critic states. "Then he got smart, packed a few pounds of muscle, and brought ultraviolence to the FWM!"

Chris locks Bolin's wrist, yanking him up off the ground and hurling him ribs first into the barricade. Bolin is draping across the rim of the railing as Chris takes a step back….fingers forming a rectangular view finder that only he can see….before wagging his finger as if to say for the Whole Damn Deal to kindly wait for him. Chris is off to the apron, head digging underneath…

…

"Every time Chris goes under that ring, Hades gets ever so closer to reaching the surface of the earth." Bennett declares ominously…

…

As He Has A Manual Staple Gun In Hand!

"What on earth…do we need…a staple gun under the ring for?" Bennett asks worryingly.

"Lots of things…" Critic replies…trailing off as no answers come to mind at the moment.

"And A Fan Just Gave Chris Their Program…" Bennett describes, Chris repositioning Bolin so he's facing toward him…

…

AND STAPLES THE INNUENDO PROGRAM BILL RIGHT TO HIS HEAD!

"YES! Bolin's Face Is Finally On The Billings!" Critic sarcastically exclaims.

"thanks critic…" Bennett grumbles.

Chris rolls Bolin back into he ring, being ushered away with "YOU SICK F***! YOU SICK F***!" chants. He Still Has The Staple Gun In Hand, Planning To Do More As He Enters The Ring!

…

HE BEGINS TO MALICIOUSLY STAPLE AWAY AT BOLIN'S LEFT SHOULDER! OVER AND OVER

"He's Not Even Trying TO Plant Anything To The Flesh, Just Piercing It For No Good Reason!" Bennett exclaims.

"So There IS A Good Reason For Staples In Skin?" Critic asked interrogatively.

"…I think I'm giving into the madness of this Invitational." Bennett deadpans.

Chris at last discards the staple gun…

…

AND LIFTS BOLIN UP ON HIS SHOULDERS…

…

"He's Going TO Try And Death Valley Drive Him Through That Table!" Bennett exclaims.

"He Hits This And We're Moving On To The Tag Match!" Critic declares…

…

"wait, who in the he-" Critic suddenly mutters…

…

AS CHRIS IS PULLED ACROSS THE RING BY A HOODED MAN CARRYING A SCYTHE!
"WHAT! WHAT! WHAAAAAT!" Critic freaks out.

"Did The Grim Reaper Come For Chris's Soul!?" Bennett exclaims…

…

CHRIS IS UPON HIS SHOULDERS, ELECTRIC CHAIR…

…

NO, THROWN BACK INTO A GERMAN THAT GOES RIGHT INTO THE LOWER HALF OF THE PROPPED UP TABLE!

"DEAR GOD, CHRIS MAY BE UNCONCIOUS!" Critic shrieks…

…

Bolin has just tried to stagger to his feet, unaware of whats going on AND GETS SCOOPED UP AND SPIKE PILEDRIVEN! HIS LEGS ARE PLUNGED DOWN FOR A PIN, THE MAN ORDERING THE REF TO COUNT!

"Wait, What!?" Bennett questions.

"Its Chris's Carnage Rules, Anyone Invited, Anything Goes…" Critic reminds…

1…

…

2…

…

"He Just Stole Chris's Championship…That's…THAT'S NOT HOW THIS IS SUPPOSE TO WORK!" Critic cries out.

"You said yourself, ANYONE INVITED, ANYTHING GOES!" Bennett hammers in.

"I Know, I Know…" Critic grumbles as the bell rings, the crowd left confused but still applauding the two death defying finishers.

"Here Is Your Winner Of The Carnage Championship Complimentary Challenge…and NEW Carnage Champion!?...uh…." Not Bruce-Campbell is unsure who to announce, the man removes his hood revealing a face almost entirely covered in gaze tapes, with jus this yes and black hair poking out..

"uh- ZACK!"

"Zack?!" Chris asks.

"That's Issac Foster, That's That God Damn Serial Killer That Submitting An Application To Here A Year Ago. I Thought We Binned Him For His Criminal Record!" Bennett exclaims.

"Well Someone Forgot To Shred It!" Critic cries out as Zack is handed the battered up Carnage title, which he holds up like he just one the Olympic gold medal or something.

"At least the belt still looks at home with this psycho." Bennett mutters quietly, acting as if Zack could hear him. The Scythe Wielding Serial Killer jumps up on the corner of the turnbuckle, raising the belt as proud as anyone would ever. He looks legit…happy to have snuck in the back door and won what's a unrecognized prize. Unrecognized to everyone EXCEPT the man whose still in a pile of lumber in the corner of the ring.

"Chris Was In The Process Of Stapling Bolin's Arm To Kingdom-Come And Then…" Bennett trails off, the screen splitting in two, with the left side revealing a replay of just moments ago. "Zack Hit Chris With What I'm Being Told He Calls Rest In Pieces. And Then, Took Bolin Out Definitively With The Death Driver."

Zack jumps out of the ring, large a** scythe draped over one shoulder. He's taken the time to wrap Chris's championship over the long handle of his weapon, walking up the aisle so casual its not. "Nightmare" by Avenged Sevenfold is playing him up the long ramp, he disappears just as Chris & Bolin both begin coming to.

Referee Galltin hs leaning over Chris, trying to judge his condition…

…

And Gets Grabbed By The Collar Of His Shirt, Chris Doing So To Pull Himself Up To His Feet.
"WHAT HAPPENED! WHAT HAPPENED!" Chris shouts, eyes crazed, Gallatin trying to explain but keeps flubbing up whatever statement he's making out of fear.

"COME ON!" Chris can be heard shouting…dragging Gallatin With Him Out Of The Ring….And To His Motorcycle?

"Chris & Referee Gallatin Are Getting Out Of Here In A Hurry!" Critic exclaims. "Chris Is Going To Hunt Zack Down For That Belt!"

"He's Kidnapping Gallatin, That's What!" Bennett cries out as Gallatin has no choice put to hold on to dear life around Chris's waist as The Innovator Of Carnage revs the engine to life and TAKES OFF UP THE RAMP! The crowd gives one final cheer as Chris & Gallatin disappear below the ramp, off for the hunt for a rematch.

...

Remaining Card:

Best Friends Squad (Catra & Adora) vs. Miyazaki Maidens (Nausicaa & San) - Soul Tag Team Championship Tournament

Vash The Stampede vs. Renton Thurston

Korra vs. Pyrrha Nikos- No Holds Barred

Armed Vanguards (Alex Mason & Frank Woods) (c) vs. Connor MacLeod & Max Rockantasky - Heart Tag Team Championship

Sarah Ortiz vs. Lucia Syicron vs. Selena Richardson vs. Leslie Haines- Fatal Four Way- Soul Of Wrestling Championship

Adam Price (c) vs. Johnny Alvarez - Heart Of Wrestling Championship