Believe it or not, he wasn’t an idiot… as the Sunday Show came into opening, the action began, Inmate Vs Angel Dalton was live at last… but Joe Campbell…
Was $20,000 richer.

Inmate Vs A.D.
(Asylum Championship, #1 Contendership)

Die hard fans had waited for a week to see it, somehow… someway, spoilers had not made their way onto the internet… it seemed as though while the Asylum and Joe Campbell were particularly good at daunting other promotions and businesses alike, they also appeared to have a tight grip on fans and individuals as well.

The main question circulating was who the victor was, in the knowledge that whoever walked out the champion would go on to Fight.Hell.II to face who increasingly looked as though they would be Nerva, the stakes couldn’t be much higher.

But speculate, contemplate… nobody had the answers, except for one man… as he stood in the video room, a smile beamed across Joe Campbell’s face as he produced a tape and ordered it to be played, suddenly… fans in the arena turned in shock to see footage on the big screen.

CRUNCH!

The crowd exploded… Inmate and A.D., the battle from Turmoil was finally being shown… intro’s and so forth had been skipped, but by the tolling of a bell, they knew they were joining at the beginning of the match… a vicious match.

The crunch had been Tyler Burton’s nose, after remarking that Dalton was a faggot who should go back to wherever he’d been hiding, he received a stunning blow to the face via Dalton’s right hand, this wasn’t all however… shoving Inmate down in to the mesh as he was dazed, Dalton took a firm grip on his wrist and sent several shocking fists into his face, the referee showed concern and leapt between the two… holding Angel away as Inmate’s eyes resumed normality following of few seconds of being glazed over.

Dalton had clearly been training, Inmate’s face was a smashed up painting of blood and bruises… his eye already swelling shut, his nose surely broken… he took the cheapest shot he could, taking a grip on the official and casting him into A.D., heads connecting…

A.D.’s mouth popped with a shower of blood as the referee fell dazed on the canvas.

Intense boos.

Echoing through not only the Turmoil arena, but the live arena where the fans sat watching the footage, Inmate had clambered out of the Asylum… and act which would normally, but not while the official couldn’t see it, cost him the match.

Intense boos.

Grew more intense, a conveniently placed lead pipe was discovered by Inmate, who rummaged under the canvas before raising it into the air sardonically, the crowd booing even more as he clambered back into the Asylum and measured up.

THUD~!

A skull splitting blow, literally… Inmate catching A.D. firmly on top of the head with the pipe, a streak of crimson blood flying out of it and across and canvas as Inmate spat with rage, sitting on Dalton’s back and holding the bar around his throat, a knockout victory looked on the cards.

Not quite.

A firm backhand had Dalton free, flinging back a punch, he caught Inmate right in the eye and knocked him flat onto his back; completely stunned… Angel got to his feet and picked up the lead bar, but it was Inmate who struck first, somehow.

Back to his roots, Inmate gripped A.D. around his waist… as much as Angel could swipe with the metal object, he couldn’t avoid being thrown over Inmate’s head with a devastating belly to belly suplex, his feet and legs catching the Asylum rim sickeningly as he buckled up against it, Burton’s suplexes were dangerous… on one occasion in 2001 he had managed to completely suplex the Dominator out of the Asylum without him touching the rim, they were rare… but dangerous when they occurred.

As Dalton recovered… so too did the referee, clambering to his feet, A.D. got up just in time to catch a hideous blow to the knee via the lead pipe Inmate had brought to the table, the attending fans grimaced, as Inmate proceeded to pick Dalton apart, standing on his ankle and bashing his knee joint remorselessly with the pipe, before throwing it down, lifting him up.

And dropping him shin first onto the Asylum rim.
A.D. cried out in agony, as Inmate grabbed his legs and twisted him down to his peril; SNAP!

This time however… Dalton wasn’t going to accept it, squirming and wriggling, he evaded the fatal turn and synch of the hold, before somehow escaping, a stray boot hitting Inmate firmly in the chin and knocking him back, A.D. struggled up… trying to regain a vertical base to defend himself from, Inmate rushed in, but to his own peril, A.D. stepping aside and using his own momentum to cast him into the over the Asylum rim!

The crowd exploded, but prematurely… A.D. collapsed to the ground clutching his leg, but Inmate clung onto the rim desperately, dangling about certain defeat, he “skinned the cat” back over and into the Asylum, he turned and rushed again… to his own peril.

CRUNCH!

A hideous blow to the groin, via A.D.’s head; Dalton lunging forward and heabutting Inmate square in the nuts, Inmate fell to the ground gasping for air, as Angel crawled over the mesh and tried to get to his feet, using the steel rim as support, he finally stood… as Tyler Burton desperately tried to crawl toward the now grounded lead pipe.

Picking it up, he clutched it in both hands as a still limping Dalton slowly mulled toward him.

CRUNCH!

CRACK~!

A.D. was down again, a firm blow to the ribs and a solid shot across the back of the neck sending him to the ground…

SNAP!

This time there were no reversals, Inmate had it firmly synched.

A.D. was motionless, and seconds away from defeat… the referee got in his face and demanded an answer, was he to submit or continue… the answer was firmly no, as Dalton suddenly powered up from nowhere, his teeth clenched… he moves using only his arms, and locked a firm and tight fingered grip on the Asylum mesh, Inmate exploded with rage.

“Tap motherfucker, TAP!” Inmate growled, before finally boiling up with rage and releasing the hold… he moved swiftly over to the lead pipe once again “If I can’t fucking make you quit, I’ll knock you the fuck out” he sneered, picking up the pipe and measuring it menacingly as a bloody and limping A.D. once again stood.

Swing.

Miss.

SMACK!

The crowd exploded, A.D. hitting Inmate with his notorious right hand punch, dazed… Inmate swayed around, but to the surprise of the crowd, A.D. stepped behind him, before hooking his arms and lifting him into a crucifix.

Cruxifix powerbomb~!

Into the mesh!

The crowd exploded, it looked as though the “Fall From Grace” had been given a revamp, and as Inmate lay unconscious in a slump against the mesh… the fairytale story looked complete, Angel Dalton had returned… Angel Dalton was going to Fight Hell.

And then, his world came crashing around him… all personified by the appearance of one man, last time he had been seen on Asylum television, he was stained in the blood of an enemy and was never the same again.

How fitting, that at the end of the night… the scenario would be the same.

Steve Douglas.

A solid headbutt later… Douglas’ face was covered in the blood that erupted from Dalton’s nose… as if by instinct, his next act was to scoop him up and drill him with a Dangerous Brainbuster.

The Douglas Driver.

TDD, Dalton crumpled in a heap as the referee counted a nonchalant 10, a tainted battle had left the questions sought after unanswered… as the transmission flickered to static then black, the fans in the arena booed insanely, a “Bullshit” chant cranking up along with the chorus of “Douglas Sucks.”

The answers it seemed, would never come.

It hung high above the Asylum cage, suspended with chains and cables. Never before had it been used in the Asylum’s environment. As children, people perceived the Jungle Jim to be a playground, a place of innocence and fun. But tonight, it was set to be a battleground.

“Links 2 3 4” by Rammstein played over the speakers. Fans booed as Joe Campbell walked out with a microphone in hand. He entered the cage and didn’t wait for the jeers to stop.

“All right, shut up.”

More jeers. He talked over them.

“There are some things I need to go over tonight. First order of business is the Angel Dalton versus Inmate match. For those of you who were too fucking cheap to pay extra, A.D. and Inmate fought to a double knockout. That means that there was no true winner and no true number one contender.

“Therefore, I am hereby announcing that BOTH men will go to Fight Hell 2 to fight for the Asylum Championship against whomever the champion may be. And that brings me onto my next order of business: our little dyke of a champion.”

The fans booed at the mention of Nerva. Joe pointed up at the Jungle Jim structure, causing all of the heads in the audience to tilt upwards.

“At Turmoil, that bloke Hypnosis couldn’t do what seemed to be a foolproof job. That pathetic sap couldn’t beat Nerva! The man you love to cheer, he turned out to be the biggest LOSERS in my fucking company! But you see, I am Joe’s brilliant mind. I know that all of you want to see the Asylum Championship OFF of Nerva’s waist, which is why I’ve devised this Jungle Jim match-up.

“The rules are pretty simple. Fifteen feet above the ground, there’s a door, and that very door will be your best friend, Nerva, because the only way out of this match is through that door.

“And of course, your opponent tonight is none other than my favorite monster, Archangel! You will all see the dyke champ get broken into different fragments, with her guts hanging off the bars of the Jungle Jim above me. Let me go on to say that The Movement is barred from coming down during the main event tonight. If Nerva’s the champ she cracks herself up to be, she’ll take a little pride in doing things herself. Thank you and enjoy the show, but one more thing…

“If you’re not watching this on Sunday: get a fucking job, you dosser!”

*Click*

And then the voice: “Hello, Sean.” “Shadow Fire” Azrael Ravenell’s voice said in the darkness. “You fucked up.”

“Just . Like . I . Did.”

“Where the fuck are you, you worthless little fuck?!” Token Weed screamed into the darkness as he clicked the light-switch on. Click, up, click, down, up, down,updown. No light. Token Weed growled at the realization: Shadow Fire had somehow broken the lighting.

“Yeah, you’re realizing the lights are broken, aren’t you?” The calm voice said in the darkness. Token squinted his eyes, struggling to see Shadow Fire somewhere in the darkness. “It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“I’ll rip your fucking head from your shoulder you stupid fuck . . .” Token growled, but the voice of Shadow Fire continued, unperturbed.

“You see, you fucked up. Just like I did. You say I should’ve killed you? Should’ve blown your head across the wall?” The voice paused once again.
“Yeah, you’re right. ‘Cause I’m still here and goin’ to fuckin’ kill you, Caleb,” Token said into the darkness.

“Well, you should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” Shadow Fire growled in the darkness. “Because, since you didn’t . . .”

*Clic-Click* A distinct sound. Token felt his stomach lurch.

“You’re fucked.” And then the darkness reached out of the room and, in a haze of pain, swallowed him.

“Last week was fucking classic,” said Joe snickering to himself. “You went out there with that idiot Cheno and had that fucker believing you were on his side. Fucking great. I was laughing my bloody ass off.”

“Yes,” said Providence with a sneer on his face, “it was quite interesting to see Eddie’s reaction when I began pummeling him. He looked sad…embarrassed…defeated. It gave me such a good feeling to see him like that after all that he has done to embarrass you and the rest of the Asylum.”

Joe chuckled again and stood up from his seat and turned to face Providence.

He slapped Providence on the chest and smiled.

“As for tonight,” he said, “it looks like Cheno’s not going to show. I figured that bloody Mexican would want to show up, but I guess he’s just a fucking chicken after all.”

“That’s disappointing,” said Providence. “I was hoping to get my hands on him one more time.”

“I know,” Joe said with a sigh. “I guess that’ll just have to wait.”

Providence nodded his head silently and headed for the door and left. Joe smiled once more and took his seat again.

Hah. She loved it. She loved the fact that she had accomplished her mission and that it was fairly simple. Sure, she would have to dish out some green to get her windshield fixed, but not half as much as Gwen would have to spend to get herself stitched and bandaged up.

Nicole stood at the refreshments table backstage. The Asylum had a refreshments table? Well…mainly just stale donuts and cold coffee. Rumors were that Joe ordered the coffee be kept cold to keep from dealing with any of those assholes who got angry and threw scolding hot coffee in the face of the nearest person. Of course, Joe wouldn’t really care—until he became the nearest person.

Nicole bit into one of the donuts, grimaced at the taste, and spit it into the trash. A voice arose behind her.

“Aye, the donuts be a wee bit less than scrumptious.”

Gwen O’reilly.

Before Nicole could turn around to encounter the Irish girl, she’d been taken to the floor on account of the bottle of gin that’d been smashed over her head. The bottle was empty of course—its contents had been taken care of a few minutes before this whole ordeal.

Gwen stood over Nicole with a grin on her delicate, scabbing face.

“For a police lass, you’re awfully unacquainted with your surroundings and the occurrences in those surroundings. I consider it a wee bit cowardly to attack someone from behind…but in me’ own opinion—I’uz just returning the favor.”

With that, Gwen spit on Nicole, and hobbled her still broken body away from the scene.

Karmyn[Angel] Vs Hans Krueger
(None Title)

As "Twisted and Broken" finished up, "Crush 'Em" cued up, and Hans Krueger, one half of the Asylum Tag Team Champions, stepped out from behind the curtains. His frame was twice as large as the UK Champion's, and he smiled at her as he walked down to the cageside area. He too handed over his title, and the referee signaled for the bell as he entered the Asylum itself.

Karmyn ran towards Hans, and went for a head scissors take down, but Hans grabbed Karmyn, and smiled for a second, before he plastered her onto the concrete with a Snap Powerbomb.

"I have decided zat in order to beat your Wrestler slut ass, I vill use your whorish tactics..." said Hans, as he kicked Karmyn in the gut several times, before he lifted her up. However, pain engulfed Hans as Karmyn kicked him in his groin, and he keeled over, only to be taken down to the concrete with a dropkick to the knees by Karmyn.

The referee got to three when Hans got up, and stared at Karmyn for a second, as she slapped him hard across the face to cheers from the crowd.

Suddenly, Hans grabbed Karmyn by the neck, and did a slicing motion across his neck ala Undertaker, before the Dresden powerhouse chokeslammed Karmyn to Hell, so to speak.

At seven, Hans lifted up Karmyn, and spoke to her:

"You know...I think I vill give you mercy..."

Hans kicked Karmyn in the gut, and flipped her into the air, before he executed a running powerbomb, depositing Karmyn to the outside. "Crush 'Em" sounded up as Hans had won the match by Ring Out.

"Oh vell...too bad." said Hans, who smiled to himself as he collected his belt, and headed backstage as Karmyn tried to get up on her own.

It was only Lotus, Akha, and Nicole sitting in the locker room. And then there was Roger in the disturbing pink thong that showed his testicles. He knelt at Nicole’s side, neck bound by a dog collar attached to a leash.

“Quit your worrying, Lotus,” said Akha. “God, it’s always ‘Where’s Nerva so I can eat her pie out and play with Zoe’s tits?’ Why don’t you get that Mistress Dildo out of your ass already?”

Lotus cracked her knuckles and stood up from her chair. As she saw Lotus approaching, Akha put her TIME magazine down and stood up. Nicole crossed her arms and legs to observe the situation, while Roger sat like an obedient dog shifting his head back and forth from Lotus to Akha.

“Maybe I care about The Movement more,” said Lotus. “Maybe my concern for Nerva is healthy for us as a whole. It shows unity and togetherness. But apparently, you look down on my efforts to bring us all closer. What’s wrong, Akha?”

Akha clenched her fist. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong—”

The door burst open and an angry Nerva stormed in with the Asylum Championship over her shoulder and a duffel bag in-hand. She threw the bag to the ground and dropped the title over it.

“Nerva! Nerva!” said Lotus, like a child to a parent. “Oh my god, I was so worried about you. I thought you wouldn’t show up for your title match tonight and you’d get stripped of the title, but oh thank god you’re here!”

Nerva nodded. “Thank you. You don’t need to worry, because I’ll always show up to fight.” She raised her voice. “Tonight, women, I embark upon The Movement’s biggest challenge. But rest assured that with all of you with me—”

“That’s the thing, Nerva,” Akha interrupted. “We can’t be with you tonight. You have to go it alone tonight.”

Nerva turned to Akha and slapped her. “Don’t ever speak when I’m in the middle of a sentence. Understand? Good. Now, what’s the deal with you not being able to be with me tonight?”

As Akha was tending to her face, Lotus answered for her. “Joe Campbell came out earlier tonight and announced that all Movement members are barred from the cage area during the main event.”

Nerva began to twitch.

“But don’t worry,” said Lotus. “We will all be with you in spirit. Tonight will be a true test of The Movement’s strength. Nerva, you have the power to combine my speed, Akha’s power, and Nicole’s dominance with your own skills.”

Looking down, Nerva took a moment to think about Lotus’s words. “You’re right, my blossom. We have nothing to fear tonight. Be with me, all of you.”

Nerva embraced Lotus first, then Zoe, and then Nicole. Akha looked at the ground when Nerva approached.

“As long as you’re in The Movement,” said Nerva, “you are my sister. Don’t break the bond.”

Nerva hugged Akha and then faced the rest of The Movement. “Victory is ours tonight.”

The crack of a fist on flesh resounded through the room, echoing in the darkness. Token gritted his teeth against the pain that lit up the side of his face. “Bah,” he spat, “you’ll have to do better than that.” He shot back at Shadow Fire, who struck out again, not with words but with fists.

Minutes stretched into seeming hours as he endured the beating and soon enough he felt the slickness of blood and sweat streaking his face. Token snarled in wordless rage at the other man, gritting his teeth till it felt like that should crack. But his teeth didn’t. And he didn’t, either.

Sweat slicked his brow, sweat and blood, streaking his blue-blonde hair across his face in a mat as his head hung. He tried to move his shoulders, but the manacles held tight. Groaning in pain, he used all his strength . . . to no avail. The chains didn’t snap. His incarceration remained.

“You think I’m just some pussy, don’t you, Sean.” Shadow Fire said calmly, his breathing even and smooth. “You think you can just walk right on top of me. Walk right over me. Like I’m not even there.” And then he spat on Token’s face.

And Token lashed out, kicking out with his foot, slamming it into something. Where he hit, he couldn’t tell, but the satisfying thump followed by the grunt told him he’d succeeded. Another spit in the darkness, and Shadow Fire’s voice sounded again.

“Good shot. Think you loosened a tooth on that one.” As the last word escaped his lips, Shadow Fire struck out, slamming a boot solidly into Token’s chin, rocking his head back and splattering blood out in a spray. Imitating Token himself, Shadow Fire executed a pump kick and sent his head down, bouncing against his chest, spraying blood across his shirt.

And then, the lights came on. Pain shot through Token’s head, lancing like lightning through his thoughts. Stepping back a step, Shadow Fire stared at Token Weed’s face, taking in his artwork.

His blood splattered like red paint across a white canvas shirt; his possibly broken nose bleeding a river down his face; his face cut, a neat, thin gash running from his left ear to his left nostril. His head hung down, shrouding his face in a blue-blonde haze.

Reaching out, Shadow Fire gripped the collar of Token’s shirt and gave it a quick, hard tug, tearing the shirt down the center. Token slowly lifted his head and stared at Shadow Fire sullenly. “Do your fuckin’ best. You ain’t got shit.”
He simply laughed at Token and turned and walked towards one of the tables in the back, on which sat several things. Brushing off the table, he threw all but four things onto the floor: a spoon; a Zippo lighter; a syringe; and a bag of heroin. With a glance over his shoulder, he began to tap out a small amount of heroin into the spoon as he began to speak. “You know, I was never big into heroin. Coke, a little; weed, definitely. ‘Little acid, ‘little speed. You know, right?” He said, glancing again over his shoulder.

“I knew you’d need something for your . . . pain, ‘eh?” Shadow Fire said, a grin plastered across his lips as the heroin began to bubble in the spoon. Taking the needle, he slowly drew the poison into the syringe and tapped it twice. “Yeah, this looks good,” he said, staring at the brownish fluid swirling murkily in the chamber. He placed the plastic cover over the needle and turned, tossing it to Token.

“Take a hit. You know you want it.” Shadow Fire said, grinning cruelly as Token began to thrash in the chair.

“FUCK YOU!” He screamed at Shadow Fire, tossing his legs till the syringe fell with a clatter onto the floor and finally stopped rolling several feet away. Grinning broadly, Shadow Fire shook his head as he lit up a cigarette. He stared at Token’s chest for a long moment with cold calculation. Nodding his head, he took one last drag.

“I think right . . .” he said as he slowly place the lit cigarette against Token’s right nipple, “here will do just fine.” And Token finally broke and screamed, a hoarse cry of pain. No frustration, like before, was in the scream. Just pain.

“Now that’s the sound I want to hear,” Shadow Fire said, laughing quietly to himself . . .

Archangel looked at the Inmate and then went about taping his fists up for his fight tonight.

“First of all, I just want to congratulate you on getting this title shot tonight. You deserve it, big guy. Now, there’s no doubt that you’re gonna win here tonight. Nerva doesn’t have a fucking chance tonight. But when you do win, that means you’re going to Fight Hell to fight Dalton and me.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Archangel.

Inmate nodded and took a seat beside the 7-footer. “You’re gonna owe me a favor at Fight Hell. You see, I gave you that Extreme Title a couple of months ago, so it's time for you to pay up. We'll take Dalton out of the picture together. But then, you've gotta go down for me, big man. Deal?”

After taping up his fists, Archangel looked towards Inmate and nodded. “Sure, I'll take Dalton out with you. And then, no problem, I'll drop the title to you.”
Inmate clapped and shook his fist like he’d scored a goal in soccer. He patted Archangel on the shoulder and then left the locker room.

“Just scratch that last part,” Archangel whispered.

The AsylumTron cut to Angel Dalton watching the entire situation on a monitor in the hallway. “How about we scratch everything?”

Unfortunately, Cheno had not shown up, and Providence was left without anything to do for the evening. After getting the word from Joe, he was planning on leaving the building and taking the night off completely for a change.

“Hey Providence, wait up!” yelled Joe from the other end of the hallway.

Providence stopped in his tracks and turned around, seeing Joe standing a few feet behind him.

“What is it, Joe?” asked Providence with a confused look on his face.

“It looks like Cheno actually showed up tonight,” said Joe with surprise. “Some of the guys told me he’s fucking back here tearing the bloody place up looking for you.”

Providence narrowed his eyes and nodded his head.

“Maybe I’ll give him what he wants then,” he said before walking past Joe and heading back towards the arena.

The door burst open, interrupting Joe’s spiel. Slowly, Joe watched Clayton Richler, one half of the volatile tag team ‘Pain and Suffering’ creep into the room. Clayton was dressed in sordid street clothes and was walking with a bit of a gimp. His stare never broke away from Joe’s apprehensive eyes as he took a seat in front of the desk.

“You’re supposed to knock, fool. Haven’t you realized by now that you’re subordinate to me? You can only be in my presence when I allow it.”
Clayton sat there, slouching in the chair and still staring at Joe.

“Oh, so that’s how you want to play, is it?” Joe asked. “Okay… fine.” A determined look overcame Joe’s face. He moved his elbows up onto the table and leaned forward a bit, staring into Clayton’s intimidating eyes. Clayton looked at Joe stoically; motionlessly. Finally, Joe let out a sigh and gave up, moving his eyes away from Clayton.

“Hmm… okay, so you win that one.” Joe cleared his throat. “So where’s your not-so-jolly giant of a friend? Vince, is it?”

No.

Clayton thought, continuing to keep his silence.

“… I’m not really good with names, anyhow.” Joe chuckled unemphatically.

“So, you two lost at Turmoil, didn’t you? Blew another chance at the titles, didn’t you?”

Clayton was drilling a hole in Joe’s face with his eyes now.

“Jesus…” Joe mumbled. “… Okay, so what the hell do you want? Another title shot? Well, you’ll have to consult with Syndication about that, sir. I cannot fathom any other reason for your presence right now, so I suppose I’ve answered your question. Now, if you’d be so kind as to lea--”

“Drake’s not with us anymore, but yes, you’re right… I do want another fucking title shot.” Clayton finally droned something out, but still didn’t break his cold, emotionless stare.

“… Right. He’s not ‘with’ us anymore. So, you’re just going to take on Hans Krueger and Adam Nowell all by yourself?” Joe let out a disheartening chuckle. “Of course. Sure thing, kid. But like I said, consult with Syndication. I can’t make those decisions.”

Clayton stood up from his seat and hovered over the cowering Joe Campbell, slouching down in his seat. To Joe’s relief, Clayton simply shook his head and turned away. Upon leaving the room, Clayton knew that Joe was bullshitting him, but he realized the futility of it all as well.

One of the cabinets opened suddenly and Steve the Rambling Communist rushed toward Azrael with a can of Endust in his hand that he was spraying around everywhere.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Azrael jumped, then calmed down when he realized that it was just Steve.

"What the FUCK?!" he yelled, as Steve continued to spray the Endust around.

"ENDUST." he commented.

Azrael blinked.

"I really need to quit smoking."

And with that, he walked away for his match, leaving Steve with his Endust.

Shadow Fire Vs El Janito

Getting down to the cage, Shadow Fire hopped in. “What the hell?!” He asked, staring at a sterling silver tea-set. He kicked it over, scattering teacups and all across the cage, as “God Save The Queen” began to play and El Janito walked out. As El Janito walked out, Shadow Fire muttered, “What, is this a fucking joke?!”

Despite not having the UK Title, he still wore his tuxedo and bow tie. As God Save The Queen continued playing, he entered the cage. And stopped, froze where he stood, as he stared at the mess of his cups of tea and the teapot and everything.

“"Hey, you bloody little toe-rag, I went through a lot of trouble to get th- OOF!" His complaints were cut off by a brutal kick to the gut, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over. Grabbing the pained Janito, Shadow Fire jumped, DDTing the faux brit into the ground with all his weight.

As he lay on the ground, moaning in pain, Shadow Fire gripped him by the collar and drug him around the cage, occasionally using brute strength to yank the far smaller man off the ground and slamming him into the cage.

“Don’t,” he stated, slamming the back of Janitos head against the cage.

“Fuck,” SLAM. “With,” SLAM. “Me,” with the last he tossed the dazed man to the center of the cell.

*ONE*

*TWO*

*THREE*

As the referee counted, Shadow Fire grabbed the table the tea had sat on. Picked it up, he carried it towards El Janito. He lifted it over his head and, with a sadistic laugh, slammed it down on the right knee of Janito. With a scream, Janito’s back arched and he began to roll on the ground. “See, Ref,” Shadow Fire said as a feral grin split his lips. “He can still fight.”

Janito forced himself to his feet, his face twisting in pain as Shadow Fire watched him slowly place weight on his right leg. “Bloody yank,” Janito muttered as he swung a fist at Shadow Fire. He ducked too late and it, surprising Janito, cracked him on the jaw. Blood trickled down Shadow Fire’s lip as he stood back up, staring at El Janito with dark gray-black eyes.

“Bad move, Brit,” Shadow Fire growled and suddenly his fists began to fly.

Ribs, chest, gut, and head, he slammed his fists into Janito, sending the smaller man stumbling back towards the wall of the cage. Fists rained down and suddenly stopped. Jumping up, Shadow Fire slammed Janito into the ground with a vicious Shadow Fall DDT.

Suddenly the crowd began cheering as out came their favorite jobbers: Steve The Rambling Communist and Beef. They charged down to the ring, attempting to rescue their fallen comrade. Shadow Fire simply laughed as the two, a midget and a faux super-hero, ran.

“Let me throw you over!” Beef told Steve and tried to grab the midget beneath his arms.

“CEASE.” Steve told Beef as Beef lifted the midget off the ground, took two steps back and, with a run and a yell of “ROSEBUD!”, hurled the man up, up, and over the Asylum cage, his cape flapping behind him as he flew. He slammed back down to earth, in the cell, and Beef began the tedious task of climbing the cell.

After several moments, with Shadow Fire staring all the while with laughter on his lips, he made it to the top. Repeating his scream of “ROSEBUD!” he leapt off the top . . .

. . .
. . . .
. . . . .

And missed horribly. Shadow Fire stalked to the stunned Beef, who slowly got to his feet. But Steve got to him first.

Clothsline From Shanghai. Right to the nuts of resident super-hero and midget-thrower, Beef. Beef screamed in pain, doubling over, and Shadow Fire grabbed him. Steve tried to grab Shadow Fire, but he kicked the smaller man who’d so surprised him earlier with his “Endust” in the face.

Shadow Fire kicked the silver platter closer to Beef as he kept his grip on Beef’s cape, dragging the would be savior around behind him. Pulling the other man to him, he gripped his head, jumped, and executed a brain-numbing Shadow Fall DDT onto the silver platter. With one twitch, Beef lay still.

And the midget was still after Shadow Fire. With a grimace, he spun and slammed a boot into the face of Steve the Rambling Communist yet again, sending the height challenged man. Stalking over to the fallen midget, he lifted the even smaller man up by the seat of the pants and the scruff of his neck. As he lifted the midget up, he gave one practice, two practices, then up

. . . and back over, in the same way he came in, the cage.

Steve’s arms pin-wheeled as he flew back over, barely getting out the word “FAIL.” before slamming chest first into the mats outside of the cage. He hit, and lay still.

Shadow Fire turned back towards Janito, who was getting to his feet, stumbling and wincing as he put weight down on his right leg. Bending over, Shadow Fire picked up the silver platter and, turning back to Janito, leveled the other man with a hard shot to the skull. Janito fell like a ton of bricks, slamming into the ground. Shadow Fire drug him to his feet again and, with a hand gripping his bowtie, pulled him to the edge of the cell.

He hopped up onto the edge of the cell and, spinning around, quickly slammed Janito down with a Graceless Descent.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10!

A thong sliding up. Even more cheers.

A pair of loose, white pants sliding up. Boos.

Reflection of Nerva in the mirror. Even more boos.

She was alone in her locker room. If only someone had told her that Archangel was on her way to her locker room. He stormed in through the door, garnering a large amount of cheers. Nerva quickly clipped the back of her bra on and then looked at him through wide eyes.

“Oh my god, what the fuck do you think you’re—”

Archangel roared, lunged forward, and grabbed her around the neck. Before she could struggle, he raised her high. Her feet were close to a meter from the ground. “Oh, my darling Nerva. My darling Asylum Champion. Darling, how would you like to DIE tonight?”

Nerva’s face turned a bright red as she struggled. His thick hand gripped harder, with the thumb digging into a sensitive pressure point. She was now turning purple.

“Excessive blood loss? Severe concussion? Internal bleeding? Come on, don’t limit yourself; I can kill you any way you want. Answer me.”

He dropped to the ground. “Well?”

She could only cough in response. Curling in the fetal position, she grabbed at her throat and kept coughing.

Archangel smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I guess I’ll just have to choose for you.”

Pain, following in the path of light . . .

Brighter light, as the door slowly creaks open . . .

Harsher pain, as the light slams shafts of agony through his skull . . .

And Token Weed looked up, struggling against the pain that thrummed like a live wire inside his skull, twining with his thoughts till all was blocked out but the knowledge of pain. Squinting his eyes shut against the light that shone in on his misery, he slowly began to make out the blurry figure . . . of someone.

He groaned silently at the prospect of more pain, but . . . it wasn't Shadow Fire? Through the haze of pain he tried to figure out who the blurry figure was, but he couldn't. The figure was too tentative, though, too hesitant to walk closer. And the figure's hand . . . it was tightened into a fist.

But . . . a protective fist, not a fist for punching . . . the figure, had something in it's hand?

Token Weed mulled over this problem between the waves of pain and, slowly, the figure came closer. He tried to make out the face, but his eyes were too swollen and blood-encrusted to see.

The figure knelt down a few feet away . . . stood back up . . . and placed the syringe on his lap?

He lashed out again, feet kicking out and connecting to the figure's stomach, doubling them over. "FUCK YOU," he growled. "I gave that shit up. Get the fuck outta here . . ." he half-spoke, half-whispered as the surge of adrenaline left his system. His head hung once more, his chin pressed against his chest.

"Thought it . . ." the figure wheezed. "Was yours."

"Well, it's not," Token muttered, not even lifting his head as the figure stood back up, still panting hard from the kick.

And suddenly they were behind him, and something was pressed into his hands. "What the . . " Token Weed murmured as he ran his fingers along the edge of the key to his hand-cuffs. "Who're . . ." he began, only to be cut off.

"Break him," was the only thing the person said to him before turning and leaving. Token simply sat in the chair for a long moment, his mind bending around the who and the why of it all.

The person who'd given him the keys had been . . . Morrigan Azallion.

Steve Christ Vs Itsu Kontan

"The Third Coming...has arrived..."

“Heresy” by Nine Inch Nails pounded out through the loud speakers and into the ears of the eager Asylum fans. They stood in anticipation as Steve Christ walked out from behind the entrance curtain and made his way down to the Asylum fighting area to a barrage of cheers while he had a few “accessories”.

He hopped over the Asylum fence and set a few of the “accessories” aside but kept a metal trash can lid within his godly grasp. As he directed his attention towards the entrance ramp, “Suffer” by Staind took over the airwaves.

A group of young adolescent males began to mosh, slamming their bodies into each other as the Silent Assassins made their way through the curtain. They were wearing the same suits they had on earlier in the evening when Joe introduced them as his protectors.

The older brother but smaller of the two stayed near the entrance as the other began to walk down to the asylum fighting area. Steve Christ glanced at Miyabita Hiryuu near the entrance but could not tell what he was looking at as both of the members of Silent Assassins had on black sunglasses masking their eyes in darkness.

Itsu Kontan hopped over the Asylum fence and into the fighting area.

Immediately Steve Christ pounced on him. “Suffer” by Staind slowly faded out as Itsu Kontan fell to the ground from a well-delivered blow to the head from the metal trash can lid. Steve Christ grasped the metal lid again, this time with both hands while Itsu Kontan got back to his feet. Kontan turned around with his black shades hanging onto his face by the tip of his nose to get a face full of metal again.

He stumbled backwards hitting up against the asylum fence. Steve Christ dropped the trashcan lid to kick Itsu Kontan in the gut and DDT him to the mat. Quickly up to his feet, Christ capitalized by stunning his opponent.

He picked up a wooden stick he brought into the ring, turned around and gleefully pointed at Miyabita Hiryuu who stood motionless at the entrance ramp, to then turn around towards Kontan and shove the stick right into his stomach and rib cage.

Dominating the fight thus far Christ took a second to catch a breath of fresh…

well, sweat and blood filled air. The stench of the air made him quiver and wipe off his upper lip as the beads of sweat began to form. Only a second break left the door wide open for Itsu Kontan. Christ ready to continue on dominating the fight grabbed Kontan’s suit collar and pulled him to his feet.

Christ balled up his fist, clenching it tightly, and sent a few into the forehead of Kontan. Kontan looked dazed and confused as Christ stopped with his onslaught of punches. Kontan knelt over gasping for air as the suit he was wearing made him extremely hot in the middle of the Asylum. Christ looked out to the crowd, who cheered him lustily, causing a look of "What the FUCK?" on his face, but more importantly gave Kontan the opportunity for a comeback. Kontan carefully waited a few more seconds and wobbled to the left a bit. Christ came after him, not realizing Kontan was inches away from the wooden stick he lunged into his stomach and rib cage just moments ago.

Kontan grabbed the wooden stick and spun it around the back of his hand and sent it into the forehead of Christ, he stumbled backwards as Kontan spun around bring the wooden stick behind his back and into his chin.

Christ fell onto his ass in the middle of the Asylum as Kontan stepped backwards then sent the stick right into his face. It cracked in half as the fans in attendance applauded and cheered awestruck. Kontan grabbed the metal trash can lid and threw it out of the asylum. Kontan looked up towards the entrance ramp at his brother Miyabita, who was slowly creeping his way down the entrance ramp towards the fight.

Steve Christ pushed himself up onto his knees. Both fighters came face to face with Christ standing over Kontan by four ½ inches. Christ wasted little time and stunned his opponent with a head butt. He grabbed the arm of his opponent and sent him into the steel mesh, which attempted to keep them inside the fighting area. Kontan almost fell over the side but kept his balance and stayed in the fighting area. Christ came up behind him and kicked his knee from behind. Kontan’s legs collapsed as Christ tucked Kontan’s head underneath his arm and dropping backwards hitting reverse DDT.

Miyabita Hiryuu was only a few feet away at this time. Steve Christ caught the small Japanese man out of the corner of his eye and quickly turned. He taunted Hiryuu by pounding on his brother some more. It looked as though Christ was manhandling the smaller foe. Hiryuu stood there, motionless.

Christ pulled Kontan up; with half of the wooden stick that got cracked over his head, he returned the favor by cracking the stick of Kontan’s head. It was too small, making it harder on Kontan’s head to break. A knot began to form on Kontan’s head as Christ cracked it over his head again. The knot began to swell quickly, fear not… not anywhere near the size of Rahman’s knot he got via a head butt from “The Real Deal” Saturday night on HBO. Hiryuu still stood motionless and Steve sprung into action.

Enziguiri.

Double-arm DDT.

The Truth.

Christ expected Hiryuu to attack but obviously dazed from the recent head trauma he did not, Christ pulled up his opponent only to drop kick him back down onto his back. He crawled onto a corner of the octagon shaped Asylum and propelled himself into the air to hit a 450 splash. Kontan’s chances at winning were non-existent after that blow. Christ still felt as though Hiryuu was going to attack as he looked over at him, still standing in the same spot...simply watching the fight like a spectator.

Christ pulled Kontan up to his feet, framed it, then charged and hit a spinning heel kick. Kontan was once again on his back looking up, clearly out of his mind. Steve Christ turned him over and crawled onto his back locking in Penance.

The referee watched the eyes of Kontan as they rolled into the back of his head slowly. He told Christ it was over; he let go of his fallen/damn near dead opponent to get his hand raised in victory with "Heresy" re-emerging from the PA to the joy of the crowd, who'd seen a dominant Steve.

He turned around to see Hiryuu hop over the fence. Miyabita Hiryuu walked right by him as though he did not exist. Christ yanked his hand out of that of the referee’s and left the Asylum fighting area thinking, “What kind of extreme match is that? Pussy.”

Miyabita Hiryuu looked down at his brother, he clenched his fists tightly then got onto one knee, he lifted up Kontan’s face as he came back around. Kontan stared at him blankly with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and a trail of blood flowing from within his left nostril.

Miyabita Hiryuu swiftly slapped his brother across the face and murmured something to him. Miyabita Hiryuu walked out of the Asylum fighting area, as he walked up the entranceway he fixed his collar and brushed off his shoulder. He disappeared behind the entrance ramp.

“Forty Six and Two” by Tool.

Providence.

As the fighter walked out from the back with a microphone in hand, the crowd rained down boos on him. While he had been aligned with Joe since his arrival, many of the fans had viewed Providence as a reluctant participant in Joe’s group in the past. However, last week at Turmoil it seemed he had shown his true colors, turning on Eddie Cheno in their match for the Asylum Team Titles. The fans had taken to Cheno over recent months, meaning Providence had not simply turned on Cheno but on the fans as well. As Providence finally reached the cage and stepped inside, the boos only intensified as Providence brought the mic to his lips.

“If I…”

Providence stopped there, as the boos drowned out the words that came from his mouth. He looked around the arena at the fans, many of whom were shouting obscenities and giving him hand gestures that would make their mothers cringe. Once again, Providence raised the mic to his lips.

“If I could…”

For the second time, Providence stopped speaking because of the boos from the stands. Looking as pissed as ever, Providence paced back and forth in the cage like a tiger, wondering whether or not he should strike at the unruly fans. Just as he was about to leap from the cage, Providence stopped in the middle of the ring and closed his eyes for a moment before lifting the mic to his lips for a third time.

“If I could have your attention, I will attempt to explain my actions last week at Turmoil.”

The fans continued booing for a few moments before stopping for the most part. Many of them had been wondering why Providence had turned on Cheno last week, and it seemed they were interested in hearing what Providence had to say.

“That’s better. You see, I have only been here for a few months, but I know what fighting is supposed to be about. Fighting is about coming into this cage…giving 100% against your opponent…bleeding…sweating…and RESPECTING what this place is all about. Eddie Cheno, you come out here each week and you give 100%. You bleed. You sweat. Hell, you even cry sometimes. But one thing you don’t do is show this place RESPECT. You make a mockery of the Asylum, the fighters, the officials, and especially Joe Campbell. You’re not the only one, Cheno, but you’re damn sure the worst offender. You joke around, you talk about smoking marijuana, you threaten Joe. The list goes on and on. But you know what, Cheno?”

“IT ALL ENDS NOW!”

“Get out here, Cheno. Get out here and face me like a man!”

Providence angrily slams the microphone to the floor, turning to the entranceway and waving for Cheno to come into the ring. The crowd cheers wildly, hoping to see Cheno get his hands on Providence and teach him a lesson.

“Smoke Two Joints” by Sublime.

Eddie Cheno.

The crowd erupts at the first sounds of the music, knowing that Cheno will be fired up to get revenge on Providence. Suddenly, Cheno comes running out from the back, hauling ass to get to the cage. For some reason, though, Cheno looks a little different, and the fans start to whisper amongst each other as Cheno gets into the cage. Providence and Cheno circle each other, neither man making a move. Finally, Cheno charges towards Providence…

…and he stops. A smile breaks out on his face, and the crowd realizes what’s going on.

Massive boos rain down from the crowd once more, as Joe Campbell removes the blue afro wig and rubs off some of the black paint to show the crowd the fraud. Providence smiles slightly as Joe tears off some of the clothing and reaches down to grab the microphone.

“What the funk? You people ain’t glad to see Eddie Cheno, mang? Hahahahahahahaha! Yeah, right! I banned that fucking fuck from the building tonight! Ha! Eat that fucks!”

With their ruse played out, Joe tosses the microphone to the outside, while he and Providence make their exit from the cage. The crowd boos them even more, obviously not pleased with the stunt.

Nerva (c) Vs Archangel
(Asylum Championship)

The normal, run-of-the-mill fan would feel sorry for Nerva. But if someone said that the Asylum fans were normal, someone lied. They were bloodthirsty and loved seeing the human body be abused.

If they didn’t like someone, that was how they felt.

They didn’t like Nerva. Even though Archangel was Joe’s henchman, the fans were backing him up tonight just to see The Movement’s leader get broken into pieces. She mocked the fans. She condescended everyone who didn’t agree with her. She even hurt those that didn’t agree with her.

And then there was Archangel. He just hurt whoever was next in line. “Last Resort” by Papa Roach sounded over the speakers, and then blared into “Bodies” by Drowning Pool. The fans jumped to their feet and cheered their temporary hero. Anyone was better than Nerva as a champion.

The 7’2, 385-pound frame of Archangel pushed past the curtains and walked towards the Jungle Jim. When he neared the cage, he grabbed the metal blue bars with both hands and shook the entire structure. He nodded approvingly. The environment was up to his extreme standards. After all, he was the Extreme Champion and this match was right in his ballpark. The referee opened the cage door with a fidgeting hand and led Archangel inside.

If only one fan in the audience prayed for Nerva.
“Unified” by Biohazard rocked over the speakers, causing the fans to turn their heads and boo. Nerva walked past the curtains but didn’t go farther than four steps. She stood there and waited, with her championship belt around her waist. The image was an intimidation. It was real. She had to fight inside of it. No excuses. She had to fight Archangel. The man who’d nearly choked the life out of her moments ago.

There was no excuse for not fighting at all. A nation of believers relied on her tonight. And whether they knew it or not, they were fighting tonight with Nerva. Zoe wasn’t out to support Nerva. The entire Movement had been barred from the cage. She was on her own, whether she liked it or not.

As her music continued to rock on, she cracked her knuckles and began walking forward, thinking these steps could be her last. When she reached the door, she took off her belt and entered the Jungle Jim.
The bell sounded.

Archangel lunged at her, but Nerva moved out of the way. He threw a couple of fists at her, but she dodged those as well and positioned herself behind him. Right as he turned around, Nerva brought her leg up as high as she could to land a roundhouse kick right to the face.

Archangel smiled at the shot and stalked forward.

Nerva ran to the side of the Jungle Jim and climbed to the top door, but with her legs dangling Archangel had no trouble grabbing her ankle and yanking her to the mat.

“The pain begins here,” he said.

Nerva punched him in the crotch and tried to get away, but he recovered quick and grabbed her by the hair.

The fans roared in approval, screaming and yelling at Archangel to begin brutalizing her. Archangel seemingly answered their desire by head butting Nerva right in the temple. It knocked her to the ground, where Archangel laced in several hard kicks to the back. Nerva tried to crawl to safety, to be anywhere but near the towering 7-footer.

But Archangel was right there, following her every move. He planted a double axe-handle over her back as she reached the side of the cage, and then grabbed her by the hair. This was punishment at its best. Joe Campbell must have been backstage rubbing his hands together. Inmate must have been smiling. The Movement must have been shaking in fear. Archangel grabbed Nerva by the firey red hair, ran with her a couple of steps, and threw her back first into the dome-shaped bars of the Jungle Jim. Nerva bounced like a ball off a wall and fell before Archangel’s feet.

At this time, she should have begged for mercy.

Archangel wrapped his hand around her bicep and pulled her up. Furthering the punishment, he threw her face-first into the bars. She staggered back, with a cut opening in her forehead. Archangel was right behind her and wrapped his massive arm around her throat. He squeezed hard until he saw the blood ooze out of her forehead. He used his other hand to pull her hair back so that everyone could admire his work of art.

Nerva’s entire face was red because the blood flow was cut off at her neck. She was beginning to feel light-headed. Archangel’s eyes were almost entranced by the sight of blood. He stuck his tongue out and began flicking it over Nerva’s forehead in a twisted, erotic way. The taste of her blood was so good that he lost focus of what he was doing. His grip loosened on Nerva, which allowed her to slip out from under his arm.

It was now or never. She could hardly stay up after being choked, but if she wanted to survive, she would stand and fight. She kicked him in between the legs before he could turn around. When he did turn around, he was clutching his testicles. Nerva then brought her foot up and axe kicked him right in the face. She had him and she had to capitalize before it was too late.

She jumped on him, wrapping an arm around his neck her legs around his waist. Fist after fist came down on Archangel’s nose until a crack was heard. Blood shot down his nose, staining Nerva’s breasts and her black bra.

Before her offense could amount to anything else, Archangel just fell forward with his entire weight on Nerva. He rose from atop of her, blood still dripping down his nose onto her body. Nerva was barely conscious. She was hanging onto her life by a thread.

Archangel saw this as a time to end the match and win the Asylum Championship. He climbed up the side of the bars and then swung his way to the door at the top like a boy across monkey bars.

He pushed the door open.

He wanted to go out.

But something wouldn’t let him.

Nerva’s hand.

Gripping his testicles.

Archangel’s hands were gripping the bars. He used one of his hands to push the top door open, but he couldn’t escape with Nerva hanging off his testicles.

He was feeling the pain of the claw all too well.

Nerva grabbed harder, making sure her hands wouldn’t slip off of Archangel’s assets.

Finally, Archangel let go of the bars and fell 15 feet to the ground with Nerva. Nerva got up first and charged at Archangel, but the big man clawed her face in his hand and went on to apply Vengeance, giving a soft palette hold. It weakened her until she was down to one knee, but at that point she managed to twist her face out of the grip. As she tended to her eyes, Archangel locked her in a Kaja Hajime and ran forward, dropping her with a bulldog. In Archangel’s words, that was “better than death.”

Nerva rubbed at her face while she rolled to the side of the cage. Before she could regain her senses, Archangel smothered her with a splash. His body felt like it was carved out of stone, as his chest muscles hit her right in the face. The pain was far from over, as he grabbed her by the hair and whipped her into the other side once again. This time, however, Nerva caught onto the bars like a monkey and spun around with a tornado kick that caught Archangel right in the throat.

Immediately, his hands went right to his throat and he dropped to his knees. Nerva had hit the right spot, intentional or unintentional. She took advantage with a sidekick to his already-broken nose. The feeling of domination was coming back to her as Archangel fell to the ground.

Once again, she was making a man look inferior. It seemed like a fluke to the fans, but Nerva had laid Archangel out in a bloody mess.

She began climbing the Jungle Jim bars. At that time, the Inmate ran down the aisle. The fans were giving a mixed reaction; boos because it was the Inmate, cheers because he wasn’t going to let Nerva walk out with the Asylum Championship tonight. He climbed the Jungle Jim as Nerva opened the door. Right as she bobbed her head out the opening, Inmate kicked her head in like a soccer ball. Nerva hung on for dear life, but matters only got worse when Archangel climbed up the Jungle Jim.

Inmate went to stomp on one of Nerva’s fingers, but she moved it and his foot slipped, causing him to be crotched on the bar. But Archangel was right where Inmate left off. He reached for Nerva, grabbing the side of her bra. He kept pulling to bring her down, but her legs were locked around the Jungle Jim bars. He then decided to drop down with all of his weight, but Nerva unclipped her bra before she would go down with him.

Archangel hit the floor hard with the lace bra in his hands. Nerva, breasts bared, began escaping the cage. Before she could go out, however, Inmate slammed the cage door over her head. She fell to the ground, once again at Archangel’s mercy. He lifted her up in a military press, squatted down, and then pressed her up so high that her back hit the top of the cage. As she fell, he dropped to one knee, causing Nerva to land stomach-first across his leg. The crowd went silent.

Inmate opened the cage door and waved Archangel up. “Get out, Archie! Get out NOW!”

Archangel began climbing up. Nerva was on the ground, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. She was spitting up blood in large quantities. She felt like her stomach was ripped in two. Up above her a man was stealing her prestige. None of The Movement women were allowed to come down to help her. Archangel was nearing the top. No one could save Nerva.

Except one man.

Angel Dalton.

His intentions were clear: Inmate and Archangel were planning on taking him out first if they were both in the main event at Fight Hell. Helping Nerva would make the main event an even playing field for him to win the Asylum Championship.

He ran down the aisle to a loud ovation of cheers from the crowd. He climbed up the Jungle Jim, and Inmate was immediately all over him with rights and lefts.

A.D. took a couple of the shots, but then fired back with an uppercut counter. He continued to punch away at Inmate and then kicked him in the gut. He picked him up for a crucifix powerbomb and at the same time saw Archangel’s head coming out of the Jungle Jim.

With Inmate up in his arms, A.D. kicked the cage door over Archangel, and then dropped Inmate right onto the door. All 210 pounds of Inmate pressed down on the metal door and knocked Archangel to the ground.

The fight raged on. Nerva delivered hard punches and kicks to Archangel, and then jumped on him so that both her feet were resting on his shoulders. She leapt up, did one spin kick over his head, and then caught him with the Double Touch.
Nothing knocked Archangel down for good, so Nerva had to hurry. She scaled up the bars of the Jungle Jim.

A.D. pulled Inmate’s limp body off the cage door so that Nerva could push it open and exit the cage.

The bell sounded. It was all over.

“Your winner of this match, and STILL Asylum Champion… Nerva!!”

The fans were booing. They couldn’t believe it. What seemed like a surefire bet backfired. Nerva held her stomach in pain and continued to cough up blood as her forehead continued to bleed. Her other arm covered over her breasts to lessen the amount of pictures would be circulating around the Internet.

Nerva called for the timekeeper to give her the belt, which he did by throwing it up to her. She draped it over her shoulder and looked straight at A.D., the man who helped her win. Soon after, Inmate got up favoring his back from the powerbomb he took from A.D. The three of them stood in a triangle at the top of the Jungle Jim. The jeers for Nerva’s victory ceased, and the cameras began to flash. No matter what anyone said, they were the top three fighters in the Asylum.

And at Fight Hell, they would go to war.