The lights flashed to blinding, torturing levels of white. Light. Bright burning light. Agonizing, pupil shrinking light. Headache causing, infuriating light. Glaring, gleaming, annoying, aggravating, sense destroying light. The tens of thousands in attendance squinting almost to eyes wide shut. It seemed nearly a third of those in attendance had gotten wise. Throwing on sunglasses. The lights so bright they made little difference. Black Stone Cherry's When the Weight Comes down blared into the arena. The song seeming static-y, rare, and raw. It wasn't. The assault on the sense of vision so overwhelming, that it distorted that of hearing. From the direction of the stage. Through what could only be the main ring entrance a large grey figure appeared. It was no secret it was MadDogStrangla. No other star entered with such levels of burning light. Light of purification. Light signaling the end for those who felt it's sting the worst. Slowly the grey blob made way down the ramp. Off his right side bounced and flashed a further bit of glare. At what could only be his toes was the same, polished steel. He neared the ring, stopping a few feet in font of the squared circle. Hard to tell with the near blinding light. It seemed he stood dead center the front of the ring. Arms crossed over chest. Another glint of light that could only be the reflection of a smile. This extra sparkle turning to and fro. Obviously the head attached soaking in the arena.
The lights took an even brighter flash in the arena. Each ring corner igniting with towers of glowing ember. The pyro erupting ablaze of further glare and pain. Pupils barely used to the current levels lambency. Eye lids ran for a close. It was, as if Apollo put a lean on the reigns. Turning his sun chariot to drive right through the arena's ceiling. Not one soul dared to look up in order to find out. Only a few moments of this new affliction passed. The fluorescents dying and fading down. The extra bulbs installed for this affect killing away. The sparks free flowing from the corners dwindling down as well. Slowly pupils crept back to their normal dilation. MadDogStrangla focusing in, in front of all those in attendance.
Sure enough he had stood there crossing his arms. A wide and sadistic smile glued to his face. Head creeping around on his neck. Surveying the arena and all those in attendance. Like a vulture he took all in. Leather pants ran the length of his legs. The cuff's crowning over the well shined and polished, exposed steel toe, boots. The DWFStrikeZone Championship hung off of his right side. One end of the strap tucked down his waist band. The belt more seeming to float near him then anything else. It was a tight fit around his waist and he just didn't care to bother. There were far more importencies, in this business then championships. Draping his torso was a black T-shirt. A stark contrast to the glowing red eyes. Hair hung free and loose in yarn like strands. The sandy brown strands nearly black with the wet look.
Cracking neck side to side he made the leap. Flat spring-boarding to the apron. Circling the ring his eyes scanning over the audience. Throwing up the old M.O.T.A hand signal with his left hand. While the "reverse shocker" was held high. His right hand pulled the belt free. The DWFStrikeZone Championship held just as high. Along with the slow fading of the crowd his hands fell from the air. The circle pacing coming to an end. T-shirt peeled overhead and tossed to the crowds. He hopped from toe to toe. Stretching out his muscles and such.
The steel cage lowered from the heavens. MadDogStrangla and Psycho Smash eyeing the brutal enclosure as it slowly came down. Smash truly confident and proud of his psycho dream come alive. Eyes of both men trained on either opposite side. Routinely popping with high voltage. Deathly current pulsing through the steel fencing. The gaps in the chain link arcs for the juice. Blue jumps of the electricity transversing the open spaces. With Smash so proud, and so distracted by his creation MadDog had the perfect moment.
The cage hadn't even met ring floor when the Texas Menace pounced. Charging Psycho Smash with the DWFStrikeZone Championship. The gold plate slamming into the star formally known as Mr.'s face. MadDogStrangla's legs driving like a line backer, the pair toppling over the top rope. Rolling dangerously close to the edge of the battle zone. MDS mounting on top of Smash. Left and right hammering away. Chained lightening breaking loose on the fellow big man. The steel girders at the bottom of the cage continuing their downward descent. Strangla taking the Psycho One's throat in both hand's. Holding Smash pinned in a rancid predicament.
JR: Oh my god King, MadDogStrangla is off to a fabulous start. He looks to decapitate Psycho Smash. Or in the least pancake the mans head.
King: Smash has to do something, and fast. The bottom of the cage is coming right for him.
