His Royal Darkness and the Texas Menace were trading left and rights now battling it out for top position, a trail of blood and sweat dripping from their bodies, ascending higher and higher up the ring corner, turnbuckle by turn buckle, blow by blow, climbing on and on. Standing precariously on the top they fought gravity and balance. Still battling it out with a far tougher opponent, Strangla wrapped an arm around the Dark One's waist and hooked two fingers into his attire. The darkling was not one to be out down, and stretched out his own arm around the back of MDS' neck. With his free hand the he launched an upper into MadDog's gut, while an insane hook from no where scraped across his own chest. The pair went flying through the air, still battling it out in flight, and in unison crashed into the ring floor for the final time.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Slow motion showing clearing both men slamming into the canvas simultaneously. Cracks flying out from the impact zone, merging with other damage already done to the glass. Hairline fractures growing and multiplying ten fold. Splits erupting. The ring having its last straw. Shards of beaded pane flying towards the heavens. And the two men vanishing through the floor.
A surge of power pushed the lights beyond the special camera's abilities. Jolts of electricity filled the air, jumping from steel girder to ring post, leaping from all four points to the iron of the special cage. The fluorescent light bulbs over loaded, exploding all the glass and phosphorous that now rained down like diamonds in a thick mist. Both men were lost to all vision. The eyes of all gasping onlookers, both in the small area there and in the arenas observing the big screen, were painstakingly trained on the center of the battle dome, fixed like the eyes of an archer, locked on target, waiting for the light to fade, and the glass and smoke to settle.
Live action. The underside of the ring was a complete mess. Girders were buckled and destroyed over shattered lights and their housings. Two massive dents were present in the wreckage where MadDog and The Dark One had blasted through the glass, devastating the special set-up like meteors from the sky. But they themselves were gone. Both competitors were nowhere to be seen. Neither man lay dead, or shrieking in agony. Red fringe from the legs of MDS's pants, a few bits ripped free, hung in mangled metal. Black tatters of robe from TDR's snagged here and there. That was all that remained of either man.
The fans erupted in cheers of the match, in utter awe of all that had just transpired in front of them. Mumbles of query filled the air just as prominently. Where had they gone? What happened to them? Something wasn't right, and everyone knew it. Meanwhile, the cage flooded with officials and superstars. Technicians worked side-by-side with the likes of Candice Fairchild and Viper, who had run back from her spot at the commentary table. Even Eric Bitchoff was out trying to sort through the mess. The look on all these peoples faces--they were lost just as much as any fan. There was no way any of this could be right. People were sent off left and right, following orders to search the arena, all nearby buildings, the entire surrounding areas. Executives gathered to brainstorm, and discuss, wracking their brains to come up with something, anything at all.
JR: Where are they, King? I mean, I'd hate to think that they're even further beneath that wreck.
JL: Or... You know, you hate to think of it, but... Could that blast have been so powerful, so strong that both men were disintegrated?
JR: Yeah, I'm not gonna think about that. I tell you, this may be the most insane thing I have ever witnessed in all my years in...
JL: Hey, JR, JR, wait! Where's McKain? Where's Kevin McKain??
The StrikeZone General Manager was gone. He had been watching on from one of the four corners when last anyone saw, but now not a trace of him could be seen anywhere.
