The two claimants to the KnightMask name stared into one another, the one clothed from head to toe in black and standing upright with an easy confidence, the other crouched and coiled up, wearing black mask and vizor over his head and naught else save for white wrestling tights, boots and wrist wraps.
The taller one suddenly ripped off his mask, revealing a pale, ruggedly handsome face atop which ran a blonde mohawk.

“Alright playah, you wanna step up and rumble with me? Lets settle this in the ring brah. If I beat you, I’m the new KnightMask and I’m the dude that steps into the battle royal tomorrow, feel me? You beat me and you get to go on and get your short little butt whupped by Flynn, World 1-International and Chris MacBeth, a’ight?”

XWF security flooded the area, filling up the gap between the two warriors.

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way kid. If you’re not the real KnightMask, you don’t have a contract…you’ve got to get your butt out of here right--”

KnightMask felt a sort of relief come through him at the security guard’s words. The past week had been a whirlwind, he’d seen and done things that defied his ability to comprehend and found himself fumbling blindly for convinction, the morals and beliefs that had once worked in concert to push him on all scattered and set against one another.

On the one hand, if he entered the battle royal and fought cautiously, with the thought of his own survival, he’d be betraying not only his own warrior’s code but everyone who’d given away their time to help raise him up from the weak child he’d been and closer to the wrestler he’d dedicated his life to becoming. On the other hand, fulling embracing the nature of the battle royal could mean permanent injury, paralysis or even death. He’d always been a loner, but now there were people who depended on him, such as Natalia and her father, people whose dependency was a result of his own actions. And those who depended on his friendship, such as his insane training partner, Ratboy. Then there was the fact that he was thrust into the brutal, dog eat dog chaos of the battle royal alongside one of his best friends in the industry, the man with whom he’d planned to join forces with as a tag-team, World 1-International.

It was too much to think about already, without having to deal with some hotshot punk trying to steal his spot. If he just let security drag him away…then…then it would mean backing down from a fight, wouldn’t it?

The deliberation seemed to drag on forever in his mind and yet his response came forth from his lips in less than an instant.

“You’re on. Let him go, guys.”

“Alright, punk! Me and you, right now in that ring! But lets do this face…to face!” declared the mohawked would-be usurper. KnightMask stepped closer, staring up at the taller man through the red vizor of his mask.

“We are…face to face.”






"Big" Jim Jolly: Alright folks, we've got a big surprise on this card...a challenge match between a fellow that I believe is in fact independents wrestler Maurice Hawk, aka Mohawk and XWF's own, KnightMask...for the right to compete in tomorrow's battle royal on Wednesday Warfare!

The bell to toll the start of the contest had scarcely rung when Mohawk charged headlong for KnighMask with a clothesline, which would have nearly decapitated him had he not at the last instant bent his spine nearly into a gymnast's bridge, so that the blow merely passed over him. Mohawk was still gaining back his footing from he missed attack when KnightMask came baseball sliding at his legs, one steely hand clamping the inside of the knee, the other gripping the heel while his legs whipped around like serpents, wrapping about the bigger man's thigh. Mohawk toppled over, as KnightMask went to work administering an Achilles lock.

The big man groped for the masked grappler's hands. KnightMask realized by this action that for all his strength and speed, Mohawk knew little of leg submissions. It was the legs that needed to be pried apart first and foremost, for without them to ensnare the leg and hold it fast, whatever torque or twist KnightMask attempted to put upon it with his hands would be easily alleviated by the merest adjustment.

"Big" Jim Jolly: Mohawk's caught in what they call the "Train Tracks", cause its like your foots caught in the tracks when the train is bearin' down on yah! But Mohawk's got himself a handful of rope...he's out! They're back up and at like two buckin' broncos now! Mohawk's sure...quick for a big fellah, KnighMask changed levels and slid across the canvas like a hockey puck looking for that Sakuraba-style single leg takedown, but Mohawk sprawled out on him...trapped him up in a front-headlock...he's pullin' him up to his feet...an' into the air with a suplex...KnightMask floats out, Mohawk catches him clean with an elbow...KnighMask goes staggering against the opes and bounces off 'em...

KnightMask catapulted into a whirling backward roll, his hips crashing into Mohawk like a wrecking ball, his legs closing about Mohawk's torso while at the same instant he went to feverish work with his hands, striving to bring his powerful adversary's foot into a toe-hold. Mohawk fell off his feet and immediately began to thrash and kick about in the desperation that is born whenever a wrestler is forced to look into the grim specter of defeat.

"Big" Jim Jolly: Well, it wasn't pretty, but Mohawk on raw strength and desperation got out of one sticky situation there...they're back at it, tie-up...KnightMask springs into the air with a flyin' ambar, Mohawk stays erect, bearing all of KnighMask's weight like he was a little kid...KnightMask drops down, he's got himself all over Mohawk's legs...Gordian Leg-Knot! Gordian Leg-Knot!



Into a move KnightMask calls....the KnightLock! Its all over! Mohawk is tapping out in defeat!



Later...as security is leading Mohawk away...

KnightMask: Why'd you do it, Mohawk? Why not just try to enter into XWF the normal way? You're a tough guy, I'm sure you could get in.

Mohawk: Because I can't stand the fact that a Puritanical goody-goody like you has got an opportunity that people like me live and die for...and you're pissing it away! I've heard the rumors about you...you're just using the XWF to take care of the guy you messed up in the ADCC finals, because you feel guilty about ruining his career. That's crap! Someone as soft as you should be in the ring...if you don't love this business above all else...if you're not willing to die for it like guys like me are...even if we aren't in the spotlight, then you don't deserve to be here!

KnightMask: Sorry you feel that way, Mohawk...I hope I can put on a performance this Wednesday that makes you change your mind...and maybe, once you get an XWF contract, we can meet again, down the road.

KnighMask extends a hand out to Mohawk, who spits in his face, or rather into his mask.

Mohawk: Fat chance, A-hole!

As security pushed Mohawk off, KnightMask walked off from the arena, alone with his thoughts. Maybe he was only using his personal responsibilities as a scapegoat for his own cowardice...his own fear of entering into a melee where his submission technique might end up about as useful as a switch in a fight with King Kong. Maybe he was also doing the same thing in regards to his friendship with World 1-International.

If that was the case, then using his friends as an excuse for his own fear was probably one of the lowliest forms of cowardice. Who said he had to pick up weapons, who said he had to team up with World 1-International or on the other hand, fight him when the time came in a way that was any different from their previous match?

As he walked out into the cold Michigan night, he promised himself that the fists clenched at his sides and the legs supporting him would be the only weapons he wielded, whatever chaos might come in that ring. And whatever the rules, he would abide by his own standards, even if it meant his doom.