Forged Steel's Wrestling Journal

Entry 20

Glitter Jewel seems to be in a happy mood as I wake up the morning of the big match. As she holds my legs during sit-ups she runs her hands along my thighs. She's done this before, and I don't mind most of the time, but this time she gets really close to “danger zone” and I do have to ask her to not since it's becoming distracting.

Similarly, she's rubbing my shoulders as she sits on my back for push-ups. At this point I wonder if she's testing my focus, so I do my best to ignore and block it out of my mind.

After breakfast I walk her to her shop for the day. I won't be taking her home since it's show night. Glitter will even be at the show. I then have a few hours to myself before I have to go to the crystal plaza for promotion. A fine time to recount the surprise for Fissure.

At Monday’s TV he was to receive his bounty from Headcrusher. As he presented it, I walked out to a loud response, both Crush and Fissure in disbelief. Crush slammed the briefcase on Fissure’s hands, escaping through the crowd. His cronies came out to try and jump me, but that didn't do any good as I ducked them, knocked them both down and stood on their chests as I demanded a match.

The match was granted. Fissure didn't want his Crystal Champion belt on the line, especially when it was revealed to be a cage match. I demanded the cage so we could finally have a fair match, and if I lose, I would pay double the bounty he tried for. And the announcement for the match, main event, ended the show.

But I still haven't gotten my hands on him.

At the match promotion down at the crystal plaza, Fissure dares to show up. Event security does all they can to keep me away, I don't hesitate to call out his cowardly running from me. All he has done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill me with a terrible resolve. The crowd is in a frenzy, they want blood, but more than anything, they want the belt on my waist.

After the promo, I head back to the apartment for a nap. I don't know the finish, and I probably won't be told until right before I walk out, but it still weighs heavily on me. I never take for granted being champion, it's a massive responsibility to be the top wrestler for anyone.

If the territory is booming, you're expected to keep that going. If it's slumping, you have to right the ship. If the world champion is in, you have to be strong enough to be his challenger. That last one is the most important, because if you're weak, then when he beats you, what has he accomplished? Especially if it took him nearly an hour to do it?

That's another good point that I see far too much newer talent not respecting, you have to put your opponent over and for the same reason. If you bury him, and then he beats you, what does that make you? If you bury him and win a close contest, how does that make you look, winning by the skin of your teeth against a complete scrub?

But I digress.

I awake from my nap in the late afternoon, or early evening, and have a sizeable lunch. I decide to forego a workout, instead focusing on hydrating. I also pass on watching other matches from my library, I have to stay in the moment.

6:30 arrives sooner than I thought, Iron Maiden herself escorting me to the arena. The ride over she doesn't tip the finish at all. I should figure her “poker face” to be the best, as she's always cleaned up whenever she sat down to play with the guys. We arrive only 10 minutes after we left, the large crowd making getting into the building slow.

I can't see her face from the back, but I can tell she's aghast at the crowd gathered this early before bell time. The surprise is in her voice as she says to no one in particular that she's probably going to have to turn people away. I ask when the last time that was out here, she turns back to me and says “20 years.”

Eventually police get us through the crowd, it taking us about half an hour to only go four blocks because of them. I walk to the dressing room, finding my usual spot, no one saying a word but there's a silent admiration of the feud Fissure and I have.

The usual group of old timers is playing poker in the corner, the agent is going between gorilla position and the dressing room, calling people for their matches. I'm already dressed in ring gear and begin taping my hands. Right before I put the roll away, I pull myself a razor blade from the bag.

The usual process: fold over and snap in half, use the nail file to whittle it down to index fingernail size, wrap all but the razor edge in tape, and then tape it to the wrist by only the exposed end. Most prefer to give their gaffe a thick grip with several layers of tape, but I keep it minimal, only enough that it won't cut my opponent. I prefer it this way so it doesn't protrude, it doesn't accidentally come free, and it's not obvious should an eagle eyed fan be looking in the wrong place.

I continue to wait, Iron was smart and packed the card tonight knowing she'd have a full house. Finally the agent calls for me, showtime. I double check my boots, run hands over my tape to make sure the gaffe is secure, and head to gorilla position. Iron is waiting, as is Fissure. She gives me a smile and gives her instructions.

“You boys have done a great job so far. Fissure, you could have made even Sombra turn babyface. Forge, you do a wonderful job carrying your family's legacy. As for tonight, it ends. Go 45, color is at your discretion, no limits, heel run-in at 40, finish is Forge gets the strap clean. Knock ‘em dead, boys!”

As Grinder plays, I walk out and try to check my nerves as I'm announced. The crowd cheers even louder as my name is said, and I duck into the cage. It's larger than usual, giving room on the outside to fight, as well as having a roof to make it clear that there is no escape rule in effect. This will have to be a pin or submission.

When Fissure comes, the jeers are so loud you can’t hardly hear his entrance theme of Metal Health. Some fans along the aisle are even throwing garbage as he riles them up further. One dumps a drink on him, and police are quick to keep him away as they escort the fan out. I glance up and see that Shining Armor, Cadence, and–oddly enough–Princess Luna are all in the royal box. Fissure gets into the ring, his belt is presented, whisked away to the timekeeper, and the cage locked.

The bell rings to start the match, and my eyes have never left Fissure since he walked out from the curtain. He sidesteps around, and I do the same, not going to let him get behind or even leave my sight. He extends a hand for a shake, wearing a shit-eating grin, and I just reach past and slap him in the face, getting a thunderous cheer from the crowd. I then charge to get a hold only for him to slip out of the ring, slam the apron and kick the steps in a tantrum, changing the reaction to just as loud booing.

Fissure turns his back to jaw at a fan, allowing me to slip out of the ring. When he turns around I’m right there, allowing me to get a hold and throw him overhead into the ring. He writhes on the ground as I walk up the steps and into the ring. As I hop to drill an elbow into him, he rolls away, I miss, and get only the mat. As I grasp and slap my elbow, he rebounds off the ropes and puts a knee to the back of my head. I fall face first and he puts on a rear chinlock, the audience again voicing their resounding disapproval.

I attempt to grab a rope but I’m too far away, even for my reach. He then takes the braid into his mouth and pulls, getting the crowd to yet again voice their disapproval. I’m about to voice my own protest before I remember that there’s no disqualification in a cage match, that would be ridiculous. I wave off any submitting and take a moment to focus myself. I then cinch my arms around his thighs and contract my core to bring my legs up. Getting my knees under me, I manage to stand, the crowd in awe as I get upright. Fissure shakes his head frantically as I fall backward, dumping him off and breaking the hold.

Ten minutes elapsed is called.

I take a moment to shake off the cobwebs, then after regrouping I now focus my assault on Fissure. He starts to get up on the apron, so I punt his face, sending him flying back into the cage. I follow him to the floor, and wait for him to get up. Once he’s standing I slap him across the face, he stumbles a few steps and turns around for another slap, and I circle him around the ring. Turn, face, slap, repeat. Fissure tries to block but my reach is too far for him to overcome, he eventually falls over the steps and crumples up while I slide back into the ring rubbing my hands.

Fissure is dazed as he claws up the apron and rolls under the rope. I extend my hands and squat down, offering to help him up. The sucker takes the bait and I’m quick to whip him into a corner. Using my long reach again, I press his head back, Fissure’s arms flailing with the crowd getting rowdy. I raise my index to my lips, the crowd then falls hushed, then my free hand lifts up and comes down on Fissure’s chest with a thunderous crack.

With the overhand chop, he slides down the turnbuckles, only for me to crouch and again offer to help him up. Still dazed from earlier, Fissure once again takes the bait, only to be tossed into the other corner. Crowd rowdy, shh gesture, chop, crumple, repeat for third corner, repeat for last corner and he slides out under the bottom rope to the floor once again. I won’t give him a break and slide out after him. No sooner do I grab him up by the hair do I see an object swing quickly for my head. I attempt to get my hands up with a bang that leaves ears ringing.

Twenty minutes elapsed I barely hear over the tinnitus.

The cyka grabbed a chair and managed to get a full-blown overhead swing on me. Fissure lifts the chair up once more and cracks it across my back, then jabs it repeatedly into the same knee he tried to injure before. He then stands me up to try and hit me in the head once again, but I kick the chair back into his face… Or so I thought, it flew out of his hands and missed him completely. He then whips me head-first into the steps, sending them flying and me into a crumpled mess.

No sooner than I make sense of my situation, I feel my hair pulled and I’m lifted up once more, only to be pressed face-first into the chainlink fence of the cage. Fissure lets me fall back, then curb stomps my head before striking a pose and giving a weasel laugh. I feel a familiar sting in my eye and realize my forehead is busted open. This thought is only confirmed as the hand I use to slap some sense into myself is wet and bright red. I suddenly feel my hair pulled again and my head is slammed into the ring apron before I’m pushed into the ring.

I utter a curse to myself, then am pulled by my leg to a corner. As soon as I look to see what’s happening, the knee Fissure tried to break is slammed into the post, the crowd continuing to voice their displeasure. He once more grabs my ankle, gets a running start, and slams the same knee into the post again. Fissure tries a third time and I manage to push him away, but he comes at me with a chair, spiking its edge into the knee. He climbs into the ring with the chair as I sit up, only to get smacked in the shoulders with it. The chair is tossed aside, Fissure wraps the leg around the post, and uses it for leverage as he wrenches my knee. I can’t get hold and now am in serious trouble.

The call of Thirty minutes blares throughout the venue.

My heart sinks as I realize it’s a futile effort to try and and grab hold of him. In frustration I slam my shoulders down and pound my fist. Then I see the chair out the corner of my eye, Fissure carelessly tossed it away, and it’s the only chance I have to keep him from breaking my leg. I lay flat and stretch my arm out to try and grab a hold. The crowd starts to cheer, realizing what I’m doing, only for Fissure to see as well and kneel for more leverage on his wrenching.

I slam my free boot on the mat in frustration again, then realize he left my good leg free. I pull it until the knee is on my chest, my eyes locking square on his nose. He gets a deer-in-headlights look as my boot raises and travels like a gunshot, hitting its mark. Fissure is dazed as I grab the chair and scramble to my feet. He ducks between the ropes with a fist cocked, but before he can deliver a low blow, my reach works to my advantage with a deafening crack.

As he crumples on the mat, I punch my knee a few times to try and numb it up so I don’t limp. Standing by the corner and wanting him to get up, I look at the turnbuckle, getting an idea. With one fierce swipe, I forcibly rip away the protective padding on the top turnbuckle, and rear back with the chair. Once he stands and I see the whites of his eyes, I again swing the chair down and down him with yet another crack, but it’s nearly drowned out by the crowd’s cheers. Not giving him an opening, I lift him up by the hair, drag to the center of the ring and arm drag, sending him face-first into the exposed turnbuckle.

Twenty minutes remain can scarcely be heard over the capacity crowd reaching fever pitch.

Fissure is bleeding like a stuck pig as I drag him once more to the middle. Suddenly the boos come back as his two cronies, Switchblade and Vice Grip, run up to the cage door. The chain and padlock around looks enough to stop them as they both pull frantically and in unison at it. I drag Fissure over to the ropes on that side, leaning him over the top in front of me and use both thumbs to gouge his eyes, making Fissure screech in front of their faces. Vice Grip walks back up the ramp towards the curtain as I bring Fissure back to the center. With another drag of Fissure’s arm, he is sent back into the corner, over the top turnbuckle and strikes his forehead squarely onto the top of the ring post, to a thunderous pop of the crowd.

Fissure twitches, out cold in a crumpled heap in the floor as Vice Grip comes running back with a crowbar and bolt cutters. They snip the chain easily, fling the door open and take opposite sides of the ring. The situation looks very grim as they both slide in and make a deliberate walk towards me. As Switchblade in front of me rears over his head with the crowbar, I duck and mule kick behind me, by luck getting Vice in his family jewels. He keels over and takes the blow square on his head as I roll to the side.

Switch is on the warpath, swinging wildly every which way at me as Vice rolls uselessly out of the ring. I notice behind Switch that Fissure is coming to, and put myself between them. Just as predicted Switch charges and I sidestep, but he holds short of his “boss,” dropping the crowbar. I take the pause to slam both their heads together. Switch crumples in a heap while Fissure rolls under the bottom rope to the apron. Seeing a chair on the floor and seeing my opportunity, I utilize the second-most devastating throw in my repertoire. I raise my right hand up and behind me, eyes fixed on Switch.

Ten minutes remain can be heard, but the crowd is now buzzing in anticipation as I stalk Switchblade.

As Switch gets up, shaking the cobwebs off, my heavy right hand squeezes his throat. His eyes trace up my arm and meet my face, going wide as a pair of dinner plates. I raise him up and he realizes what’s coming, shaking his head frantically and screaming for mercy. I have none of it, holding him high up by his throat for all to see, turning slowly around to face the chair and propelling him down. A picture-perfect chokeslam down onto the chair, and he gets all of said chair, putting him out of the fight. Time to end this now.

Fissure realized what was coming and wrapped the chain and padlock around his hand. He runs and swings the chain at me, but I manage to duck, running to the ropes. He turns around to see me jumping off the second rope and delivering a spectacular dropkick square to his head. With him down, I waste no time dragging out a folding table, tossing it into the ring. I have my second wind, using my newfound strength to quickly swing the legs out with a firm shake of the table, standing it in the middle of the ring.

The chokeslam was my second-most devastating maneuver, this is the most devastating move. It’s banned universally in all territories because it’s considered too dangerous. The match contract had a special stipulation, even with no disqualifications, to allow this move specifically. I jerk Fissure up onto the table by his hair, definitely clinging onto consciousness by a thread. I join him on the table as he gets his knees under him, tapping his chin up with my palm. His knees shake, then his head is jammed between my thighs. I lift Fissure up completely vertical, the crowd noise causing ears to ring, and fall down. Piledriver! Through the table and Fissure is completely limp as I pounce on top, the referee slamming the mat emphatically and crowd counting in unison with him…

One…

Two…

… Three!

“Your winner at 53 minutes and 29 seconds by pin… And NEW Crystal Empire champion… ‘The New Iron Curtain,’ Forged! Steel!!!”

My arm is raised and I let out a primal yell I didn’t know I had in me. The belt is placed in my hands as I get to my feet and I hold it high, triumphant. Vice Grip is helping Switchblade back towards the curtain as Headcrusher stands at the top, a look of rage on his face. I then extend my arm out, pointing at him and yell “You’re next, cyka!” As Vice passes by, he turns, kicks Vice in the ass, and follows them back to the dressing rooms.

I can’t believe I’ve done this, it hardly feels real! Bringing the gold belt to my face, I place a kiss in the center, sling it over my shoulder and start my slow walk back. I’m blown up, so I can’t see the crowd as I do, the medics rushing by me to get to the ring now that the cage is raised up. I stop at the top of the ramp and turn to the ring as Switch is lifted up. Once I see the whites of his eyes up at me, I once again hold the belt high in the air with both hands. The lights come back on and I go back to my corner of the dressing room.

Tears are hot rolling down my cheeks as the babyface dressing room gives me a standing ovation. Through the divider, I can hear the heel room stomping wildly in substitute for applause. I crumple to my locker, hugging the belt tight to my chest. I don’t know how long I sit there, my red eyes pouring tears down my face long past the point they’ve gone red. As I sit there, each and every wrestler, even the heels from the other side, pat me on the back and shake my shoulder while offering congrats.

Some time later I feel someone small hug my head and neck, smelling a familiar perfume. I glance up and see Glitter, her own cheeks wet with tears and face beaming with a smile that might rival even my own. Her voice shakes as she whispers “You just gave the best match I've seen in 20 years of wrestling, my love.” I can only nod weakly, what else would I say or do? She helps me stand up, her arms locking around my chest. I gaze down at her and our eyes meet as she says softly “Let’s go home, Kovanaya Stal.”

If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.