Post by denir on Dec 5, 2020 18:27:54 GMT -5
Part 1: Something Coming
As we head towards the holiday season, there is no shortage of entertaining offerings from the Action Wrestling camp and in just a few short days, we get to see a collection of international talents battling it out to be crowned the winner of the first AW World Cup! Eight have been gathered from around the globe and this is perhaps the biggest clash of in-ring styles that the business has ever seen!
Yeah, the favorite seems to be Keynan Isara due to his experience in an AW ring, but this is anybody's game isn't it? I mean, does anyone have any idea what to expect? You can't even find tape on half these guys!
Isara is definitely making the rounds with talk of the event, but the heavy handed approach of Marcel Vogel can be deadly in any situation. He's a fighter who trains like a fighter and when you're trying to go out there and compete three times and WIN three times, the odds may be leaning in his favor.
You have a lot of that in this competition actually. This is a true battle of the heavyweights that we're in for. There's no such thing as undersized when it comes to this inaugural world cup and I wouldn't be surprised if the ring itself doesn't even make it to that final matchup!
Plenty of flash and showmanship on the card from the likes of Whale Helmet and Fortune, but perhaps the most intriguing entrant is Denir Acar! Denir, of course, a big name in Turkey for his success in grease wrestling. This is a guy who comes with as imposing of a physical profile as you'll see, but known for a deceptive level of technical striking and grappling that you would expect more from Cruiserweight talent. Denir is lightning quick and nobody should be surprised to see this whole thing go his way!
Part 2: Turkish Underground 1/3
?: You decide to show. I'm surprised.
Denir: What's that supposed to mean?
?: Many men wouldn't have the courage to come to fight Ahmet without the rules in place. He's a dangerous man, you know.
Denir: I feel disrespected.
?: I know I know. I get it. You're number two wrestler in country, but this is Ahmet fucking Arslan.
Denir: Yes, but I'm still Denir fucking Acar and you'd be wise not to forget what that means.
?: Okay okay. Best of luck to you. It's a big pot tonight.
Denir: I didn't come here for that.
?: Then why come here at all?
Denir: To be number one in the country.
?: Good spirit.
The dumpy looking booker let out a wheezy puff of smoke into the cramped basement venue as his chest and tight pressed wife beater expanded outward, adding only slightly to the already hazy air surrounding them. The location was packed with a few dozen suit wearing patrons who had all swarmed together in a tight circle and begun to cheer Denir's arrival. Sandwiched between them were two oiled up amateurs fighting desperately for the upper hand.
Denir: Shit opener.
?: Doesn't matter, does it? You're on next.
WINNER!
The ring of a weathered bell signaled the end as a break in the circle formed to allow the two men their walk to the back of the club. Their cheering grew louder as Denir began to douse himself and squeeze into his kisbet. He cracks his neck and makes his way through the still parted crowd, his heart racing as he paces along the interior to the chanting of his name.
A-CAR! A-CAR! A-CAR! A-CAR!
Part 3: Approaching
Driver: Big day ahead for you, eh?
The AW ordered driver looked into the rear view discreetly at the absolute unit of a man occupying the bulk of his backseat which didn't look that much different than a tube of biscuits stored at the wrong temperature.
Denir: Do you mind smoke?
Driver: I...uh...well actually..
Denir doesn't bother waiting for the driver to finish stuttering through his corporate friendly response and pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket which he promptly puts flame to.
Driver: I've actually got real...you know, real sensitive lungs.
Denir: Sorry to hear.
Driver: So, I trust you're liking Canada so far then?
Denir: Just here for competition.
Driver: Been studying your opponents pretty hard, have you?
Denir: I have no need.
Driver: Seems like the people I've been talking to our pulling for Nio and feel like he might just walk out with the trophy. People love a local favorite, you know.
Denir stares ahead towards the rear view mirror and lets out a stream of smoke aimed in the driver's direction which he shifts nervously away from.
Denir: I am best in my country at what I do, you know? Of course you do not. That's why they bring me here and why they order me driver. Are you fan of fighting?
Driver: Of course.
Denir: You plan on watching then?
Driver: Wouldn't miss it for the world.
Denir: What is your name?
Driver: Brian Reid.
Denir: Brian Reid, I hope you don't have weak stomach. Things are about to be very fucking uncomfortable.
Part 4: Turkish Underground 2/3
A-CAR! A-CAR! A-CAR! A-CAR!
Denir continued to pace about as the split in the crowd's circle burst open, making way for the entry of their champion, a chiseled and handsome looking twenty something known as Ahmet Arslan. He winked toward the eager Acar and began to taunt as he stretched out near the circle's entrance.
The orchestra of cheers and jeers sounded like foreign language to the veteran in that moment. His opponents attempt at mind games was the one thing that stuck. The two get into position and go to lock up. Ahmet whispers to Denir and breaks away with a quick step back.
He connects with an open hand that lands perfect across Denir's face before leaping in with a knee to the nose of his senior. With his nose being instantly shoved into a forty-five degree angle, Denir's vision turns blurry and the sounds surrounding them turns further into static.
As the first one to break traditional formula, Ahmet leaps forward once again with another hard knee across the broken and bleeding face of Acar that connects with a sickening crack of bone. He pulls him back and whispers once more as he grabs control of the kisbet.
Ahmet rolls him through and gains top control, looking up towards the club's viewers in pride.
Part 5: Broken English and Beaten Bodies
The inside of the Scotiabank Arena was mostly empty, save for the handful of scattered about employees still setting up the production. Front and center at the top of the stage are Mae and Denir Acar standing in front of the eight flags hanging just above them from the rafters. The Turkish representative stands over the much smaller ring announcer who tilts her head and the mic upwards as the camera rolls.
Denir maintains his stance, contributing to an already tangible feeling of silence and tension.
Denir: Prime will never go away for prime fighter. When you keep aware of those who want to come for your spot and take away everything that you work your whole life for, then you stay in prime. Strength and speed only go away if I let them go away, if I let myself slow down. You don't let this happen when you occupy a throne and see others want to knock you off it. I'm not bothered by youth. I am confident in experience and I believe in wars that bring me here to this stage of my career.
I am not fifty-two year old rookie that people on television will try to make me out as, but most others I will face are. They're fucking infants who lack real reps in all the ways that really matter and are stupid for wanting to step into ring against their elder. I am father to all of seven opponents and they come into this expecting me to let them roll over me? I do this long enough to see my toughest rivals retire and the newcomers fail one after another, because that is what they do when faced with leathered skin. I am not here to talk about age like I see Jacqui M would for AW promos. It is not funny for me like that. My age is advantage for me and absolute nightmare for whoever you stick in the other corner.
Mae: There are obviously a lot of heavyweights and even super heavyweights here for tonight's tournament. Putting age aside then, how do you see yourself standing out and making a difference against those who seem like they would match up quite well with you in terms of size and reach?
Denir: I am sure you are not talking about first round matchups. Miguel Guerrero knows how to make fight rugged, but with very thin arms and legs, he is breakable. Striking like he can do may be enough to get you to dance, but there is science to this. Six inches and eighty pounds matters. Trying to battle and manage to succeed against that when you are one of smallest competitors in tournament is too much for unproven man. My stamina is better and my strength is greater. World will see that I can move like freight train and hit like abuser. Against strong style fighter? That is best kind of match I can have. To be able to layout and embarass man Miguel, to pick him apart in his own game? I live for that.
Fortune is not better. A little bigger, but not by much. What he has on Miguel in size he lacks in toughness. Tough men do not package themselves with theatric performance or hide their face. Men like Fortune will hide face, because it is seen as extra chance. If Fortune strikes out here and is sent packing back to England, he will be fine and he can take comfort in that. His masked self may become joke, but identity he was careful to hide will be. I do not expect to see Fortune make way to me in final round, but if he can limp my way, I will ruin both lives. Not only will I kill reputation of his masked self, but I will tear it from his limp body and claim it as my second trophy of the night, leaving the man he sees in mirror a shell of his former self.
Whale Helmet is both biggest size and biggest joke of anyone here. I will point finger at Fortune for the barrier he has put up with who he tries to be, but Whale Helmet is disgrace to all of this. Seven foot tall and no speed. He does not have attributes of the giant you should fear. How do you stand up against number one athlete in Turkey with an appointment to have a foot amputated from diabetes scheduled the week after? This is not reality television and Denir Acar did not come to North America to fight opponents who have to be brought to ring by a forklift. I will not be facing Whale Helmet in tournament and after tonight, you will not hear his name again.
Right now, Nostroza is in armored truck about to be carted down to ring by someone he could bury in Earth if you gave him a shovel and five minutes. They have him in shackles like a fucking dog. He is under control, because another man has made it so. What will happen when chains are removed? You don't get cold and calculated murder machine, you get fucking mental patient acting only on animal instinct. When chains bind a man, that man does not learn growth. He only knows confinement and simple commands like "sit" or "stay" and in situation where stronger minds prevail, the future of Nostroza gets left on cutting room floor.
Nio winning this would be storybook ending for crowd, for entire country of Canada. Winning matters to these people and to see one of their own stand on top of the world would be dream come true and they will see no better man to do just that than Nio. He is bright eyed and knows how to smile and wave for cameras and that is why he must fail. Nio must taste defeat, because the people of one of most stuck up countries in the world need to experience humility through his defeat. World cup means everything to Nio and his home, so he must leave empty handed and I will make sure he does.
Keynan Isara may be the pick to win the trophy for some, but Denir has watched and seen the things that world has seen. I have seen Isara try his hand in Action Wrestling and I have seen him fail to make an impact. When he put his pen to paper, they talk about him as the next big thing and then he goes and loses championship fight against one hundred twenty-five pound woman. Samoans are known for thick and durable bodies and warrior spirit, but warriors don't give in to small women and not seen on programming since doing so. Keynan Isara is experienced in all of worst ways and what happens very soon will be nail in the coffin of career that failed to get off the island in the first place.
Marcel Vogel though is maybe toughest opponent of all them. He hits the hardest and has done well with eyes on him. He knows how to deal with pressure and still get result. He has tools to make it to finals of tournament and that's why it is a shame that he finds himself on Denir's side of bracket. His sharpness will bring him to me in second round, but that is where the vehicle that drives him is led right into brick wall. Marcel's loss will be the message I use to send a message to Keynan and Nio who will have to go into final match of the night having just witnessed that one of the toughest was made to look like one of the weakest. No more ego for the competition, only nervousness.
Mae: Before you go here, I would like to ask you, what would happen if you were to come up short in your own pursuit of the trophy tonight?
Denir: I want you to look at me now.
Mae's eyes grow wide as she tilts her head further towards Acar.
Part 6: Turkish Underground 3/3
Denir stumbles to his feet and swings hard, landing a stiff right to Ahmet's jaw, but the young adversary leaps forward with an elbow that twists the shattered nose further. Ahmet grabs control of Denir's kisbet once more and from a clinch position, looks into the eyes of the wounded Acar who stares back at him.
Denir: Me too.
In one swift motion, Denir pivots to gain control of his opponent and hoists him overhead with a gutwrench suplex that drops him neck first onto the concrete below. The sound of it snapping is heard through the basement locale and the cheering faces of everyone surrounding the two men shift to pure horror. There is no announcement and no vocal response.
Booker: Let me through! Let me through!
Denir stumbles up and stands over the lifeless Ahmet. The booker makes his way in and pulls Denir back through the split in the audience and leads him to the outside as fast as he can.
Booker: What the FUCK have you just done?
He doesn't respond.