[Fade back up to the ringside broadcast table. The fans seated behind Dross and Roberts wave signs and clamour to get in shot.] TD: Welcome back to the fourth and final hour of this marathon event, folks! What a night of action we've had, and coming up next it's set to get even more frantic with the first half of our explosive double main event: the career-ending match between the Intercontinental Champion Lord Byron and the man who, since Birthday Bash, has swiftly become his arch-nemesis... Creed. Before we go down to ringside, let's take a look at the history surrounding these two outstanding athletes... [The scene cuts to a prepared video package. Prokofiev's "Montagues and Capulets plays in the background as the tape shows an image of Lord Byron standing in the ring, his arm raised in the air, before making a mocking French bow to the crowd...] VO: Lord Byron. The self-proclaimed greatest technical wrestler in the world. [The video shows clips of Byron hitting a neckbreaker on Harlequin Tragedy, a DDT on the Sandman, his patented spinning enzuigiri on Tazeko Musashi, and then, in quick succession, applying the Aristoclutch on a series of struggling opponents...] VO: The interfederational superstar. [The video clip shows Byron battling "The Spartan" Troy Walters, rolling "Iceman" Dean Diamond into a reverse cradle, and applying the Aristoclutch on the Firestarter... before finally holding the ESWP European Title in the air...] VO: The Intercontinental Champion. [Scenes of Byron standing face to face with Marty Warnett, crashing down from the top rope in a belly to belly suplex, rolling over Warnett in a pin, and finally staggering forward, hair wildly whipping around his face, and holding the IC title above his head with a sneer...] VO: Creed. [The image changes, showing Creed's magnificent entrance through the aisle, his blood red glove held high in the air... nodding his head as the CEO Jack Montgomery talks to him... standing on the second turnbuckle in front of an awe-struck crowd, his gloved fist raised in the air in victory...] VO: The powerful newcomer. [The image shows Creed hitting a belly to belly suplex on Mad Dog Watkins, catching Duncan Macbeth in a Doctor Bomb, and then hitting a series of opponents with his devastating Crimson Tide chokeslam, culminating with his catching Marty Warnett by the throat as he leaps from the top, and driving him into the canvas...] VO: The number one contender. ["Montagues and Capulets" comes to a sudden end. The footage switches to black and white, showing Byron and Creed squaring off on LaRue's Lair... slugging it out in the centre of the ring... and finally, Byron, with the aid of Otto Verhoeven, viciously attacking the young athlete, leaving him clutching his knee in the centre of the ring.] VO: The first time. [The video shows, in quick succession, Creed stunning Byron with a rapid series of left handed blows to the head... catching him in the Crimson Tide, and finally the "Goodnight, Farewell, Amen" superbomb, and the referee rolling down for the count...] VO: The second time. [The clip shows Byron hooking Creed into a figure four leglock... countering the Crimson Tide with an enzuigiri kick... and finally, locking the big man into the Aristoclutch...] VO: The Final Time. [The footage switches to scenes from recent weeks: Creed's interference in Byron's match with Tiger Claw; Byron sneering at Creed as he hits Duncan Macbeth with a DDT outside the ring; the European Alliance exchanging words with Creed, Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson; both men costing each other their respective Coronation Clash matches... and finally, the face to face confrontation. Cut to footage subtitled, "IIWF Saturday Night: 28 June 1997." Creed and Lord Byron stand facing one another in the ring.] CREED: Tell you what, Champ. Let's you and me go one better... you wanna play for real stakes, Champ? You wanna put it all out on the line? I got three words for you, Lord Byron... I got three words... LOSER LEAVES TOWN!! [The fans go apoplectic... a resounding roar giving way to dead silence as the crowd waits for Byron's response... Byron glares at Creed for a second, then he snaps...] LB: Oh, that suits me just fine, rookie. That suits me just fine. If you want to throw your career away, I have no problem with it. [Byron sneers] Come Coronation Clash, rookie, I'm going to shatter three things: Your dreams, your knee, and finally, your career! You've just sealed your fate. You're finished, rookie. Do you understand me? FINISHED! [Creed and Byron drop the microphones and go nose-to-nose... the two men jawing at each other as the volume of the "Pay - Back! Pay - Back!" chant is now literally shaking the support stantions in the Arena. The footage changes one last time, showing a spilt screen, with Creed on one side, arms raised to the crowd, and Byron on the other, the IC title across his shoulder, bowing to the audience. The scene fades out to black.] VO: Two outstanding athletes. One title. Only one can survive. [The scene cuts back to the broadcast booth] TD: Only one man can survive indeed, and I tell you, Steve Roberts, whichever way this match goes, it is going to be a great loss for this federation. SR: This is the big time, Dross... we have Byron, the greatest technical wrestler in the world, and an outstanding gentleman, and we have Creed. Who's your daddy? TD: Creed, Byron... These two have been practically at each other's throats since Birthday Bash, and that vicious attack by Byron... and it finally boils down to this. These two, Steve Roberts, hate each other so much, that they are willing to put their careers on the line to see the other gone! SR: But look at the facts, Dross. Creed -- there's no way his knee can have recovered from that beating Byron gave it. No way. It'll never be as strong as it was. But look at Byron. Each match we've seen him in, he's been getting stronger, defending that title against all comers, even with Creed, Macbeth and practically everyone else in the federation trying to get a piece of him. TD: And look at Creed. He would have been one of the favourites to go all the way in the World title tourney, if Byron hadn't finished it for him, and he still to this day holds the greatest unbeaten record in the IIWF... it's too close to call, Steve. Too close, and too hotly contested. There's no telling what these two will or will not do when there's this much at stake. Okay, it looks like the final preparations have been made... Sparkplug's in the ring... so let's go over to ringside for the official word. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP | ## ## ## ## ## LOSER LEAVES TOWN MATCH: | ## ## #### ## ---------------------------------------------- | ## ## ## ## Lord Byron [c] vs. Creed | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: MP [The camera cuts to Sparkplug Lee, who is stood in the centre of the ring, a grave expression on his face. He raises the microphone to his mouth:] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for the first half of tonight's double main event! [Huge crowd pop, the "Pay - back! Pay - back!" chant beginning already! Sparkplug Lee waits patiently for the noise to die down, before continuing:] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a sixty minute time limit, and is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! [Huge pop!] In addition, as both athletes have agreed on these stipulations, the loser of this match will have his contract terminated by the IIWF, and will be barred from participation! [Another huge apprehensive crowd pop! Sparkplug patiently waits again, before beginning the introductions...] RA: Introducing first, the challenger... hailing from Oakland, California and weighing in at 276lbs, accompanied to the ring by Mad Dog Watkins... here... is... CREED! [Huge crowd pop as the arena lights darken, and a stream of red mist escapes from the entrance to the aisle as Creed's unmistakably calm voice can be heard resonating over the PA system:] CREED: Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime. [Huge crowd pop! Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" starts up over the PA system, and a series of deep red spotlight light up the aisle, and finally, Creed himself appears, dressed in all black, with the exception of his blood red kneepad and the glove on his left hand, which is proudly raised in the air as Creed walks through the smoke and down the aisle, a look of complete and utter intensity on his face. Watkins, his right eye still bandaged, walks behind him, watching the young athlete with an odd gleam in his eye. The crowd's chant of "Pay - back! Pay - back!" grows in volume.] TD: Look at this man, Steve, he is focused! He is truly focused! This man wants only one thing tonight, one thing: gold. SR: But to do that, Dross, he's going to have to push it to the limit and beyond. You know Byron. I know Byron. And Creed is going to have to give the performance of his career here tonight if he expects to go home a champion. [Creed climbs the steps top the ring, his gloved fist still raised high in the air, before stepping through the ropes and climbing to the second turnbuckle, gazing around at the crowd who are slowly, deliberately, chanting his name. Meanwhile, Watkins steps across to the referee, talking pointedly and rapidly.] TD: He is ready, Steve Roberts. Look at him. He is ready to finally take home that championship gold, right here, tonight. It's payback time. SR: Only if he beats this man... RA: And his opponent... [heel pop!] ...he is the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion... currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana, and accompanied to the ring by his beautiful valet, the Lady DeWinter, and Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven... here... is... LORD BYRON! [Huge heel pop as "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite by Sibelius starts up over the PA system, and a series of spotlights focus on the entrance to the aisle. The crowd pops expectantly...] TD: Here he is! It's the Intercontinental Champion, and listen to the reception the fans here are giving him... [The heel pop from the crowd is almost deafening as Byron, dressed in an elegant pale grey suit, and with the IC title slung over his shoulder, pauses confidently at the entrance to the aisle, a look of intensity almost rivalling that of Creed on his face. Slowly, Byron takes the title from his shoulder, folds it, and kisses it, before passing it to the Lady DeWinter, who is wearing a shimmering black and gold silk evening gown, looking as stunning as ever. Byron whispers a few words to her, then turns towards the ring, advancing rapidly... the look of complete determination never fading from his face.] TD: I can't chose between them, Steve. Both of them are on top of their games, both are terrific fighters... both know exactly how each other wrestle.. SR: Well, we're about to find out. [As the European Alliance walks down the aisle, Watkins and the referee appear to reach a decision, and the referee relays that decision to Sparkplug Lee, who nods...] RA: Because of the intense importance of this contest, and its implications for both athletes, the referee has ruled that in the interests of fair play, for the duration of this bout both Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Mad Dog Watkins will be barred from ringside... [Huge crowd pop as Verhoeven protests loudly...] RA: ...with any infraction of this ruling resulting in immediate disqualification! [Huge crowd pop! Verhoeven starts to walk towards the ring, but Byron pulls him back and shakes his head, motioning for his stablemate to go back into the dressing room area. Verhoeven still looks angry, but Byron is adamant, and he reluctantly turns away from ringside, leaving for the back. In the ring, Watkins mutters a gruff "good luck" to Creed, before stepping through the ropes and heading off up the aisle himself. Byron and Watkins glare at each other as they pass in the aisle, Byron silently fuming at the veteran.] TD: What a ruling there by Earl Alfonso... but he may have stopped this one turning into an out and out brawl right there. SR: What a screwjob, more like. But look at Byron, he isn't letting this get to him. He knows he doesn't need any help to take care of this rookie... TD: Indeed, what a mach this promises to be... look out! [Huge crowd pop! As Byron approached ringside, Creed charged the ropes, flying over and connecting with an incredible plancha dive that sent both men crashing hard to the arena floor! Creed rolls onto Byron, repeatedly hammering away with a series of powerful closed fists...] TD: Creed! Wanting to get the match started in a hurry, and look at him pummel away at Byron! He's fighting like a man possessed! This, Steve Roberts, is payback! [Creed pulls the dazed Byron to his feet, pulling his jacket up over his head and hammering away with a series of closed fists... the referee signals for the opening bell, and DeWinter can only watch in horror as Creed charges, sending Byron flying into the ring steps with incredible force! Pop! Byron fights back to his feet, untangling himself from the jacket as Creed... as Creed...] TD: Oh no... SR: He can't do that...! [...as Creed rips up the steel ringsteps, and slams them down hard across Byron's back, sending him sprawling across the arena floor! Huge crowd pop! Earl Alfonso, the referee, dives out of the ring and attempts to administer a warning to Creed, who pushes him out of the way, pulling Byron back up by the ponytail...] TD: Look out! [Creed sends Byron staggering with a knee lift, then sends him crashing hard into the steel crowd barriers! Huge pop! Creed pulls Byron off, and rolls him back into the ring, quickly following...] TD: What an unbelievable onslaught by Creed. This one could be over quickly... Irish whip into the turnbuckles by Creed... and he follows through with a huge clothesline! SR: Get me a phone, Dross, get me a phone... I gotta call my bookie... TD: What? SR: I got a five grand bet on Byron, and I need to call my bookie! Get me a damn phone! [Creed pulls Byron back to his feet, and sends him flying back into the corner with a headbutt. Byron staggers back out, and gets sent straight back in with a European uppercut! Pop! Creed grabs the ropes, and begins repeatedly kicking away at Byron's midsection, hammering him down into the canvas...] SR: Yo! Sparky! Pass me that damn cellular phone you're always calling your wife on! Yes, dammit, I'm serious! TD: Steve, will you sit down! [As Steve frantically taps a series of numbers into the telephone, Creed pulls Byron to his feet, sending him flying across the ring by his hair... the crowd is popping frantically as they begin to sense an early end to the match... Byron rolls into the far corner as Creed stalks him, shaking his head and slowly using the ropes to pull himself back to his feet...] SR: Hey! Is that B.M. Accounts? Look, I want to change a bet... TD: Steve... Steve.. oh, forget it.. [Byron slumps against the buckles and shakes his head as Creed approaches, and the crowd starts its chant of "Pay - back!" once more. Creed steps forward...] TD: Kick to the stomach by Byron! Caught by Creed! And a series of European uppercuts... AND THAT ONE ALMOST TOOK HIS HEAD OFF! SR: What the hell do you mean, it's too late?! I want to speak to whoever's in charge... [Creed steps away as Byron staggers out of the turnbuckles, and then charges from behind, catching him with a lariat to the back of the head that almost completely flattens him! Pop! Creed reaches down, pulling Byron up by the hair again and scooping him up...] TD: Big bodyslam by Creed! Byron felt that one... Creed off the ropes... big elbowdrop to the sternum! And Byron rolls out of the ring! SR: Okay, who the hell is this? Look, I got a fifty grand bet that I need to change... Don Marco? What the hell kind of name is Don Marco? [Creed quickly rolls out after Byron, following him as he staggers around ringside, finally catching him by the hair and slamming him hard into the ring apron... Creed rolls him back into the ring, and climbs to the ring apron, stepping between the ropes as Byron backs off again...] SR: Sicilian? I don't care if it's damn Swahili! I want to change my bet! TD: Byron staggering back to his feet... and a huge clothesline by Creed sends him crashing back to the canvas! SR: What the hell do you mean look behind me?! [Steve Roberts turns around, to see a dark haired man in an expensive looking suit, surrounded by a number of other dark haired men in expensive suits staring straight at him. The man holds up a mobile phone, and Steve face turns completely white.] SR: No, that's okay... I don't want to see the Sicilian version of "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" I understand. I won't bother you again. Sir. I'm fine. Really. Bye now. [Roberts hangs up] Dammit, I can't believe my luck. TD: Trouble, Steve? SR: Shut up. [Creed pulls Byron back to his feet again, smashing him straight back to the canvas with a roundhouse punch! The crowd, popping at Creed's every move, watches on in anticipation as he backs Byron into the ropes...] TD: Irish whip... reversed by Byron! And reversed again by Creed! Byron ducks the clothesline, Creed comes off the opposite ropes... and Byron catches him... oh no! [Huge heel pop as Byron, desperately searching for any means to stop Creed's onslaught, lifts Creed up and falls backwards, clotheslining him onto the top ring rope...] TD: Hotshot by Byron! SR: Go on, Byron! Take it to him! [Byron quickly staggers to his feet, and moves over to where Creed is lying across the top rope. He reaches down, forcing Creed's head down with his arm while pulling the middle ring rope upwards... the referee warns him for the deliberate choke... Byron pulls at the middle rope harder... huge heel pop!] TD: Oh no! Byron... Byron's tied Creed's head between the middle rope and the top rope! Creed's being choked! Get in there, Alfonso! [Byron pulls up Creed's legs, and flips him over, to leave him hanging by the neck from the ring ropes above the arena floor! The crowd screams as Creed clutches frantically at his throat, and Earl Alfonso desperately tries to untie Creed... Byron slumps back to the canvas, shaking his head and desperately trying to catch his breath...] TD: What a despicable act by Byron! He could have broken Creed's neck! SR: Yes... yes... this is it, Dross, Byron's got him now... TD: He should be disqualified. This is despicable... [Byron slowly pushes himself to his feet as Alfonso continues to try and release Creed from the strangling grip of the ropes... Byron moves across... and proceeds to kick away at Creed's back as he hangs! Heel pop! Alfonso pushes him away, and Byron runs to the opposite ropes, coming back with...] TD: Flying dropkick by Byron! And that sends Creed crashing to the arena floor! [Earl Alfonso instantly gets in Byron's face as he backs into a corner, practically threatening Byron to follow the rules! On the outside, Creed rolls on the canvas, clutching his throat, the rope burns clearly visible... Byron nods his head distractedly at Alfonso's verbal barrage, and the referee finally turns away, starting to count Creed out...] TD: I'm still in shock from the tactics used by Byron just moments ago. He could have killed Creed there. SR: He did what he had to do, Dross. And he saved me a lot of money. TD: Please, Steve... [Creed rolls to his knees, still shaking his head as the referee reaches the five count... and Byron climbs to the outside, moving around the ring apron, leaping off and connecting with a double axehandle to Creed's head just as Creed starts to rise! Byron shakes his hair back, and pulls Creed to his feet with a snarl, charging him straight into the steel ringpost! Heel pop! Byron quickly rolls Creed back into the ring, and follows him in...] TD: Byron now... elbowdrop to the back of Creed's neck! A cover! One... two... kickout by Creed! And with eight minutes gone, that was the first near fall of the match! [Byron pulls Creed back to his feet, backing him into the ropes... Irish whip... reversal by Creed! Creed staggers forward, dropping his head as Byron rebounds... and Byron stops dead in front of the backdrop attempt, catching hold of Creed's head and spinning around, sending him hard to the canvas with a snapping neckbreaker! Heel pop! Byron sits up, pulls off his badly torn white shirt and throws it out of the ring, before rolling across Creed, hooking the leg... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out again! Byron rolls Creed over, stepping over onto his back and pulling his head up into a reverse chinlock...] SR: Good move by Byron. He's focusing his attention on that neck of Creed, while giving him self chance to take a break. Good, good, intelligent move. TD: If you didn't have money on the line, you would have called it a resthold. SR: Shut up. [The crowd starts to pop in warning as Creed starts to fade, and Byron leans back hard, pouring the pressure on... the referee checks with Creed for the submission.] TD: No. Creed is a fighter, and it's going to take much more than that to make him submit. SR: But Byron's gaining his strength back by the moment, and Creed is still in trouble. [Byron continues to pour the pressure on Creed unrelentingly, and Earl Alfonso checks for the submission again... unsurprisingly, the answer is still negative. The crowd starts to pop in worry, and the "Creed!" chant starts up slowly again.] TD: Listen to the crowd get behind Creed! They want to see him get out of this! SR: Byron has it locked on too tight. Not a chance. [The referee, having heard nothing from Creed, reaches down to check the arm... and it stays up first time! Pop! Creed slowly starts to power up, pushing his knees underneath him, forcing Byron to adjust his base... and Creed gets to his knees! Pop! Byron still holds on to the chinlock, twisting the head, trying to force Creed back down... ] TD: And Creed gets to his feet! Listen to this capacity crowd! They are behind this young man every step of the way! [Creed hoists Byron onto his back, preparing to drop back on top of him... and Byron switches his grip, locking it into a tight sleeperhold around Creed's head, practically hanging off the bigger man's back! heel pop! Creed staggers for a second, then throws his weight backwards, crushing Byron into the turnbuckles! Pop! Byron _still_ holds on! Creed staggers out, and charges back again, and this time Byron breaks! Creed staggers away from the corner, and Byron tuns out behind him...] TD: Bulldog by the champion! And a quick cover! One... two... SR: No! TD: Creed kicked out! SR: Come on Byron, stay on him... [Byron quickly pulls Creed back to his feet, backing him into the ropes with a volley of European uppercuts, before attempting an Irish whip cross-ring... he gets it, and Creed comes back on the rebound...] TD: Powerslam by Byron! And another cover! One... two... kickout by Creed again! Byron up... and a fistdrop to the forehead! [Byron rolls to his knees, adjusting the black elbowpad on his left arm, before pulling Creed to his feet and into a facelock, before dropping down to his knees...] TD: And Byron continues to focus on the neck area of Creed, this time with a front facelock... and Alfonso better be alert, that could easily turn into a choke hold. SR: Byron? Choke? Never... [Byron appears to have another plan in mind, hooking Creed's arm over, and rolling Creed's shoulder's to the canvas while maintaining the facelock... Creed's shoulder's go down... 1 - 2 - Creed powers his arm up at the last second! Pop! Byron tightens his grip on the facelock, and rolls, using the weight of his body to force Creed's shoulders down again... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out hard, forcing Byron to change his grip...] TD: Patient build-up by the champion here. He's taking his time to wear Creed down. [Creed forces himself back to his knees, and pushes Byron back towards the corner... the referee asks Byron for the clean break. Byron obliges -- and Creed slams his shoulder hard into Byron's midsection, doubling him up! Pop! Creed repeats the blow a further three times, and then straightens up, grabbing Byron's arm and Irish whipping him towards the opposite turnbuckles...] TD: Reversal by the champion... re-reversal by Creed! Byron hits hard, and Creed charges... [Huge heel pop!] TD: No! Byron got out of the way at the last second, and Creed... Creed went straight through the turnbuckles! SR: He caught that shoulder on the steel ringpost, Dross... he tried to sandwich Byron, and caught that shoulder on the steel ringpost! [Creed slowly pushes away from the turnbuckles, and turns around -- straight into a kick to the midsection from Byron... and a shoulderbuster! Heel pop! Byron wastes no time, pulling up the arm and dropping a series of legdrops across the exposed left shoulder, before pulling Creed over and dropping back, to lock on a crucifix armbar! The sign of strain is evident on Creed's face, and he reaches across for the ropes...] TD: Inches away! Creed is inches away from the ropes! And look at Byron pour the pressure on Creed! SR: First the knee, Dross, then the neck, now the arm... Byron is trying to take Creed apart here! He may have been caught off guard at the start, but he is really dominating the rookie now! [Creed tries to roll closer to the ropes, just tantalisingly out of reach! Byron hauls him back, and Creed turns away from the ropes, trying to push himself to one knee... Byron's shoulders scrape the canvas, and Alfonso watches carefully... Creed rolls with it again, and Byron's shoulders go down! 1 - 2 - Byron breaks the hold, rolling away from Creed as he falls back against the ropes. Byron charges...] TD: Byron with a clothesline... no! Creed backdrops him clear over the top rope! Incredible! [Now it's Creed's turn to take a warning from Alfonso! Byron slowly starts to rise on the outside, and Creed charges to the opposite ropes... huge crowd pop!] TD: Sliding kick from Creed, and it sends Byron crashing into the steel crowd barriers! Creed now, following Byron out... [Creed drops to the floor behind Byron, pulling him up and sending him crashing face first into the barriers again. Creed hooks Byron in a headlock, and charges towards the ringpost... ] TD: Byron slips... and Creed hits the ringpost hard! SR: What's Byron doing...? TD: Oh no... SR: Oh yes... [The crowd pops frantically as Byron tears away the mats covering the concrete floor, before moving across to Creed, pulling him across to the exposed concrete area... and setting him up... Alfonso continues to count both men out - 3 - ] TD: Byron... setting Creed up... for a DDT on the concrete... SR: He's gonna nail him, Dross, it's game over... [Byron sneers at the screaming crowd, braces himself... blocked! Huge crowd pop!] TD: Reversal by Creed! SR: No! [Creed backdrops Byron onto the concrete, and both men lie there prone. Alfonso's count reaches 5, and Creed starts to rise... he pulls Byron up, and slowly rolls him back into the ring, before following him in himself...] SR: Hey, Dross, what would have happened if both men were counted out? TD: Good question. I really have no idea. [Creed climbs through the ropes after Byron, before pulling him up and locking him into a bearhug...] TD: Alfonso's checking Byron... no submission... and Creed turns the bearhug into a belly-to-belly suplex! The cover! 1 - 2 - kickout by Byron! [Creed rolls to his knees, adjusting his kneepad before pulling Byron back to his feet... Creed backs Byron into the ropes... Irish whip by Creed... Creed goes for a clothesline....] TD: Crucifix by Byron! Creed staggers... and falls backwards into a Samoan Drop! The cover! 1 - 2 - Byron kicks out again! Steve, I'm hearing from backstage... should both men be counted out, or should both men be disqualified for that matter, this match will be declared a draw, and both men will remain as they are in the IIWF! SR: Do they know that? [Dross looks up at the ring, where Creed is pulling Byron back to his feet once again...] TD: I don't think they do. [Creed locks Byron in a facelock of his own, before smashing Byron back down to his knees with a huge forearm smash... Creed whips Byron into the ropes, before attempting another clothesline... Byron spins around Creed, and tries the hip toss.. Creed blocks it, and hooks Byron's other arm, pulling him down into a backslide... 1 - 2 - kickout! Byron rolls away from Creed, and back to his feet, only to get smashed straight back down by a diving clothesline from the big man! Another cover, Creed hooks the leg... 1 - 2 - Byron kicks out again! DeWinter slams her hands on the ring apron, desperately trying to rally her man...] TD: Creed now... pulling Byron to his feet again... headbutt... and another... and a uppercut backs Byron into the corner. SR: Twenty-six minutes gone... hold on, what the hell happens if it's a time limit draw, Dross? TD: I'd expect it would be the same as double countout or DQ, but the way these two are going at it, I don't think that's ever going to happen... [Creed whips Byron into the opposite corner, where he connects with a force heard around the arena... Creed charges across for an avalanche... and meets the elbow of Byron! Pop! He staggers backwards, and Byron reaches out, grabbing his head...] TD: Swinging neckbreaker by Byron! Both men are down... SR: Cover him, Byron! Cover him! [Byron drapes an arm across Creed's chest, and the referee counts... 1 - 2 - Creed's shoulder rises! Byron rolls to his knees, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling Creed up again... DeWinter shouts at him to hurry up...] TD: Punch to the gut by Creed! And Byron with a kick to the gut! Another punch by Creed! And Byron with an uppercut! Creed with another punch... and another.. Byron's staggered.. Creed winds up... SR: And a thumb to the eye from Byron! Excellent counter! TD: That'll stop an elephant! SR: That's my catchphrase! [Byron backs Creed into the ropes, and Irish whips him to the opposite side, before coming back himself... huge crowd pop!] TD: Double clothesline! Double clothesline! Both men are down! SR: Byron's not moving! [Creed raises his hands to his head, and slowly starts to get to his knees... Byron makes no motion whatsoever, lying at an odd angle on the canvas... Creed staggers to his feet, and slowly makes his way across, pulling Byron to his feet...] TD: Small package out of nowhere by Byron! The referee's out of position...! [Alfonso slides into position, and makes the count... 1 - 2 - kickout by Creed! Creed rolls to his feet as Byron struggles to rise, Creed reaches out... and Byron catches him with a jawbreaker! Heel pop! Byron backs up to the ropes, then drops forward, nailing Creed with a fistdrop to the forehead... Byron gets straight back up... a second fistdrop... a cover, and Byron pulls up the leg and applies a half nelson... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out! Byron wearily steps across, pulling up Creed's legs...] TD: Byron now, he's going for that leg... step over toehold... pulled by Creed into an inside cradle! The referee's out of position! One... two... Byron reverses! One... two... no, no, no! Creed kicks out! SR: How can they keep this pace up, Dross? How? [Byron starts to pull Creed up, and receives a shoulder barge into the gut, doubling him over.. Creed rises to his feet, backing Byron into the ropes. Irish whip... Byron rebounds... Creed's lariat misses the mark, and he turns as Byron rebounds again...] TD: Byron with a flying dropkick to that braced knee, and Creed is in agony! SR: Bye, bye, rookie, so long rookie... TD: Did you see the impact on that move, Steve? Did you? SR: Oh, I saw it, Dross. I saw it, and I'm loving every second of it... TD: That move should be outlawed. That could have dislocated the knee, broken the leg, anything... Creed's in bad shape, Steve... [Byron slowly rises to his feet as Creed writhes on the canvas, pausing to smirk at the worried pop from the crowd as Creed, clutching his knee, pulls himself back into a corner... Creed tries to pull himself up using the turnbuckles as Byron stalks him... Byron steps closer... Creed lashes out with a kick...] TD: Byron caught the leg... and a legdrag takedown out of the corner! Byron going for a spinning kneelock... and Creed desperately scrambles to the ropes! SR: He can't run forever, Dross, Byron smells blood! [Byron stalks Creed again as he uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, before stepping up behind him and lashing out with a kick to the back of the knee that drops Creed to the canvas! Creed scrambles up, and Byron kicks the knee out again! Creed pulls himself up a third time, stepping out into the centre of the ring, and Byron backs against the ropes, before running out and clipping the back of Creed's leg away! Huge heel pop! Byron quickly moves in, grapevining Creed's knee and falling back to the mat in a kneebreaker before moving into a knee crosslock... Creed thumps the canvas in pain, and the referee checks for the submission... none.] TD: He's got heart, Steve... but even so, I'm not sure how much more of this punishment Creed can take. [Creed reaches out for the ropes, slowly, painfully dragging himself over... and he manages to grab hold! Pop! Byron instantly breaks the crosslock, springing up and dropping a fistdrop to the back of Creed's head, before pulling him back out into the centre of the ring. He grapevines the injured leg again, this time locking the other leg under it... he falls back to the canvas...] TD: Indian deathlock! Byron has an Indian deathlock on Creed! Look at the pressure on that knee! SR: He's not giving up, though, Dross... his career's being broken in two right before his eyes, but he's too pig-headed to call it a day.. TD: He's got heart, Steve. Don't you dare say otherwise. [Byron seems to be suffering from the exertion of the hold as well, and shakes his head in disbelief as Creed once again yells out a negative response to Alfonso's worried request. Creed slowly starts to push himself up... using the strength in his arms to power himself up, trying to turn the hold back on Byron...] TD: And Byron breaks, and an axehandle lays Creed out again! And... what's Byron doing? [Byron pulls Creed to his feet, backing him into the corner, Byron pulls up Creed's injured knee, hooking it between the turnbuckles, before kicking away at the exposed knee joint as the referee desperately tries to get him to break... Byron shrugs Alfonso off... and Creed lashes out, with a rake to Byron's face! Pop! Byron staggers backwards, and then back in blindly...] TD: Big right hand by Creed... he limps out of the corner... Irish whip coming up... reversed by Byron... re-reversed by Creed! SR: And he whips Byron straight into Alfonso! Referee down, and knocked clean out of the ring! Disqualify that rookie! TD: That wasn't deliberate, Steve. Creed was caught blind... [Creed staggers forward, with Byron down on the canvas and Alfonso sprawled out on the mats outside the ring. He limps towards Byron as the blueblood starts to rise...] TD: Creed, pulling Byron up by the ponytail... SR: And Byron with a DDT out of nowhere! He was playing possum! Where the hell is Alfonso?! We need a count here, dammit! [Byron stumbles away from Creed, looking around for the referee... and a smirk appears on his face as he sees Alfonso out on the outside. Byron grabs Creed's injured leg... Heel pop!] TD: What is Byron doing now? Oh no... don't say he's going to... SR: It's over. It has got to be over. [Byron drags Creed back into the corner, before stepping out onto the ring apron and pulling up his injured leg. The crowd pops frantically.] TD: Byron... with a figure four leglock... wrapped around the ringpost! Someone's got to get Alfonso back up to his feet... this is... this is terrible! SR: I believe what you meant to say, Dross, was, "This is great!" The wa-wa's coming home to the Soundbite, baby! [Byron leans back, pouring the pressure on as Creed flails in agony inside the ring, hammering at the canvas... Byron grits his teeth, pulling back with all his strength. On the other side of the ring, Alfonso is practically out cold... DeWinter urges her man on as Creed struggles against the hold with all his might...] TD: Byron is relentless... Creed surely can't take much more of this punishment... surely not... [Indeed, Creed is lying flat back on the canvas, not putting up any resistance against the hold. The crowd pops in fear... and slowly, desperately, starts to get behind the young athlete...] TD: Listen to this crowd, Steve Roberts. They're getting behind this brave young man... Creed! Creed! Creed! They want to see him break this hold! [Slowly, and in time with the building chant, Creed slams his gloved fist down onto the canvas... the crowd pops excitedly... and Creed sits up! Pop! Byron cannot believe his eyes! Creed glares at Byron, who sits up himself, trying to untangle the hold... and Creed reaches past the turnbuckles, grabbing Byron by the hair! Pop!] TD: Creed! Look at this young man go! SR: Watch out! Here comes DeWinter! [Creed flails away with his fist at the head of Byron, as DeWinter rushes across, passing Byron his brass-topped cane. The crowd pops as Byron swings it wildly....] TD: And it's caught by Creed! And he smashes Byron in the head with it! That, Steve Roberts, is what you call poetic justice! SR: No... TD: You live by the sword, you die by the sword! How many times have we seen Byron's opponents on the receiving end of that? Poetic justice! [As Steve Roberts watches speechless, Creed yanks on Byron's hair, smashing his head into the steel ring post once... twice... three times... and Byron manages to untangle himself from the hold, falling back to the arena floor, stunned... and bloodied. Creed slumps back to the canvas, exhausted and in terrible pain, while on the other side of the ring, Alfonso stirs, and slowly, dizzily, pulls himself up to the ring apron...] SR: No... no... no... I don't believe it... [On the outside, DeWinter rushes across to Byron, ripping off the hem of her dress and trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash on her man's forehead... Creed slowly drags himself away from the turnbuckles as Alfonso hauls himself back into the ring...] TD: What an incredible match. What a breathtaking, incredible match. SR: I... no... [Alfonso staggers across, looking down at the prone Creed bleary-eyed, and then around for Byron... he sees him lying out next to DeWinter by the ringsteps, and slowly starts to count him out - 1 - ] TD: Byron looks to be out cold, Steve... I don't know what it was, the blows against the post or the shot from his own cane, but he is out cold... [DeWinter leaves her man's side, rushing across to the announcer's desk and snatching up Sparkplug Lee's glass of water, before running back and holding it to Byron's lips. Inside the ring, Alfonso dazedly continues his count - 2 - ] SR: No... [DeWinter splashes Byron's face with the water, practically begging Byron to get up as Creed starts to stir - 3 - ] TD: Your money's gone, Steve. Byron isn't moving... SR: No! First a losing chicken, now this. No... come on, Byron! Get up! [ - 4 - ] TD: Look at Creed... he is completely exhausted... look at Byron... neither man deserves to lose, after the showing they've put on tonight! [As DeWinter holds up the glass for Byron again, Byron reaches up, and pushes her arm away! Huge stunned pop from the crowd...] TD: I don't believe it... [ - 5 - ] SR: Come on Byron... get back in there and take this rookie! [Byron slowly starts to stagger back to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face... DeWinter tugs on his arm, trying to pull him away from the ring, a look of terror on her face... Byron pauses, staring at the blood on his hand - 6 - ] DeW: Byron... don't... please... just leave it... BYRON: No... DEW: Byron... please.... BYRON: NO! [ - 7 - Byron pushes the tearful DeWinter away from him, a look of rage on his face, and pushes himself to his feet... Creed looks on in disbelief, shaking his head and pulling himself up to his feet - 8 - and Byron rolls into the ring! Huge crowd pop!] TD: What... does.. it... take? [Creed is on Byron the instant he rolls into the ring, dropping an elbowdrop across the blueblood's neck. He pulls Byron up to his feet... the Englishman staggers back against the ropes, wildly throwing a weak right hand at Creed... and Creed winds up, nailing Byron with a huge left fist! Pop! Byron reels... Creed winds up again... and another huge fist! And another! And another! The crowd are on their feet! Creed pushes Byron's head back, holding his gloved fist in the air, and Irish whips him into the opposite ropes!] TD: We've seen this before... Goodnight! SR: No... [Byron comes back on the rebound, and Creed catches him by the throat, spinning him around in a motion as unstoppable as the Dawn of Man... and nailing the Crimson Tide chokeslam! Huge crowd pop!] TD: Farewell! SR: I'm never backing an Englishman again... [Creed neglects the cover, shaking his head and pulling the limp Englishman to his feet... and slowly limping backwards, dragging him towards the corner. The crowd buzzes as Creed slowly backs up the turnbuckles, pulling Byron up after him, setting him in position for his patented superbomb...] SR: No.. no.. no... TD: Creed now, positioning Byron on the top rope. This was how their first meeting ended, that crushing, devastating powerbomb from the top rope taking Byron to his first clean pinfall loss in the IIWF. [Creed braces himself, steadying his balance on the top rope...] TD: And Byron blocks it! How? SR: What? What? What?! [From somewhere, Byron had the presence of mind to hook his arms around Creed in a waistlock. Creed tries again, put still can't execute the move. A look of pain passes over his face as his knee shakes... he staggers on the top... and Byron grasps his chance!] TD: Northern Lights Superplex by Byron! Incredible! SR: He's running on instinct now, Dross, that was pure instinct! [Huge crowd pop as both men come crashing down to the canvas. Byron tries to bridge... and slumps back to the floor! Pop!] TD: He is exhausted... Byron is too exhausted to even attempt a bridge, and I'm not surprised! [Earl Alfonso looks at the two athletes lying prone on the canvas, and starts to count them both down... 1 - 2 - ] SR: Byron! All you have to do is cover him! Do it! [ - 3 - the crowd pops concernedly as neither man moves - 4 - Byron starts to roll, slowly, towards Creed - 5 - Creed starts to move, rolling to his knees - 6 - ] TD: Both men are still fighting. Everything is at stake, and they simply will not give up. [Creed pushes himself to his knees, as Byron slumps down again - 7 - 8 - Creed makes it to his feet! Pop! Creed looks down at Byron, and starts to pull him up by his hair...] TD: Creed now... trying to set Byron up for a powerbomb... he wants to finish this... [Creed pulls Byron up... who pulls Creed down! Byron rolls over Creed, catching him completely by surprise with a roll into a stepover arm bar, combining it with...] TD: A crucifix armbar! La Magisterial cradle! Creed's shoulders are down! [Alfonso, caught out of position, rolls in to make the count... the crowd pops wildly...] TD: One! SR: He's got him! [ - 2 - ] TD: Look at DeWinter! She's got Creed's leg pinned down from the outside! SR: Alfonso doesn't see it! Yes! [Creed struggles... he rises his injured leg to try and kick out...] SR: Three! He got him! Byron wins! TD: What a travesty! I don't believe it! [The referee dazedly gets back up, signalling to the ring announcer... the heel pop from the crowd fills the entire stadium as Byron rolls away from Creed...] RA: Here is your winner... and _still_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Huge heel pop as "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite starts up over the PA system.] TD: I simply don't believe it... I don't believe it... Creed fought so hard... SR: It's over, Dross! He is gone... the rookie is gone! [Suddenly, "Intermezzo" is abruptly cut off. The crowd pops in anticipation as assistant referee Chuck Sanders runs down to ringside, and up to Sparkplug Lee... Byron stares out at him from the ring, face now completely devoid of emotion...] SR: What... in the name of my dear departed great grandmother, what the hell is going on here, Dross?! [Earl Alfonso climbs out of the ring, and walks up to where Sanders and Lee are arguing. The heated discussion continues as the crowd buzzes quietly. In the ring, Creed and Byron, slumped against the turnbuckles in opposite corners, simply stare at each other, not daring to hope what is happening on the outside...] SR: This is crap. Byron won it. What the hell are those morons jawing about? TD: Sanders... he's showing Alfonso a replay... I think they're talking about DeWinter's interference. Good grief. [Byron and Creed simply continue to stare at each other ads the trio on the outside reach a decision... Alfonso climbs back into the ring as Sparkplug Lee takes the microphone again...] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the interference of the Lady DeWinter the referee has informed me that he has reversed the decision... SR: What the hell is wrong with those people?! [Huge crowd pop! Byron's head falls in dismay, and the pop is instantly cut off as both Sanders and Alfonso run back across to Lee, cutting him off...] SR: I don't believe this... I have seen some screwjobs in the past, but this... this... TD: Quiet, Steve... [Both Sanders and Alfonso finish talking to Sparkplug, who nods his head, and raises the microphone once again...] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologise for the mistake... due to Lady DeWinter's interference, the referees have ruled that she must leave the ringside area immediately... [DeWinter practically screams out in shock and anger..] RA: ...and that this match _MUST_ continue! [The crowd raises the roof. Sanders escorts a struggling DeWinter back down the aisle, and the bell rings again, leaving both commentators to sit speechless in their chairs. In the ring, Byron raises his head again, slowly looking up at Creed. Byron tilts his head, Creed nods... and both men step away from their corners, and move into a grapple! Pop!] SR: This beggars belief. TD: I'm stunned, Steve... I don't know what to say... [Creed twists Byron into a headlock... Byron slams a forearm into his back, before throwing him off into the ropes and hitting him with an elbow to the jaw on the return...] SR: What's the match time? How long's left? TD: Fifty-one minutes gone, deduct five for that interruption... I make it fourteen minutes to go. SR: Fourteen minutes. Fourteen minutes to go. How the hell has this gone this long? These two are going to kill each other in here... [Byron pulls Creed into a gutwrench position, but Creed forces him back into the corner before he can execute it. Alfonso breaks them up, and both men trade blows over the referee's head... Byron takes the advantage with a thumb to the eye...] TD: They're too evenly matched... they can't finish each other off. SR: Byron's done it once tonight already, Dross! TD: You saw DeWinter, Steve. Creed would have kicked out. [Byron pulls Creed back into the corner, attempting to smash his head into the turnbuckles. Creed blocks it with his good foot, and returns the favour... Byron staggers out, kicking out at Creed's knee as he does so.] TD: They can't go all the way... surely not... It's not possible... [Byron takes advantage of Creed's pain with another facerake, before picking up his injured knee and flipping him out of the corner with a legdrag takedown... Byron gets back to his feet, pulling Creed's leg back up for a figure four...] TD: Creed with a small package! One... two... SR: No! TD: Three! No... no, that was too close! [Byron kicks out at the very last second, and this time it's Creed who sticks the thumb in the eye as Byron rises... Creed backs Byron into the ropes... Irish whip... Creed lifts Byron for the spinebuster... ] TD: And Byron with a forearm to Creed's head! And he lands on top of him in a Lou Thesz press! The referee's in position... One... SR: Two! TD: And Creed escapes! Unbelievable! [Byron shakes his head as Creed struggles to his feet, and pulls his legs away, rolling over him with an over-the-top cradle... 1 - 2 - Creed's shoulder lifts off the canvas. Byron rolls away, rises, and falls back, connecting with a fistdrop... he pulls Creed back to his feet... backs him into the ropes... Irish whip...] TD: Reversed by Creed! Byron on the rebound... and there's the Crimson Tide! SR: No! Byron caught him! He caught Creed! They're both out! [As Creed hoisted Byron up for the Crimson Tide chokeslam, Byron desperately whipped his trailing foot around, catching the bigger man with a sloppy but effective enzuigiri counter. Both men lie on the canvas, winded... Alfonso counts - 1 - ] SR: Nine minutes left. Nine minutes. Come on, Byron, you can do it... [ - 2 - 3 - ] TD: What a magnificent battle. What outstanding athletes... [ - 4 - Byron's shoulder rises! Pop! Byron starts to roll to his knees - 5 - 6 - Byron makes it to his feet... he looks down at the unmoving form of Creed, and starts to pull him up. Creed smashes a forearm into Byron's midsection, bending Byron double. The red-gloved rookie hooks Byron around the waist, and throws him to the canvas with a gutwrench suplex. Creed backs up to the corner, and climbs to the second rope...] TD: Second rope elbowdrop... that'll do it! [Earl Alfonso slides in as Creed slowly hooks Byron's leg up: 1 - 2 - ] TD: Three! He got him! SR: No, no, no! Byron kicked out! It was only two! [Creed looks up in disbelief, holding up three fingers at Alfonso... Creed shakes his head, pulling Byron to his feet again, backing him into the ropes... Irish whip... Byron comes back... a kick to the stomach from Byron doubles Creed over!] TD: Byron now... setting Creed up... Reverse neckbreaker! He nailed it! SR: Pin that man! [Byron slowly pulls the young superstar up again, pulling Creed's throat across his shoulder...] TD: Inverted neckbreaker! SR: It's all over, Dross! It's all over... [Byron rises to his feet again, brushing away the blood-matted hair, long since pulled out of the ponytail, and looks around at the frantic crowd, before raising his hand and pulling Creed to his feet a third time... facelock... Byron throws Creed's limp arm over his shoulder, practically supporting the bigger man's weight as he sets him up for the front-layout suplex...] TD: This is it. This is the set up for the Aristoclutch... Creed looks lifeless in there... [Byron braces himself... and lifts -- but he can't get Creed up! Pop! Byron steps backwards a few paces, before trying again...] TD: And this time Creed blocks the attempt! SR: No! [The athletes almost appear to be moving in slow motion as Byron struggles, and Creed braces his feet...] TD: Vertical suplex by Creed... no! Byron over the back and lands on his feet! How? Byron charges Creed into the ropes face first, and pulls him back... into a rolling cradle! SR: Count Alfonso, dammit, count! [Alfonso slides into position, just as Creed overbalances Byron, pulling him back over into a pin of his own... Byron tries to pull Creed's shoulder's back to the canvas with his legs, but Creed leans over him, using his arms and every last ounce of his power to pin Byron's shoulder's to the mat... Alfonso counts... 1 - ] TD: Pin by Creed! Byron's down! SR: No! TD: Creed's got both legs hooked down! [ - 2 - ] SR: DeWinter's on the ring apron! TD: Byron flexing... he's going to kick out... [ - 3! Silence. Byron kicks out a fraction of a second too late. Both men roll away from each other, and Alfonso staggers to his feet, signalling for the bell... and _then_ the crowd pop resounds around the arena...] RA: Here is your winner... and _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... CREEEEEEEED! [Byron falls back onto the canvas, his hands on his face. The Lady DeWinter sprints back down the aisle towards the ring, tears streaming down her face, and Creed... Creed pulls himself into a sitting position, staring vacantly ahead... unseeing, unbelieving, face expressionless...] SR: What a crock! TD: What a match! [DeWinter rolls into the ring, and across to Byron, helping him as he vainly tries to climb to his feet... Byron looks around at the crowd, at Creed, still shaking his head in disbelief, and at Earl Alfonso, on the outside, taking the IC title from the timekeeper's table. Byron stumbles forward, pushing DeWinter's ministrations away, and rolls to the outside.] TD: Byron... what's he... oh no... this could get nasty... SR: Nasty? Nasty? What the hell are you talking about Dross? Byron has just lost everything! Seven minutes left on the clock, and he lost everything! The title... his career here... my five grand... everything! [Byron stumbles up behind Alfonso, who turns in shock -- and Byron snatches away the IC title! Heel pop! Alfonso warns him, and gets right in his face, but Byron shakes his head, and still looking at the title, pushes Alfonso onto the floor! Heel pop!] TD: He can't touch an official! SR: Why, Dross? Why can't he touch him? What'll they do? Suspend him or something? TD: Good grief. [Byron slowly climbs back onto the ring apron, still clutching the IC title, and steps through the ropes. The sight of Byron with the gold seems to stir Creed, who rises to his feet, clenching his fists and stepping forward...] TD: This is about to get ugly, right here... SR: So? I lost five grand. Tell it to someone who cares, Dross. [Byron stops in front of Creed, squaring up to him. Creed stares back, unflinchingly. DeWinter tries to pull Byron away, but he shrugs her off and jabs his finger repeatedly into Creed's chest... the ring microphones start to pick up Byron's words...] BYRON: So. You got it, Creed. That's right, Creed. You're not a rookie anymore. [cough] You finally hit the big time. You finally get to take some gold back to your mother. [Creed stares at Byron as if he'd like to floor him, but keeps his composure. Byron brushes his bloodstained hair out of his eyes, and continues.] BYRON: You finally got what you wanted, Creed. [cough] Payback. Is that it? Enjoy it while it lasts, Creed, because listen to me... listen to me, Creed... [cough] this may be the only time you get to enjoy the gold. Once you get back, everyone's going to be on your back, everyone's going to be demanding their shot. [cough cough] Just like they were with me. Just like... [Byron jabs his finger into Creed's chest again] _you_ were with me. Ask Watkins. He'll tell you exactly the same. [Byron pauses, and looks down at the title again. Creed, although staying silent, relaxes slightly, watching Byron carefully...] BYRON: And in that position, Creed, there's only one thing to do. [Byron pauses again, looking around at the popping crowd.] BYRON: You go out. You defend your title. And you be the best damned champion you can be. [Byron pushes the title at Creed, to a huge pop. Byron steps away, Creed watching him all the time. Byron slowly extends a hand. The crowd pops anxiously... and Creed accepts! Huge crowd pop! Byron steps away, pointing back at Creed one last time...] BYRON: I will see you again, Creed, you can count on that. Maybe sooner than you'd think. Ciao. [Creed watches as Byron turns, and catches DeWinter in his arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead. He accepts her help in exiting the ring, and starts to slowly walk back down the aisle. He pauses in front of the announcer's desk for a second, stopping to shake Tim Dross' hand as he rises, before putting his arm around DeWinter, and leaving the ringside area.] SR: Yeah. You go, man. You go. You cost me a whole lot of money. Get the hell outta here. Loser. And take that tramp with you. I never did like her anyway. TD: Good grief. You are unbelievable, Steve Roberts. Truly unbelievable. [Back in the ring, Creed looks down at the gleaming IC title in his hands, and then around at the crowd... and then he springs to the turnbuckles, raising the title high in the air in his gloved left fist.] CREED: Damn right... Damn right! It's my turn! It's Creed's turn! [The crowd pops wildly as "Ode to Joy" starts up over the PA system, and Creed drops back into the ring, title still held high in the air. Ike Sampson and Mad Dog Watkins run down the aisle and into the ring, Sampson practically lifting Creed off his feet in a hug, while even Watkins appears to lose some of his composure, smiling briefly and slapping Creed on the back.] TD: What an incredible match, and a new Intercontinental Champion. The events we've seen tonight, Steve Roberts, truly, truly amazing... SR: Him... [pointing at Creed] That man right there... is the luckiest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life. Who's your daddy? TD: Good grief. SR: And whatever the hell you say, Dross, no match is worth five grand. TD: I'm glad you've figured that out. SR: And what the hell is that supposed to mean?