Blackjack vs Hiro Shin-Mozas (I Quit Match) [No Contest]

[The Number Three]

Three hadn't expected Hiro to use the force of the impact to propell him up making a counter attack available. Hiro’s hand connected with the side of Three’s head, dragging nails deeply against his black skin. Three spun to pull away and he growled out the pain. A quick check with his hand came up dry, but the side of his face burned from the impact.

He snarled and turned back towards Hiro. “A good attempt. But we're not quite done yet.” Three advanced on Hiro, mostly in an effort to keep his opponent from rising. He went to aim a stomp at Hiro’s torso aiming to knock him down to his back.  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro's face crunched in pain as he stayed sitting, a hand on his stomach as he tried to get his breathing back under control. He was going to try and push through this pain, get back to his feet, keep on the attack -- but instead, an vengeful Three shot his foot out and drove Hiro back down to the ground, keeping his foot upon his midsection to pin him to the padding. Hiro coughed out some spit and found that the heat radiating from Three's foot was simply too hot to get in a deep breath. He screamed at him to get off, to get away -- Three was certainly radiating that heat throughout his body, and Hiro knew that this was...certainly not a position he wanted to stay in.  

[The Number Three]

Keeping his foot planted on Hiro’s chest Three bent down to grab the monitor. “You'll get you chance to mount a comeback Hiro.” Three shouted down at him. Then he raised the monitor above his head, “but you've still got one prize left!” and threw it down at Hiro’s knee, like a quarterback spiking the football after a game winning touchdown.  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro continued to struggle from beneath Three's burning foot, trying his best to roll his body out from under it...but to no avail. He screamed and began digging his nails into Three's ankle, but all he got for it was a monitor shot to the knee, sending him scrambling from beneath Three's foot as he finally let his foot be moved. The Ethnic Enigma rolled around on the ground and slammed his fist into the area above his knee, begging and pleading with himself to somehow ignore the horrific pain he'd just been put in. These shots with the monitor were some of the worst weapon attacks he'd had to deal with in his life due to the sheer unearthly power behind them. Whatever this version of The Number Three was, it was more powerful and more indestructible than ever before.  

[The Number Three]

Three stepped around Hiro until he was standing above his head. He bent over looking down at the works that he’d done. A quick glance at the deformed and broken monitor that had been used to batter Hiro. “Now, while I have your attention. You’re wondering… why you. Why did I target you?” Three knelt down, grabbed Hiro by the jaw and shoved him down until he was forced to look Three in the eyes. “I. Didn’t.”

Three stood back up and hopped up onto the apron, then again up the ropes until he was standing on the turnbuckle. He called out, his voice carrying through the camera’s microphones.

“Blackjack, was only using this body. It’s like a lease. Only he didn’t return it when he was supposed to.”

Three leapt into the air, coming down towards Hiro with his elbow braced to crush Hiro’s sternum.  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro was shaking profusely on the ground as he bit into his lip, trying his best to fight back the pain. As a little bit of blood poured from his mouth from the bite, he found his face lifted and he was looking face to face with demon. Three made it clear...Hiro was never a target for him, but he certainly was for Blackjack. The Ethnic Enigma, as hurt as he was, perhaps was more confused now than he was in pain. Three let go of Hiro and he fell back into a prone position on the ground, the demon continuing to say that he was merely leasing out the vessel to a man who, until tonight, had no desire to return it. It was then that Three leaped from the apron -- and in a last ditch effort to avoid any further damage, Hiro would roll out of the weay of the leaping elbow and to the barricade, leaving Three to have a date with the ground!  

[The Number Three]

Three had expected Hiro to move. He really only gave it a small chance of actually working. The showmanship was always central to him, and it was returning to him faster than other aspects of his personality. As such, he was more than willing to throw himself upon the altar of entertainment.

Three hit the hard padding on the concrete, elbow first, with a tremendous smack. His body bounced and he howled in pain as his kicked furiously and gripping his now aching elbow. His howls turned to chuckles which turned to laughter and he crawled towards Hiro, still cradling his elbow.

“Hiro!

Do you know why they call it your funny bone?” He asked between pained laughter.

“Because it's your humorous!”  

[HiroShinMozas]

"What the ********> Hiro growled through clenched teeth as Three began to move towards him, nursing his elbow. The Ethnic Enigma began to push to his knees, using the barricade for a little extra help in doing so. The pain on his face turned to disgust as the demon laughed at his own ridiculous pun, it becoming a disgusting display of how little Three really felt about him. As he tried to get back to his feet fully, Hiro looked to rear back his leg and kick Three square in the face, trying so hard to shut him for just a moment so he could think of what exactly he needed to do next.  

[The Number Three]

Three was grinning through the pain radiating from his elbow. His entire forearm had gone the sort of tingling numb that agitated that back on your mind. His own ridiculous joke had tickled him enough to dull his reactions. Hiro's boot connecting with his face knocked him back off his knees and onto his a**.

He held his pained arm out, preventing himself from falling back with his good arm. “Get it?” He asked,

“Your humourous!”  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro's stomach had a sharp pain leading to the groin, no doubt thanks to Three's monitor shot. His knee was hurting too, his head pounding -- everything that Three had targetted had an ache to it. What bothered Hiro more than anything was the fact that his attacks were not phasing the demon at all. Hiro wasn't used to this sort of...resistence, really, from anyone other than himself. The way Three was acting and taking the blows, it was like...fighting a shadow of Hiro's former self. The Ethnic Enigma grunted a few times before walking his way from Three's location back towards the section of the ring closest to the announce tables. Hiro reached under the ring and began to pull out...weapons.

A brief pop from the crowd picked up into a full blown explosion as Hiro went from chair, to kendo stick, to trash-can lid, SUDDENLY to a staple gun. He lifted it slowly and realized...it was the exact same staple gun from his Salem Says match back at Survivor Series. Hiro cringed at the pain it had put him through, and further so when thinking back to when he won the BBW title and had used this gun to help secure the victory. He would begin to make his way back to Three, a kendo stick and the staple gun in hand, with dangerous intentions.  

[The Number Three]

The nonsensical attitude Three had been portraying vanished suddenly when Hiro chose his weapons of choice. He stood up and began flexing his elbow, working the pain out and restoring mobility.

“Alright! Now we're talking. You're ready to get to the really good part huh?”

Three lifted his chest out, opening himself up to Hiro for a free attack.

“Just remember, you picked these.”  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro's scowl grew as he approached, Three standing up and stretching out his arm in preperation. The Ethnic Enigma had been losing the feeling of fear as the match had built up, with the further he got from Blackjack the clearer his mind would become...though, it was merely fear being replaced by anger. As Three made himself open for the first attack, Hiro once again had a moment of snapping. He shoved the staple gun in the back of his tights and tossed the kendo stick to the ground, screaming as he ran towards Three and attempted to crack him across the face with forearm as stiff as possible. If it connected, Hiro would try to use the momentum to send both men stumbling about and over the barricade directly into the laps of the fans in the front row!  

[The Number Three]

The look of excited joy faded from Three’s face as he witnessed the resolve in Hiro's eyes give way to rage. The promised sting of a kendo stick would have to wait. He did nothing to avoid Hiro's forearm strike, allowing their momentum to carry them over into the audience.

Most of the fans scattered back hoping to avoid becoming collateral damage; others, the more delusional fans of Blackjack's, tried pushing their way through the masses to get closer to the action.

Three was tangled beneath Hiro, the forearm strike knocking him off balance enough that he hadn't positioned himself for an advantage during the fall.  

[HiroShinMozas]

Hiro and Three slammed into the ground, fans moving and the commemorative steel chairs flopping around. Hiro had gotten to some sort of a leaning position quickly and tried to drill Three with two or three more punches to his chest, and on one of his reach backs he accidentally connects with a male fan. He paid it no mind though, wanting desperately to disable Three for a few moments with his punches. It wasn't lost on the Ethnic Enigma though, no...the Twenty-One Sons were drawing near, forever a lasting impact left by Blackjack whether he was truly here or not.  

[The Number Three]

Three was in a confused heap, taking shots from Hiro as they scrambled in the mess of bodies and flailing steel chairs. Every time he tried to gain a grasp on his surroundings, Hiro clocked him. The crowd of normal fans cleared the way, but some of Blackjack's sycophants were pressing in.

Three found fanatics distasteful. These people were clinging onto the unrest that Blackjack created, fully unaware that he considered them less than meat for the slaughter. They found some measure of community, and now with their unwilling messiah's abrupt exit, they were already dissolving into an unorganized mob of violence worshiping drones.

A pair of them, having donned white balaclavas, grabbed for chairs and moved in through the crowd. They wielded them awkwardly, but that only made them more dangerous.