El Muerte Rojo is coming for you next!

Everyone had to start somewhere and, for Edward Zagodinski, this was it. He'd come to the ring tonight a relative unknown but would be leaving it a known commodity. Win, lose, or draw, he'd make the name of 'Flying Eddie Z' known to everyone in attendance. There was no way he could fail with this plan.

The crowd reacted negatively as his opponent's music began to play. Eddie's family thought he was nuts, even Karen. That hurt a little. He'd expect his wife to understand this was for the best. Life doesn't always hand you opportunities, he had explained to her, sometimes you have to make your own breaks.

The curtain parted as the man in the red fright mask emerged. The negative reaction from the crowd increased. The boys in the back though Eddie was crazy as well. Had he actually watched any of this man's matches? They were violent. There was a good chance he'd get seriously hurt. Eddie was confident in his abilities. Would there be pain? Sacrifice? Blood? No doubt. Long term injury? Not a chance. He knew he could do this; he knew he would survive to thrive.

While Eddie stretched and tried to stay loose, he kept an eye on his oncoming opponent. As the man grew closer and more visible, a truth became clear to Eddie. His opponent was staring at him, no, rather staring through him. There was no expression on the man's visible face; just a cold stare. Coupled with the sterile beat of the industrial music that was his opponent's theme, Eddie shivered. Even before it began, the match was over. Just like that, El Muerte Rojo was in his head.

Even so, Eddie still tried to follow through on his plan. As El Muerte Rojo entered the ring, Eddie attacked. Punches, sledgehammer attacks to the back, kicks, all the sorts of things that may have been effective had their power not been blunted by Eddie's fear. All these attacks were easily shaken off. Eddie now received the full effect of the cold stare in the eyes of El Muerte Rojo. The stare remained focused on Eddie apart from a brief glance towards the referee, triggering the man to ring the bell, starting the match.

Eddie was promptly overwhelmed by the rush of El Muerte Rojo's attack. Forearm shots to the face. Punches. Kicks. Chops to the chest. Stomps. Elbows driven into joints. There was nothing particularly fancy in El Muerte Rojo's attack: no flashy moves, no jumping from the top rope, no playing to the crowd. There was only a precise, calculated attack that quickly dismantled Flying Eddie Z. Eddie was winded, sore, and unable to defend himself. Falling face first to the mat, he gasped for breath in the middle of the ring.

Then there was pain. It overwhelmed him, shocked him to a degree that he could only scream. El Muerte Rojo had Eddie in some sort of leg-lock that put pressure on his legs and lower back. Once a measure of clarity returned to Eddie's mind, he quickly tapped out, signaling with his hand his desire to submit the match to his opponent. The pressure did not cease. Not only that but the pressure increased. Eddie continued to slap at the ring, begging to be released from the hold, begging for the pain to end. An eternity later, he was finally released.

Face down on the mat while not in a painful leg-lock was not the worst place in the world to be. Eddie gasped for breath and checked in on the status of his pain. His lower back was tight, so he may not know the full impact of that pain yet. His legs were sore in general but it was his right knee that concerned him the most. A sharp, stabbing pain continued to afflict that knee even now. Trying to move the knee proved to be a mistake, causing the pain to increase.

The referee leaned down next to Eddie. “You okay?” Eddie reported the pain in his knee. “Just a knee?” the referee checked. “You got lucky.” Quickly, expecting to be needed, the paramedics rushed out, checked Eddie, and helped him from the ring. As Eddie hobbled to the back, he wondered if he'd be able to wrestle again. If he couldn't, would that really be such a bad thing?

(this is post #600)