AV 21 Death Bunny vs Adrian Kytes

Ordinarily, marquee main events such as these are where the premier athletes within the business showcase the wrestling expertise that brought them to the apex of the industry. Whether it was the raw strength to bench-press the announcer's table, the daring acrobatics and wanton disregard for one's own personal safety in order to torpedo yourself at your adversary, or deceiving chicanery meant to weasel yourself out of justified comeuppance. The average betting fan anticipating this to be an uphill battle solely for Adrian, except it was appearing that the struggle was real on both sides of the grappling spectrum. Death being put on the defensive after well-implemented counter after another with no one for consoling company except ravenous fanatics in the front row struggling to get their cell phone cameras out of their pocket.

Several seconds passing from the break in the action as the Bullet Club Leader distanced herself from her adversary as much as feasibly possible in her scavenging scramble underneath the ring apron in search of whatever weaponry she could plunder. Cowardice personified but with the boons she sought for as Adrian emerged with pipe in hand and with sadistic intention behind it...except that behind her, would be Death's elongated shadow. The Bunny Brawler swiftly snatching the pipe out of Adrian's hands in a nostalgic reliving of their cage match last Summer where Death snapped Ade's kendo stick over her knee. Twisting the pipe on both ends unscrewing the steel weapon into two smaller pipes succinctly discarded over Bunny's shoulders. A somewhat comedic callback that meant anything except laughs for the auburn-haired faction leader...

Rudimentary knowledge of pipework allowed Death to succinctly de-weaponize the opportunistic faction leader who had perhaps squandered her borrowed time searching for the perfect weapon to brain her adversary with. An acute familiarity with Adrian's overindulgence of unprincipled tactics clued the Reaper in to her potential schemes earlier on while she was recouping behind the barricade. The Rabbit Reaper had long since stopped assuming that Adrian would clean up her wrestling game in any quantifiable aspect, but witnessing her attempt a repeat tactic from their last match made the Reaper wonder if Ade was beginning to scratch the bottom of her bag of tricks. An apathetic shrug offered from D.B. to Adrian and her incessant bitching, a sympathetic gesture to her plight that still wouldn't annul Adrian circumventing Death’s encroaching stride with an impeccably well-placed kick. Knocking one of the Reaper’s legs from under her as she took a knee in seething discomfort.

Death would have liked to say that her irrational decision to dismantle the lead pipe rather than brain Adrian upside her freaking head stemmed from some valorous sense of fair-play and noble preservation of the sport's integrity. Except the truth of the matter was that Death sought Adrian's ultimate destruction by her own two macabre hands. And besides, any weapon that dangerous was a liability practically ensured to be used against you eventually. Unfortunately the Bullet Club Commando proved herself a wily and conniving threat even when unarmed as Death hobbled over from the strike to her kneecap. Snatched up in an abrasive front-headlock that she bristled into from being back underneath Adrian's control before getting her skull hammered into the unforgiving flooring. "Hrk!!" The whiplash of being jerked downward causing Death to flop over onto her stomach, cradling her dazed head with scores of fans booing Ade's impeccable ability to weasel her way out of grim situations and well justified comeuppance.

Exceedingly limited though they may be, one admirable trait Death could ascertain from Adrian was her seamless ability to switch between fight or flight mode even when presented with the exact same situational threat. Because Death distinctly remembered the little gremlin cartoonishly scrambling for the exit during their cage match the last time she was disarmed and presented with the option of either fighting fair or hightailing it. Not instinctively taking out Death's height advantage and dunking her skull onto the ringside flooring. Small stopgaps aside, few onlookers could argue with Adrian having been in firm control and in the driver's seat of the entire match so far. A tactical wrestling genius perhaps still buried beneath all the bullshit parlor tricks, petulant arrogance and overpriced Bullet Club merchandise it seemed. A splayed-out Death being ushered back to her feet with a striking forearm winding her moreso with a hacked grunt, fatigued yet compliant with being twirled back inside the ring.

Time taken for resting up aside, Death's knackered state was all just the sum totality of enduring/circumventing the incessant underhanded creativity the Bullet Club Leader was bringing to the table. Trying to crash D.B. through an actual table assuredly being a tactic that would cross Adrian's mind at some point, not that she needed any more oddly convenient weaponry tucked underneath the ring at the current moment. For now she was in thorough control of the proceedings via her own wrestling expertise, veteran proficiency, and a bell-ringing DDT on the outskirts of the ring to the rattled reaper. Death unwillingly aided back inside of the ring by her undersized adversary with only a warbled view of the LED arena lights overhead. Stewing in her own maligned misery wasn't going to be making her any headway in reversing her fortunes anytime soon, but she opted to do so nevertheless until noticing shadows cut out the lighting above before Adrian came splashing down one slender abdomen across another. Death hacking out a puffed breath with a spastic uptick to her limbs beneath the Philly Flyer's audience popping moonsault, shuffling over to pant wearily and bitterly kick her foot against the canvas once given the freedom to.