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It was good of Freak to take his time in getting to Salem - it allowed the wounded warrior presently sprawled across the mouth of the ramp to get a few more moments to breathe, to recover his senses and build his stamina back up. Finally, Freakshow seized Salem by the sides of his head, an act that caught Salem by surprise but did not surprise him. As Freak went to drive Salem's face into the ramp, Salem would take his good forearm and put it out before him, using it to soften the impact a bit while over-selling the collision of his cranium to steel, going limp to hopefully throw Freakshow off his scent for a moment longer while the crowd looked on nervously.

Freakshow was taking his time to gloat to the crowd, something Salem was hoping for as he played possum on the ramp, head facing the ring. The more his adversary was caught up in himself, the less focused he'd be on Salem, who was gradually getting his strength back up. However, the sound of his car door opening and shutting made Salem curious, prompting the young man to roll onto his side, glancing back at his Mustang further up the ramp. By the time Salem noticed, however, the vehicle was already almost upon him, his ankles vanishing under the front fender of the vehicle. The crowd was in disbelief - Freakshow planned to run over Salem with his own car! The despicable villain truly knew no limits to his passion, which had more than made up for his lack of athleticism compared to Croft. In a tight spot, Salem would roll onto his back and struggle to crawl backwards on his elbows, wincing each time he put pressure down on his hurt shoulder as he struggled to get back to ringside before the car overtook him.

Try as he might, Salem couldn't retreat fast enough down the ramp to avoid being run over by his own car, the beloved blacked-out Mustang slowly rolling over more and more of Salem's frame. The sight of the car going over Salem's body was thrown to the Titantron, eliciting sympathetic and fearful responses from the audience in attendance, but what the cameras couldn't catch was what took place underneath the car...

Salem had spent good money on his sleek, black ride - from the windows to the wheels, there'd been some form of alteration done. Whether it be tinted glass or darkened chrome, anyone could see that Salem put a lot of pride into his daily driver, but what no one saw was the raised chassis just barely gliding over Salem's figure, the crafty rook flattening out his limbs so the car could pass harmlessly by. Some of the fans would cheer as they noticed Salem still intact, slithering slowly to his stomach to crawl in pursuit of the car, remaining in the blind-spot he knew so well. Once Freak had rolled the car into the ringside, Salem would sneak to the rear-end of his vehicle, lifting the trunk latch while his opponent was preoccupied with honking the car horn.

Raising the lid, he'd obscure Freak's vision to the back of the car while reaching inside for his trusty tire iron, brandishing it secretly to those standing behind the barricade nearby to a rousing array of applause. Glancing back towards the ramp, Salem noticed the microphone still stationed where he'd thrown it earlier, only a couple feet behind Croft's current position. Not appearing too interested in it just yet, Salem would continue to crouch in the driver's side blind-spot, waiting for Freak to step out before making a move with the steely instrument from their previous encounter.

Salem watched silently from the car's hidden corner while Freakshow started working himself up into a nervous mess, anxiously looking around for signs of the young rookie. The veteran's sudden timidity made the whole scene that much more surreal for the fans, who were watching this game of cat and mouse unfold into what would likely be among its final few chapters. This knowledge brought about a spike in the audience's anticipation, their cheers building into a crescendo as Freak stepped out of the car, glancing first towards the ring ropes. Salem knew that he had only one opportunity to catch Freak by surprise, gripping the tire tool in his one good hand until his knuckles burned. Deciding to strike while the iron was hot, Salem lurched forward while Freakshow was just starting to turn back around towards the rear of the car, looking to bring the elbowed end of the instrument up into Freak's stomach with a hard gut-check. hopefully finding its mark and bringing the crafty cruiserweight back down to the arena floor.

The crowd ignited with elation as Salem managed to club Freakshow right in the stomach, the recently-returned veteran probably wishing his absence had been a bit longer as he doubled-over and stumbled over against the hood of Salem's treasured car. Salem's heart was racing, eyes wide and anxious from the surge of adrenaline that had accompanied his successful strike. Approaching Freak with a bit more pep to his step, Salem caught glance at the hood of his car, pressed into the ring apron. The pony emblem from his grill had cracked against the ring's metal framework, the chrome logo sitting just under the wheel well where Freakshow now stood. Salem's face became a violent shade of red as he saw this, growling like a provoked predator while grasping for Freakshow's hair. With a shove, Salem would attempt to throw Freakshow back into the ring, turning back around towards the rear of his car as though he were going to shut the trunk. Instead, Salem staggered behind the car towards the microphone that had been left near the base of the ramp, more than a tad bit furious as he brought the instrument up to his lips, a bit more invigorated after the brief shock to his system and time to recover.

"Freakshow..." Salem said, his voice a hoarse, hushed threat. The way Salem spoke his enemy's name would send chills through the crowd, hushing them as Salem looked back towards the ring, at his opponent, a cold stare to his eyes. "...You've stabbed me in the face...you've all but made this arm useless to me...you've stolen my finisher, you've left me unconscious...but you never...and I mean NEVER...put your greasy, grubby hands on my car."

Glancing over to the open trunk of his car, Salem would shuffle over towards it, using his good hand to hold his bad arm up by the elbow, continuing to force himself to make a fist with his injured grip around the microphone. As he reached the vehicle, Salem would reach down into the storage compartment of his car with his still-strong arm, grasping for something unseen by the audience. As he did this, Salem spoke into the microphone once again glaring at Freakshow as words brushed the mic.

"For that...I'm not going to beat you. I'm going to do something far, far worse."

Pulling the object of his desire from the trunk, shutting the lid with his good elbow as he did, Salem would slowly raise the shiny, silver contraption for the crowd to see. At first glance, the audience might not have understood what this mysterious device was, but it wouldn't take long for them to get the point as Salem slowly approached the ring, turning a knob on the instrument to engage a soft hissing sound, like a tire losing air. This sound became a pop as Salem reached the ring ropes, staring inside at Freak as a small berth of flame erupted from the tip of his portable propane torch.

"Inferno Match." Salem said quietly, touching the blue fire to the ring apron while dropping the microphone, unable to keep his bad grip on it. The crowd started to foam at their mouths as Salem walked around the ring, leaving a trail of orange and yellow behind him while the skirt that surrounded the ring started to crackle and smoke, building flames licking up at the bottom rope. Before long, all four sides of the squared circle would be bathed in flickering light, Salem's eyes never leaving Freak's whilst he set the ring ablaze.

Salem watched as Freakshow cowered in the ring, his expression of fear and shock bringing a smile to the young rookie's face. Just seeing his opponents reaction had made Salem's blatant act of vandalism worth it while the fans vocalized their contempt for Freak's begging, unconvinced that the vile villain was being sincere. It appeared Salem knew better as well by the way he simply shook his head in response to Freak's pleas for mercy, his cries falling on deaf ears as Salem had finally walked the perimeter of the ring, successfully engulfing the entire apron in a flickering blaze. Once done so, he'd shut the tank off and toss it to the arena canvas, casually and methodically walking over to the nearest set of steel steps. With a glance at Freakshow, Salem would smirk silently, ascending the stairs before climbing the turnbuckle, looking down at the center canvas at his frightened enemy for a second. The temperature increase had warmed Salem's body up, restoring a bit of liveliness to the tired rookie's face, but it was the smile and stare in Salem's eyes that Freak really had to be afraid of. Though his face had taken on a more lighthearted countenance, Salem's eyes were filled with a raging fury that made the flames' radiant heat feel colder by comparison, and it was clear to those watching from the stands and at home that Salem wasn't accepting any terms of peace.

"No surrender." Salem growled, slowly stepping down from the corner to start approaching Freak, rolling the knuckles of his good hand into a tight-clenched fist.

Freakshow's attempt at negotiating with Salem was commendable. Tempting him with offers of power, offers of fame and status, it was a hard thing to pass up when spoken from the silver-tongued devil that was The Marauder. Surely, someone in Salem's position would have at least considered the opportunity for even a moment, ploy or not. The chance to rub shoulders with the social elite, being booked in the premiere matches for the grand prizes...Freak offered the world to Salem, and yet, the rookie seemed more content to watch it burn as he slowly approached, right fist balled in a tense, tight grip.

"You think I NEED you?!" Salem bellowed, his voice rattling the ropes as he spoke, but perhaps that was just his presence playing games with the audience's mind. "I'm ********> You don't offer me s**t! I'm TAKING it!"

Grasping Freak by the hair with his good hand, Salem would try lifting the cowardly heel to his feet, the audience cheering as he cut through the veil of Freak's words and looked to continue on the attack. If Salem was successful in bringing Freakshow to his feet, he'd let go of Freak's hair and thrust his elbow hard for the man's face, trying to crack the bridge of the veteran's nose with a forceful elbow in one fluid motion.