The Second Great Awakening: Mountains and Molehills

The behemoth lumbered through murky water wielding a great bowed and branchless tree limb like a plow. A thickening tide of vibrant green pond scum sloshed against the sturdy timber as he pushed towards the shoreline, each heavy step dredging up muddy clouds that left the surface the color of weak coffee in his wake.

The dwarf watched patiently from the bank with a weighty net in hand while the giant skimmed the last of the weedy blanket towards him. His chest waders were speckled green and white with teeny leaves and flowerheads as he emerged to have the net handed off to him.

Turning to scoop up the liverwort he felt a wet sensation on his lower back and paused for a moment, correlating it against the feeling of cold rubber. Dropping the net to the ground with a sigh he thumbed the straps off his shoulders and stepped out of the waders with a groan, reaching under his shirt and fumbling around for a moment while his dwarven companion regarded the watercourse.

“Got you..” Von Kelsig grumbled, drawing Cyril Salazar’s attention to a balled fist as big as his bulbous head. Thick fingers uncurled to expose what looked like a thick clot of blood in the middle of a stained palm. To Cyril’s disgust it started writhing, an awful mouth gasping at the air desperately in search of food with each undulation. Pinching it by the tail-end, Von Kelsig whipped the starving leech back into the drink and dropped to a knee to rinse the claret off.

“Urgh, you get those here?” Cyril recoiled as the bloodsucker flailed off then asked, “is that really the smartest way to do that?” kicking the makeshift plow as Von Kelsig resumed scooping up the swampy mulch..

“Does it matter? Mountains and molehills make no difference to me,” the Murder Show remarked.

The dwarf never hesitated, “you’re a lousy worm catcher, y’know that?” he scoffed.

Von Kelsig shot him an unimpressed glare, heaving the last few bulging sludgy netfuls into the pile until it resembled something a sick Triceratops would leave behind.

“I’m not trying to catch worms though, am I? Just keeping my house in order.”

He swept his net proudly before the lake and a captive audience of once colorful stunt ramps and lane markers that bobbed indifferently, streaked with moss and dulled by years of exposure. Not one person, Cyril thought to himself as Von Kelsig grabbed up the waders and headed off towards the boathouse, drawing the dwarf’s attention to the huge sign on its roof. Oversized flashbulbs sparkled around red neon that flashed ‘SHOWBOATING’ out to an empty lot. Behind the building the shutters were down and the jetties and gantries devoid of powerboats or people.

“Doesn’t look like you’re catching many customers either,” Cyril whispered to himself before calling out loudly, “what’re you doing with this pile of crap?” to Von Kelsig.

“I’m gonna paint it purple, throw a cloak on it and parade it out to the ring with me!” he boomed back deadpan. “Back in a second, gotta grab the trailer.”

The manager formerly known as Minion the Imp sneered at the wide back of Hessian as he hoisted one of the rear shutters with a flick of the wrist and disappeared inside. Cyril blew a raspberry and slapped a hand over his bicep, shaking the back of his free fist at his old charge with a contemptuous glare. In the few solitary moments before another engine gurgled to life he basked in the stillness like an unseen serpent in a henhouse, cool and collected.

The last fortnight had been a blitzkrieg of emotion, with the first shell whistling into his inbox one week after Hessian defeated Seán O’Neill. The email simply read:

You wanna do this?

-Angelus

He felt the bombardment of a million heartbeats after reading it. Conflicted by the drum of supernatural dread and the pounding elation of finally looking at an actual second chance at a dream, Cyril eventually bit the bullet and stumbled out of the shellshock into a hero’s welcome long overdue.

Von Kelsig played a paltry paragon. The dwarf could feel it in the slack hug when they greeted each other, and he could hear it now in the hollow grandstanding as they toured Parts Unknown. The park was certainly big enough to accommodate the four-thousand plus that had been boasted as the highest draw, but he’d counted only thirty or so enjoying the mechieval attractions in the last hour that they’d been driving around in Hessian’s Conquest Knight XV.

His old sidekick could see the effects of his actions in every dejected step the Murder Show took. The big man hadn’t crumpled to the ground after his strings had been cut, but his walk was definitely different.

“You really just been out here fee-fi-fo-fucking around all this time, huh?” Cyril croaked, roused from his stupor by the grating reverberation of the approaching quad bike and the trailer rattling obnoxiously behind it. Craning a stiff leg over the handlebars, Von Kelsig planted his feet with a pained grunt and grabbed a snow shovel from the bed.

“If by fucking around you mean having all the time in the world to play with eight figures earned from a Hall of Fame career..” the giant shrugged as he transferred the weeds into the trailer, “sure, call it what you want.”

Cyril noted the extra slump in Hessian’s shrug and felt guilt radiating at the back of his neck.

“No disrespect,” he winced apologetically, “but you know what I mean? Top guys become family men or open a training academy or…I don’t know, pay it forward somehow. If they aren’t all fucked up or worse. You’re out here in the middle of nowhere, still fuckin’ jacked, doing…this.”

Cyril heard the creak of calloused skin tightening around the wooden shaft of the snow shovel as the giant paused in his tracks momentarily. His tiny heart skipped a beat, unsure of a beating. He could hear the lump of humility forming in Von Kelsig’s throat as he muttered something about box office attractions over his shoulder while dumping the last load into the trailer. The shovel followed, clattering against the steel and startling the dwarf.

“Everything I’ve built here has served its purpose,” the giant gruffly affirmed, spinning on his heels and throwing his weight back onto the seat of the quad bike, the suspension wheezing with resistance. “Hop on,” he huffed with authority.

Cyril grumbled and stepped onto the towbar, balancing precariously while gripping his stubby fingers around the rails on the rear of the bike as Von Kelsig started slowly back to the boathouse.

“You got any idea what it takes to run a place like this?” The Murder Show projected over the din of the engine, “do you even see it for what it is?”

The scraggly hairs on the back of the dwarf’s neck prickled, his interest piqued. This’ll be interesting, he thought.

“This is the closest I could get to the pro-wrestling vibe without being affiliated with another promotion,” the giant continued once they’d parked up and were making their way back to the Conquest Knight XV, “I read up on physics and engineering to produce viable designs out of pipe dreams. Learned how to work with woods, metals, plastics and electricity to materialize them affordably. Studied for all the health and safety certificates and all the licenses so that I could profit from it all. If it can be fueled or fired I’ve got a ticket for it. Took an administration course so I could manage the bookings…” he trailed off, struck by pride.

“What do you mean it’s the clo-..” Cyril stumbled through his interjection, “Angelus, nothing about this place says pro-wrestling to me other than a few puns and the fact you’re the owner. How does any of it translate into the ring? You gonna launch a Monster Truck division? Introduce a Heavymetalweight Championship?”

“No, listen to what I’m telling you,” Von Kelsig said with a snap, “take all the rides out of the equation and imagine a wrestling ring in the middle of any of those plots. I’ve got seating, staging, lighting…the works.”

Cyril squinted into the middle distance searching for the point, “I don’t follow. Are you saying you want to host a wrestling festival?”

The Murder Show broke a smile at the absurd notion then quickly shook it off with a growl.

“You don’t follow because all you see is a giant human that’s genetically coded to hit things. You don’t see a thinker, you see a fighter.”

“Aw, gee, y’think?” Cyril pipped, cocking a droll eyebrow at the giant and gesturing to his squat frame with a roll of the wrist and a wave of the hand, “I’m four-foot-seven, dickhead.”

In truth he felt taller in the moment. Within the confines of the vast cab of the Conquest, the shift in perspective made Hessian appear average sized.

“Exactly my point, you see it clearer than anyone. I’m a spectacle. PRIME wanted me back on a new contract from day one because of that. The allegedly Intense,” he took both hands off the wheel to drop air-quotes, “goddamn champion of the company proved as much, the way he ran from me like a scalded dog.”

“Still beat you though,” Cyril cut back with a click of the tongue, “or is that scar on the back of your head from hair transplant surgery?”

Von Kelsig grimaced as he tapped the knot of stitches over his occipital bone, checking for any dry flakes of blood on his fingertip from the mark left by a wicked Dreamweaver.

“Max’ll get his. There’ll be nowhere to run come WarGames. Besides, he’s propping up my main event on Forty-Five. See how he likes that, the snakey little rubber-faced bastard. Like I said,” Von Kelsig thumbed his chest, “spectacle.”

Cyril’s gaze of uncertainty followed the rising profile of Hessian’s castle mansion as it peeked over the horizon.

“I’m not so sure it’s your main event, Angelus,” the dwarf frowned solemnly, “or did you miss Pandora’s box being opened?”

The giant felt a flutter in his heart, “I saw it,” he nodded gradually, gripping the wheel a little tighter to conceal moistening palms.

“Kael’s bag might be spillin’ marbles all over the place,” Cyril continued, “but Hayes Hanlon? His bag’s cinched tight…”

He held his hands out and spread his fingers as wide as he could, eyes bugged.

“...around a coupla maaassive balls.”

The hard-packed dirt gave way to the crunch of asphalt as they pulled up to the front of the house. Cyril waited for some kind of response then looked over to see Von Kelsig already trudging towards the front entrance. He hadn’t even heard the car door close.

He was careful not to make eye contact with either of the GoPro cameras fixed in the upper corners of the windshield as he undid his seatbelt and hopped out after the giant. Nor did he acknowledge the three-man crew of Enemigos pointing a handheld Canon 4K, a fuzzy boom and a glaring reflector at him as he followed Hessian inside.

“The guy’s young, proven, and got the world in his hands,” the dwarf said as he hurried along beside the giant’s casual stroll towards the west wing, “and what does he do with it? Smashes Brandon by God Youngblood upside the head with it, breaks it apart and…he appears. Your fabled High King…”

Cyril’s waddle came to an abrupt halt and he backpedaled curiously as Von Kelsig stopped to admire a grand relief adorning the wall next to them, depicting an epic saga in biblical destruction.

“...the One above All,” he cooed, gazing distractedly up at the wondrous sculpt in awe, “well I’ll be damned, would you lookit this. I see your tastes haven’t changed, man this must’ve cost a bomb. What’d you pay for it?”

Von Kelsig snorted and with a quick motion that he couldn’t quite catch, Cyril watched as the entire frame slid smoothly to the side, still affixed to the wall.

“I didn’t buy it,” the Murder Show replied as he stepped inside the concealed room, “I carved it.”

Cyril followed behind absent-mindedly, fists balled up and eyes bugging, mouthing “Vengeance!” repeatedly with a demented lilt.

“Wait, you did what?!” he said, stunned all of a sudden. Squinting back at the relief, mouth agape, he looked back into the room and did another double take, “the fuck’s with the w-what..goes on in here? Mister President?”

“Something like that. C’mere,” Von Kelsig called as he entered the pin code and spun the dial on the Fort Knox at the back of the room.

Cyril watched as the massive carving silently rolled back into place then turned back to the giant and nearly shat himself at the shadowy profile of three individuals in his periphery already inside the room with them. Then he noticed the camera equipment. Shaking off the horripilation he joined his old colleague at the desk in the middle of the room.

“The main event was mine the second that spook took his mask off,” Von Kelsig said with a twinkle in his eye as he produced stacks of documentation and a wad of laminated cards and ID badges, “a war like that won’t just break worlds, it could tear the fabric of the universe apart…and I’m the only one with arms big enough to hold it all together if it does. That’s why I’ve been positioned in the main event and that’s why it sits on my shoulders.”

The giant pulled a file from the stack then separated the rest of the papers into different piles.

“You’re not invincible,” Cyril trilled, sucking his teeth, “you’ve got a breaking point and an expiry date just like the rest of ‘em.”

“Which is why I built Parts Unknown. All of this,” Von Kelsig explained, pointing to all the accreditations on the desk then wafting the file at the dwarf, “fed into this. Hanlon’s record reads a lot like mine, if I beat him I can make up a lot of ground and get back to where I was before the ReVolution ended. If he beats me I gotta take it on the chin and carry on cruising like a Great White, scars and all, until I find something else to sink my teeth into. But what if he fucks me up and I gotta call it a day? What if anyone were to put me on the shelf permanently?”

“You limp your old ass back out here and count your blessings in peace and quiet?” Cyril queried with a shrug.

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Von Kelsig flashed a smile, “I don’t care if it’s reffing, training, agenting, building sets or driving the damn eighteen-wheelers between towns, I’ve guarantee my worth to where the company can make use of me wherever I’m needed. I plan on staying with PRIME until one of us is in the ground for good. Which brings me to you…”

The dwarf’s stunted legs turned to jelly, his mouth dry. This was the part where Von Kelsig opened that file to reveal the damning piece of evidence, the impossible link, that connected Cyril Salazar via his brother’s organization to the cease and desist on Parts Unknown. A bad decision trickling tenuously for years through a manipulative bureaucratic system to its inevitable outcome, all summarized neatly right there in his hand. He would admit that everything he’d just said about PRIME was a lie to cover up the fact he didn’t have a fucking clue what to do with his life now and wrestling was all he had left. Then he would smash Cyril’s skull to a pulp and leave him to die happy or heartbroken, he hadn’t settled on which.

Instead the Murder Show opened the file and produced a copy of his contract, folding it over to the seventh page and laying it down in front of Cyril. He pinned his finger over a blank signature line at the bottom of the section titled ‘Representation’ in bold print.

“This is for you,” Von Kelsig said with a stiff upper lip, “to make up for what happened in twenty-eleven. I know how much being Minion the Imp meant to you, and I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch, no matter how different PRIME is from PCW or OSW.”

“You took an opportunity to grow and evolve from a cartoon dark gimmick into a real and undeniable threat,” Cyril gazed at the contract dumbfounded, then stared the giant in the eye, “and kept it all for yourself. I got stuck with the carny jobs.”

“Which is why I tried to get you back in ‘eleven. If I’d thought negotiations would fall through because of the closure I wouldn’t have dragged you all the way out to be told no, would I?”

“No one told me shit, Angelus!” Cyril’s voice cracked, “you left me sitting outside some office and abandoned me! Disappeared! No sorry or goodbye, just radio silence. What the fuck happened?!”

“Doesn’t matter any more, does it? Point is I still owe you big time. I didn’t want to say anything before I tested myself first, but this is starting to look like a sure thing. You sign that contract and you’re welcome to sit at home and collect or jump back into the shit full-bore just like the old days.”

“Just like the old days?” Cyril’s tone softened.

“With a couple adjustments,” Von Kelsig smiled again, “it’s yours if you want it.”

The giant slid the contract closer to the dwarf.

“That’s my copy for my personal records,” he said as he gathered up the other documents and returned them to the safe, “read it over while you’re here, think about it when you get home and if it feels right I’ll see you at the TD Garden.”

Cyril plucked the contract off the desk, switching his studious gaze between the page and the giant. Poring over every paragraph he felt his eyes unfocus. Putting the top of the paper to his lips, he bristled the edges against them and sighed deeply while staring at the floor lost in thought.

“Just remember the next three months are gonna be spent on a European loop, and Coral Avalon wants our WarGames team aboard the USS Octane for the crossing to Wales. If I don’t beat Hanlon I’m saddling the team with two straight losses and I gotta spend at least four days at sea surrounded by the Bandits hearing about it. Your company would be appreciated,” the giant bashfully admitted as he made his way towards the exit, passing in front of the unmoving Enemigos.

Cyril flicked his tongue over his lips behind the paper and looked up, beady black orbs locking with the big glassy eye of the 4K Canon as Hessian moved out of frame.

“When does the fly-on-the-wall drop?” he asked sarcastically, while pondering the filmmaking merits of the affable security force.

“When I do,” Von Kelsig replied, catching the tone as he beckoned his colleague along, “and don’t worry about them. They just have to hold the camera steady, I’m not asking them to be Spielberg. Treat them like they’re invisible. Plus everyone knows they’re security, means we won’t get bothered as much. Any footage of you won’t be used unless you sign, obviously.”

Cyril folded the contract over, running his finger and thumb along the crease delicately like a butcher with a newly sharpened blade.

“Tell you what,” he said, trundling over to the giant, “that means a lot...”

Von Kelsig’s smile grew wider. The dwarf reached up and emphatically cracked the folded paper off his rump with a satisfying slap and continued walking.

“But too much time’s passed and a lot ain’t enough any more. I need to know this isn’t all just bluster and what you’re really doing is scrambling for a crutch because you know someone’s about to take your legs out from under you. If you really mean it? Sincerely? Go prove it in the ring. Show me. Take Hanlon down, all’s forgiven,” he stopped in front of another door further along the stone-tiled hall and asked, “this the pisser?”

Von Kelsig nodded once as a frown settled on his face.

“Cool. If he beats you though? You can stick that contract, your apology and this entire rustbucket up your ass and kiss mine goodbye this time,” Cyril’s high pitch echoed grouchily as the door swung shut behind him, “be right back, gonna drain the main vein.”

The Murder Show glared at the floor then to the immense carving on the wall, fist clenched tightly and jaw set tighter.

Inside the bathroom Cyril was straddling the walls, heart pounding and face bright red as he bit down on his knuckle in an attempt to stem an outburst of hysteria.