The Second Great Awakening: Stepping Stones

With each long, labored breath Hessian’s nostrils hissed like steaming vents. He drew the towel hanging around his neck over his saturated forehead before the sweat could seep into his beard, then over his similarly slick chest with one hand while the other remained pressed flat against the split in the punching bag.

Across the room Cyril said something to the night manager that elicited a raucous, hitched laugh that echoed throughout the empty gym. The olive-skinned block of beef cocked a preened, jet-black eyebrow at the dwarf and flexed a rippling arm under the counter, producing a roll of duct tape. Cyril’s nod was met with more mirth as he took it, shaking his head in humility as he made his way back to the winded giant.

“I just asked for sticky duck rolls, apparently,” he said with a smirk as he peeled off a strip.

Von Kelsig took the piece of tape and smeared it over the tear, seemingly disinterested.

“Come to think of it, I could go for-”

He was interrupted suddenly by the thunderous smack of the giant’s leg slamming into the bag, followed by two measured rotations with the point of his elbow aimed low.

“-something to eat.”

Another gunshot cracked the air, followed by a flat thud as Hessian combined the kick with the uncorked spinning back elbow. He grunted in dissatisfaction, rolling his right shoulder. Adopting a defensive stance, he untucked and launched a knee squarely into the padding, barreling in with two more stiff elbows aimed low once again. Cyril adjusted his straw fedora and sauntered off, equally blasé, while Hessian repeated the sequence in full.

He climbed back into the massage chair he’d claimed upon arrival and settled in. Unzipping his Ophidia belt bag he retrieved his personal cell while glancing at Von Kelsig’s two phones on the armrest. Opening a takeout app he adjusted the area code and scrolled through the few options available at such a late hour, placing an order for fifty euros worth of pizza and leaving a note for it to be delivered to the bus parked outside the gym.

His belly purred as he slid the phone back into the bag and fished out a pair of Windsor glasses with gleaming purple lenses. He removed his hat and smoothed down his greased hair before placing the glasses comfortably over his nose and picking up Von Kelsig’s work phone. The giant was lost in an intense rhythm amid the din of furiously rattling chains and increasingly wetter sounding impacts upon the leather. Cyril composed himself, tapped the screen a few times, framed himself properly, and started recording.

“Hello boys and girls,” he began, flashing a crooked yet innocent smile. “Minion the Imp here, coming to you live from deep in the heart of Pierre Alouette country. Shout out to all the old school fans who haven’t forgotten. Hey it’s great to see you all again! My, how you’ve grown..”

He gave a coy wink.

“Me? Not so much, and looking a little less impish than usual, admittedly, but it’s been raining alot lately.”

His smile grew wider as he straightened his silk collar and stared into the pinhole lens at the top of the screen.

“I look far too fly in 4K to be stuck in standard definition capes and colors, but you can still get my battle gear from the PRIME store. If you purchase before Friday with code HESSEXPRESS you’ll get fifteen percent off your entire order. Thanks to all the PRIMEates for the support. Now you may be wondering where Hessian is..”

He kept the camera trained on himself as he turned his ear towards the fervent clamor that the giant was kicking up, pointing the noise out and wincing a little.

“He’s busy with some tenderizing at the moment. The Murder Show has been cooking up a Universal-sized ass whoopin’ ever since losing one of the biggest matches of the year without taking so much as a pinfall, submission or knockout. He went toe-to-toe with some of the heaviest hitters in the game and, just like so many others, had to walk away with no payoff.”

The tumult ceased momentarily as Von Kelsig stopped to gorge on water.

“You can’t just turn the gas off like that,” Minion continued as the manic thumping resonated throughout the space again. “Not on someone like Hessian. You might as well try to cap an active volcano. All that energy has to go somewhere. Given what went down in England it’s probably for the best he wasn’t on the show last week, but even so, for it to be Jared Sykes this week? Of all people?”

The giant wasn’t exactly out of earshot, but his frenetic breathing and thumping heart rate drowned everything else out.

“Jared,” Minion spoke directly, tilting his head forward so that his eyes could be seen over the tinted lenses of his glasses. “Mister Sykes,” he added respectfully. “Let me start by saying you’re a phenomenal athlete. Toppling a pillar like FLAMBERGE to claim the greatest prize in pro-wrestling was a legendary feat to say the least. To have it stolen away at the next hurdle thanks to outside interference is a downright travesty. Were it up to me I’d be putting Reed Young in a cage with you this week. The powers that be, however, seem to be in an atom-smashing mood..so they’ve thrown you into the collider with Hessian instead.”

A stern expression washed over his face.

“I’m not a fan of that decision, not after everything you just went through. I’m not saying the match shouldn’t go ahead, far from it. Your name’s been on the hit list right next to Hanlon’s from the beginning. It’s an inevitability, but the timing is piss-poor. On any other night this would be a contest for the ages, a marquee event in any era. You’ve got one of the best in PRIME’s history versus one of the best in SCCW’s. Hessian already has a win against Wyatt Connors and Desade, so I know he wants to test himself against you too. But there’s no cross-promotion title on the line this time, and no personal issue between you.”

Cyril switched to the rear camera and zoomed in on the frenzied assault being unleashed on the punching bag.

“And this isn’t personal, Jared. He’s just pissed off. He’s had four matches since returning and three of them were against opponents who like to take the low road. He should be looking forward to a good, clean fight for once, against an honorable opponent such as yourself. But thanks to a frankly pointless appearance in a diluted Dual Halo, I don’t think that’s in the cards any more. Between his disappointment and the frustration you must be feeling after losing the Universal title, it feels like it might just all go to hell on Friday at the Accor,” he sighed. The picture wobbled momentarily as he got out of his chair again.

“But that’s the gig, isn’t it? Climb the unconquerable mountain hoping you can make it to the summit one day. Some people turn tail right out of base camp when they realize how tough the climb is. Some have spent so much time on the mountain that they start believing that they’re a part of it. They think they’re made of the same rock and stone and are just as unshakeable, until a guy like you comes along and steps right over them.”

Cyril pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, concealing his eyes once more.

“Thanks to Reed Young, Jonathan-Christopher Hall made a stepping stone out of you Jared Sykes…and now we have a problem, because you’re falling back into the spot that Hessian is occupying,” he said as he furtively approached the giant who was running on fumes now and throwing persistent bombs with wild desperation.

“If you look back at the mountain of the ReVolution era, his is the last name carved into it, and if he gets his way it’ll be the last name carved at the end of the ReVival era too. This may look like an imposing climb to the average man, but it doesn’t faze a giant who hopped from one peak to the next. I can try to reason with him, remind him that you’re one of the good guys and you don’t deserve the beating that he’s been saving up. But let’s face it Jared, you are one of the good guys. A Universal threat. It’s coming for you one way or another. I just wanted you to get a look at it for yourself, and to tell you again that it isn’t personal. It’s just history repeating.”

A vast shadow washed over him suddenly as the giant veered away from the punching bag and into his space. Cyril drew a blank expression, only just managing to tap the screen to stop the recording as a large grasping hand enveloped the phone and plucked it from him.

“What’re you doing?” Von Kelsig uttered in a low, tremulous growl to the stunned dwarf. He looked at the screen and clicked his tongue, storming off across the room and snatching up his other cell from the massage chair before marching back over and stuffing them into his kit bag.

“Cutting a promo,” Cyril leaned on the word. “Remember what those are?”

The Murder Show scoffed as he started cleaning up after himself.

“You’re too busy bustin’ moves to pick up the stick, clearly. Let me worry about doing the talking.”

The giant grumbled in retort, half-heartedly swatting the air.

“And if you think I’m gonna waste my precious material shitposting on Jabber you can think again, my lines are tastier than the ones on Daytona Diamonds’s coffee table. Christ, if half the people on that app spent as much time training as they did on social media their win loss record might look a little tidier. I swear if I ever meet the son of a bitch that invented notification alerts, I’ll wring his goddamn neck..”

“What’d I tell you about antagonizing people?” Hessian seethed.

“Who am I antagonizing? It’s been four months since you returned and you’ve barely said a word to anyone!” Cyril stated, throwing his arms up. “You can’t just eke out a run here because you’re Hessian. The fans want to see you raising hell and raining destruction down like you did in the old days. This Old Man Logan routine ain’t it.”

Von Kelsig’s eyes darted around as though he were looking for more than just the workout gear he was collecting.

“And neither is steamrolling Jared Sykes. I see the way you’re throwing hands like they just lined up Castor V. Strife, Chainz and Devin Shakur in front of you. If you think that shit’s gonna fly against the Heart of PRIME you can kiss all your good faith goodbye, mister nice guy.”

It was Cyril’s turn to storm off this time. His chunky little heinie swung contemptuously as he made for the door. Von Kelsig paid no mind to him, shouldering his bag and giving the night manager a wave before taking his leave. Steam roiled off the top of his head and shoulders as he stepped out into the chill air where Cyril was waiting for him, brows furrowed and arms folded.

“Bringing me back was the best decision you ever made,” Cyril sniped. “Now you’re looking the gift horse you bought yourself in the mouth? Don’t be ridiculous! I can sell sand to the Arabs as easily as selling warheads to Moscow. You wanna take it slow and feel this run out in your own time? Fine by me. Wanna start an actual feud and go hell for leather ‘til loser leaves town? I got you covered. Focus on doing your job and let me do mine.”

The giant’s belly gurgled audibly. “I’m gonna go eat,” he muttered as he made for the bus.

“Already taken care of,” Cyril assured him, checking his phone to find a text notification alongside the updates for the food order. “We’ll have pizza in ten minutes. Go take a shower and cool off, get your head right.”

Von Kelsig snorted indifferently as the bus door opened and he was hit with the musky, lived-in aroma that wafted from within.

“You need to rein it in a little,” the dwarf called after him. “Or you’re gonna come out of this match looking like the bad guy.”

The giant stopped before his other leg left the sidewalk.

“Jared just lost the title, Cyril. I don’t want to kill him,” Von Kelsig explained flatly. “I just don’t want to get slain by him either. You do your job. I’ll do mine,” he wistfully echoed in acknowledgement.

The suspension bowed slightly on the nearside as he fully entered the bus, the door closing behind him again with a satisfying whoosh, leaving Cyril by himself. The dwarf scuffed a shoe against the sidewalk.

“Just don’t fuck it for yourself, old timer,” he sighed as he checked the text that had come in.

Need an update on the property we’ve got a buyer lined up. -Cooc

Cyril winced and deleted the message immediately, cursing under his breath. He glanced mournfully up at the curtained windows of the Prevost, steeled himself and followed the giant inside, head hung low.