The Second Great Awakening: Lion Hunt

Taking stops into account, the journey southeast from Spokane back to Parts Unknown took the Hess Express roughly eighteen hours to complete. The luxury tourer was a novel sight on the road; its massive windshield now adorned with a large, unobstructive decal of Hessian’s scowling mug, wing mirrors encased in carbon-fiber molds painted to look like fists and the PRIME logo plastered over the sides. The Prevost X3 ate up the miles without complaint, piloted as always by Von Kelsig’s stalwart driver Stevie Saunders, affording the Hall-of-Famer optimal convenience and respite during travel.

The steady, familiar rhythm of the rumbling engine and rubber humming over tarmac did little to soothe the uneasiness in the giant’s bones however, as he collected his thoughts on the way home from ReVival 56. Comfortably tucked away in the back of the bus, resting upon the plum silk sheets of his super-king mattress with his fingers laced over his cavernous chest, Hessian gazed up at the twinkling ceiling lights in quiet contemplation. Mulling over the many humiliations of Cancer Jiles while the plight of Don Winters resonated behind each frame in his mind.

He’d watched from the wings as Coral Avalon gave Jiles a literal dressing-down and asserted himself as the Golden Bandit. Later on he’d cringed in front of a monitor as Lindsay Troy salted the wounds further, with a high-pressure jet no less. With such a tense atmosphere he resigned himself to silent observation for the evening and, aside from an “I’ll see you in Utah, lemme know if you need anything” on the way out, left Cancer in peace. He didn’t want to catch a heel to the jaw for making assumptions or speaking out of turn.

With his resources, skills and psychological edge on Avalon, the table was set for Jiles to become Universal Champion at UltraViolence. It seemed, to Von Kelsig, that he’d spoiled his own banquet when he ventured beyond the steel door on Night 1, looking for more than his fair share. Ironically, had Jiles left well enough alone and let Turnbull, Nixon or Barlow officiate, he would have stood a better chance of success. The Queen installing herself as referee was the death knell on any plans and their insurance policy. Cancer Jiles had effectively screwed himself out of Uni as well as the team captaincy. The giant wondered if the stray bullet Troy caught was any consolation.

His thoughts turned to Winters as the Hess Express crossed its fourth state line, nearing the home stretch. On the same night that everything backfired for Jiles, Father Don retained his coveted Five Star Title against the Murder Show and left without any reconciliation. No willingness to forgive or understand the alliance with Jiles. Von Kelsig found it odd behavior for a man of theological persuasion, that an act of loyalty should be met with such vehement disdain. Still, he lamented their soured relationship as they left the highways and byways behind and kicked up dust along the uneven country roads back to the middle of nowhere.

With no need for Minion the Imp to appear on TV that week Cyril Salazar had opted to stay home and entertain his guest, and Hessian’s trip was all the more peaceful for it. Coocoo Haggerty had shown up before UltraViolence and, according to the dwarf, was on sabbatical and contemplating early retirement. So it wasn’t a surprise, when the bus finally pulled up in front of his castle mansion, to see two gurning faces pressed up against the living room window of Cyril’s house across the courtyard. Stevie bounded off eagerly towards them, throwing up the universal sign for ‘beer me’. The giant gave a half-hearted wave and shuffled off into his palace alone, intent on shaking off the lingering funk with a relaxing whirlpool spa bath and a good night’s rest.

His dreams were crowded with faceless forms, dark brown and beige amidst a gray ether, swaying like villi. He was moving, or being moved, and every time he stopped to find his feet they would huddle around him tighter and trill, coming into focus just long enough for him to make out a familiar feature before the floor started moving again. He mimicked their motions, building up enough momentum to create some space around him, and when he finally caught a glimpse of the floor, it opened up and swallowed him.

Von Kelsig awoke with instant clarity, as though he’d been rebooted, and glanced at the bedside table in time to catch the receding glow on the face-down screen of his work phone. Anticipating an unexpected text, he flipped it over to see 03:43 on the display and a little envelope in the top left corner. His eyes went wide as he opened the email, realizing he’d spent so much time ruminating during the drive home that he’d forgotten to check if he was booked on the next show. He was booked alright.

An hour and forty-one minutes later he emerged from his gym in the converted barn adjacent to Cyril’s house, chest heaving and steam billowing off his skin as he stepped out into the cold air. The valley skyline flickered like flames as the sun began to rise, peeling back the dark to reveal hundreds of spinning turbines dotted along the hilltops. He adjusted his wireless earbuds and gazed over at the lake that once served as a boating attraction back when the sprawling property was a bustling mechamaniacal theme park. Pulling his personal cell out of his shorts, he cued up ‘Twilight of the Thunder God’ by Amon Amarth, set it on repeat, pocketed the phone and started pounding dirt towards the water.

He was thrilled to the point of nausea, nerves trembling and gut roiling, just like when he found out who he was facing at ReVival 51. The fresh faces of this new era brought their own set of challenges, his win/loss record reflected that, but they were pups in Hessian’s eyes, prospects. Though their time would come eventually, for the most part he had no attachment to them. Not like the legends of old that had survived with him. A title match against a Don Winters or a Max Kael was exciting, but to be alive and active in the year 2024 and wrestling Ivan Stanislav was special. In a matter of days he’d be stepping into the ring against Jason Snow, and that was nothing short of a miracle.

As Von Kelsig rounded the far shore, brushing past reeds and ducking under overhanging branches, he realized he was smiling. Nearly twenty-five years had passed since the day he walked into the hallowed Primetime Wrestling Academy and saw, with his own eyes, the name Jason Snow engraved at the top of the list of graduates. He went on to learn the same lessons, pass the same classes and see his name added to that same list of graduates. All the while watching Snow carve an absolute path of destruction through everyone in Primetime Championship Wrestling, including Ivan Stanislav, every Tuesday and Friday on Turmoil and Fusion. He wondered if anyone even remembered that Snow used to be called the Lion.

And then he saw an actual lion.

It happened so fast he thought he’d imagined it. Thumping along the path and gulping down air as he went, he was oblivious to the bushes rustling in the low light ahead. Worse still, Johan Hegg’s vocals had drowned out the warning growl. It leapt out of the shadows; a large tan blur with a flash of red and white at the fore, shooting directly across the path mere feet in front of him into the bushes on the other side. His screams had the cadence of a startled neanderthal, full of primal terror and obscenity, scattering geese and ducks alike on the water. The air over the lake echoed with a crack as he clapped his hands together furiously. Ripping his earbuds out, he craned his neck and tried to listen for movement over his deafening heartbeat.

Silence.

He was roughly one hundred meters away from open ground, and another several hundred meters from his front door after that. The giant took off running faster than he ever had in his entire life, head on a swivel, hooting and hollering like an ape. In all the years he’d lived out here he’d never heard of any cougar activity in the area, much less seen one. In the past there had always been a cacophony of crowd noise, roaring engines and explosions to ward off any curious creatures. With a questionable mandate forcing the closure of the park several months ago in order to preserve the integrity of the surrounding wind farm, the valley was ripe for a subsequent influx of prey species. It made sense that predators would return eventually. If they could get past the twenty-foot tall perimeter fence.

The screaming was so loud and distinct that it lulled Cyril out of his slumber. For a moment he thought maybe Coocoo was having a heart attack, but even through the thick walls of the old farmhouse he could make out the raspy reverberations of the old broker snoring peacefully in the guest bedroom upstairs. The dwarf liked to keep his window slightly ajar at night however, and soon realized the muted cries were coming from outside. He pawed the window wide open, rubbed his eyes, squinted into the gloom and gasped at the sight of a figure shambling towards the house. With Coocoo fast asleep upstairs and Stevie out cold on the sofa, that left only one explanation.

He threw on a robe, kicked his feet into a pair of slippers and waddled through the house to the front door. Common sense kicked in at the last second and he paused, peering through the glass just to be sure that he wasn’t about to confront some random deviant wandering around the property at half-past-five on a Sunday morning. The gait and size was a dead giveaway however, and so he ventured outside.

“What the hell’s going on?” Cyril asked, projecting loudly enough to cover the distance between the two without disturbing the guys in the house. “I heard screaming.”

Von Kelsig was completely drained; his throat raw from yelling, lungs burning with every breath and ears stinging from the cold. “Mountain lion..by the lake,” he wheezed sorely without stopping.

The dwarf spun on his heels, startled. “Serious?”

Staggering to a halt, Von Kelsig turned and glanced past his manager one final time, breathlessly working up enough saliva to moisten his dry mouth before placing his hands on his hips and doubling over. “Ran right past me,” he croaked, “scared the shit out of me.”

The fearful tone in the giant’s voice triggered an involuntary snigger. Cyril covered his mouth, simultaneously shocked and embarrassed. He enquired as to the size of the beast, cussing in disbelief as Hessian hovered his hand around the height of his upper thigh and then gestured towards Cyril’s house. “Stevie still at yours?” he asked.

“Sleeping on the couch, yeah,” Cyril replied in a curious, concerned tone.

“Alright. Go back inside,” Von Kelsig took another big breath and started on his way again. “Make sure he’s up in the next hour.”

“Okay..should I tell him why?” Cyril asked, taking off for his own front door.

“Just do it please,” the giant called out wearily as he retreated to his abode.

Stevie was perched at the breakfast bar with a coffee in hand and bags under his eyes, chewing on a piece of bacon when he heard the sound of crunching gravel outside. Standing over a hot pan flipping eggs, Cyril looked up to see Von Kelsig approaching from across the courtyard. He looked a little more relaxed and had on heavy rubber boots, jeans, a sweater with a high-neck zip collar, a flat cap and a wax overcoat. Two straps hung from each of his wide shoulders, attached to four gun cases. The dwarf was as astonished as the driver.

“Mornin’ Stevie, did Cyril fill you in?” Von Kelsig asked as he shouldered the door open and unslung the straps.

“Just that you needed a,” Stevie stifled a yawn, “hand with something. What are they for?” he gestured with his mug as his boss unveiled two sets of double-barrel shotguns and scoped rifles at the kitchen table. They looked like ineffective little rods in his hands. Next, he pulled a case of shells and a case of cartridges out of his coat pockets.

Von Kelsig informed him about the close encounter with the big cat, then explained that two of the guns were for Cyril to store in the house in case of potential future sightings.

“What about the other two?” Stevie enquired warily.

“I need to check the perimeter in case there’s a hole in the fence somewhere,” Von Kelsig replied, dangling a rifle in the air and grinning suggestively. The driver’s eyes lit up momentarily at the prospect of some light sniper duty, before he furrowed his brow.

“Are we…taking the truck?” he queried, referring to Hessian’s beloved Conquest Knight XV.

His expression dropped when the giant revealed that it was too large a vehicle to fit down the boundary track, and that a quad bike and trailer was required. Worse still, said quad bike and trailer were stored in the boathouse by the lake, close to where the big cat had been hunting waterfowl.

“Fine, but we’re taking the truck down to the boathouse,” Stevie stated firmly. Von Kelsig was happy to oblige.

It took them a couple of hours to complete a full circuit of Parts Unknown. Stevie sat in the trailer atop a roll of wire mesh, constantly scanning their surroundings with his rifle at the ready. Von Kelsig examined the fenceline for any signs of incursion, hunched over the driver’s seat with his shotgun slung over his back and gunning the throttle to announce their presence at every opportunity. It became increasingly apparent with every mile they covered that the mountain lion must have scrambled over the slanted edge of the wall to get in, because they didn’t see so much as a broken link or a hole in the ground.

“Even if it did somehow jump high enough to where it could claw its way over, it’s not getting back out over the lip of that fencing,” Von Kelsig concluded later after they had reconvened in Cyril’s kitchen. “It’s designed that way so if anyone ever did break into the park they’d have to go through me to get out.”

“Nothin’ gets by a giant, huh?” Coocoo chimed in ominously, wafting a lit cigar. He’d joined the party late after sleeping in and was less than thrilled with the news. “Maybe let animal control handle this one chief.”

“I say we hunt it, c’mon,” Stevie said excitedly, nudging his boss’s arm. He’d caught the bug.

“I can’t shoot for shit!” Coocoo declared.

“A two-hundred pound man-eating cat?” Cyril balked, “you’re on your own.”

The nearest shelter was miles away and operated by the county, who Von Kelsig was still sore on after the park got shut down. He took advantage of Stevie’s enthusiasm instead.

“Could be fun. Set up a blind, put out some bait, chill with a couple beers.”

“You’ve got a match to prepare for,” Cyril sternly reminded him.

Von Kelsig clicked his tongue, “in two weeks, yes.” He was well aware of what lay ahead and hadn’t slowed down all morning for thinking about it. The thrill of competition and potential victory over another unicorn had lit a fire in him, setting him on edge. Nodding methodically, as though Cyril had challenged him, he said “you think I can’t kill two lions at once?”

“No, I just don’t think you should upset your routine and-” he paused as a smile grew on the giant’s face, “-you’re gonna fuckin’ do it anyway aren’t you. Fine, go. Knock yourself out.”

“It’ll be dead by morning,” Von Kelsig assured him while looking at Stevie, nodding towards the door and picking up his guns. “I’ll even shoot my promo before I go out, how’s that?” he added on their way out.

“Ridiculous,” Cyril flapped his arms in defeat once he was alone with Coocoo. “He’s been losing left, right and center. He should be preparing.”

“And what the fuck’s he talkin’ about, two lions?” Coocoo asked in a low voice, drawing a puff from his cigar. “How do we even know there is a lion?”

“What do you mean?” Cyril cocked his head with intrigue.

“Well has anybody else seen it? I’ve been here for weeks and ain’t heard so much as a pussy purr. Can we get some verification first before we go shootin’ off guns around the place?”

Coocoo made a surprisingly good point. Remembering Barcelona, Cyril wondered if the giant had bumped his head again, or worse, suffered a mental breakdown. The losses were mounting up, was he just putting on a brave face through it all? Coocoo’s theory wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibilities.

“I don’t know,” Cyril sighed, “he doesn’t seem like the type to cry wolf..”

Several hours later, after pulling materials from two different warehouses across the valley and making a two-hour round trip to the local butcher, the makeshift den was completed and a bloody slab of minced beef laid out downwind of the location of the morning sighting. Von Kelsig felt like he was running on empty by the time he trudged into the studio. Regardless, he swapped out his clothes for a spare set of ring gear, composed himself and started recording.

Hessian: Don Winters. You put up a hell of a fight at UltraViolence and I’m man enough to admit when I’m beat. Maybe we couldn’t see eye to eye on things, but we can at least agree to disagree and move on like gentlemen. So you go your way and I’ll go mine.

The Murder Show closed his eyes and clasped his hands, letting that last line sink in.

Hessian: All roads lead to Rome anyway. Seems I’ve been underestimating the new blood but, then again, they just don’t have the same kick as the old vintage. I prefer to get punch-drunk on Original blend. The good stuff. I’m talking to you Jason Snow. Friday, October eighteenth at the Delta Center in Salt Lake City, when we finally step in the ring together, you better be ready to shut it down. We graduated from the Primetime Wrestling Academy within a year of each other, nearly a quarter-century ago. You finished top of your class alongside Vampir Nosferatu, remember? Well yours truly ended his career in this very company, by order of Hin See himself, back when the ReVolution was in its infancy. I’m quite comfortable on your level Jason, always have been. You might be a bad man..a myth to some..the one thing that frightens the boogeyman even, but you don’t scare me. I know what you’re made of, because I was put together the exact same way. We were built equal.

The giant made a fist, opened his hand and gazed thoughtfully into his large palm.

Hessian: I don’t want to end your career though Jason, quite the contrary. I had a lot of hate in my heart for Vampir, but I’ve always admired you. You were the first, you were the baddest, but I know I’m better. On Friday the eighteenth I’m going to prove to the world that Hessian is the single greatest professional wrestler that the PWA ever produced. It’s time for the final exam Snow, hope you’ve studied.

Gripping the wrist of his open hand, Von Kelsig held up the claw menacingly and reached towards the camera, covering the lens and stopping the recording. Tomorrow he’d email the blurb over to the wizards to be edited into a teaser for the ACE Network. Tonight however, there was one more shot to shoot.

Determined as ever, Von Kelsig changed back into his casual threads and returned to the blind. Stevie was already situated, scope glued to his eye. Cyril had joined the driver at some point, surprisingly, and was searching the treeline through a pair of binoculars. Coocoo was still in the house, having none of it. He scooted in beside them, set up his rifle and cracked a beer, bragging prematurely in hushed tones while they waited. The fatal error came when he leaned back, folded his arms and tucked his chin.

Even with the earplugs in, the bang was loud enough to wake him. The last light of day was upon them and both Stevie and Cyril were cheering. Dismayed, he fumbled the rifle into his hands and peered through the scope. Though the day had defeated Von Kelsig, the lion lay dead.

It occurred to him in the moment that perhaps some kills weren’t his to make.