Universal

"There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.”  - Douglas Adams

It is well past midnight as a faint green glow fills a darkened locker room, illuminating a black duffle bag with “Lighthouse” printed on the side.

It could only be one thing: the Aggro Crag.

Nathan had been staring at the object for hours. Years of emotion and dreams were somehow now made manifest by a rock-shaped night light.

* knock knock knock *

Nathan looks up as an arc of light spills in from the arena hallway as Daihm Ferguson enters.

His eyes are wet. Red. Bloodshot.

The Lighthouse walks over to his friend and gives him a hug.

“That was a hell of a match, Daihm. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

He can feel Dragon’s eyes peering over his shoulder.“That it?”

Nathan steps back with a smile.

“Yeah. But not like it’s a Universal Championship or anything… yet.”

Daihm tries, and fails, to hide wiping at his eyes.

“Still can’t believe you did it. Not that I ever thought you couldn’t… I was just worried that you didn’t think you could.”

Nathan runs a hand through his hair.

“Well, I can guarantee they won’t all be like that. Getting to the top of the Aggro Crag was… well, it meant more to me than I thought it would. But who knows what the next contest is going to be. And with one less tribe member I just placed a massive target on my back for Tom and Ivan to aim for.”

“Think it will be another gameshow?”

Nathan sighs and shakes his head.

“It could be anything… Ninja Warrior… a three-legged sack race… a jousting match.”

He trails off as he sees something bothering Daihm.

“But enough about me… what about you?”

Daihm shrugs.

“What about me?”

“Your match. Jonathan-Christopher Hall. I know how it feels to get close to a win like that and just replay all the things you could have done differently in your head. But based on what I saw out there tonight? The Dragon is about to lay siege to the PRIME roster.”

Daihm gives a short laugh.

“Well, they’ll have to wait a little while for that. I have something more important I need to do.”

Nathan cocks his head, confused.

“More… important?”

Daihm nods.

“I heard about what Anna said to you.”

Nathan’s eyes shoot over to his duffle bag, where a picture of the inverted lighthouse is neatly folded and nestled along the lining.

“Ascension is taking place in Minnesota, Nathan. Your title shot would be just miles from Montevideo.”

Daihm wipes again at his eyes. Which is when it finally clicks for Nathan – Daihm hadn’t been crying about his own loss; his friend had been crying about him.

“I don’t know exactly what you are going through, or what it's like to have an entire town’s future resting on your shoulders… but I do know what it's like to have your identity - your truth - in the hands of everyone but your own.”

“Daihm, that’s not…”

“No! You are not going to walk into a Universal Title match with Anna’s fuckery weighing on your shoulders! Whether you show up as Blaze Claymore or Nathan Lake… that should be your choice, not hers!”

“That was the risk I took facing Anna.”

Daihm shakes his head.

“That’s the sacrifice you made. You asked for help and she made you beg for it. Why?”

Tears well up in Daihm’s eyes.

“My mind is made up, Nathan. Focus on Detroit. On winning Survivor. Nothing else. Bobby and I are going back to Philadelphia to find his visor. Because you have the right to save Montevideo…”

Daihm points at Nathan.

“...and Blaze Claymore.”

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes, They call me on and on across the universe. Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox, They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

The Dragon lets out a frustrated grunt and falls onto one of the plush-lined chairs of the Franklin Institute’s Fels Planetarium in Philadelphia.

“I don’t think it’s here, Bobby. We’ve looked everywhere - twice.”

A head of blue hair pops up from behind another row of empty seats.

“It must be somewhere! I swear I put it down right and it was gone when I came back from the gift shop. Damn my weakness for freeze-dried ice cream…”

“Have you tried the Lost and Found?” Daihm asks.

“I have but I called so many times they have my number blocked.”

“All we can do is keep looking, then, aye?”

Daihm sits up and stretches.

“But we gotta give ourselves a break. We’re not thinking or seeing straight.”

Bobby taps at his chin, confused.

“But we’re not straight, Daihm.”

Daihm waves dismissively at Bobby and pulls out his phone.

“We’ve got this bloody place all afternoon. Maybe they’ll let us put a movie on or something. The computer back there that feeds the projector should let us pull up a stream I’d ken. Like IMAX but with two extra ‘x’s.”

Daihm’s softball joke lands with a thud as Bobby walks over to the Dragon and grabs a seat at his side. He watches as Daihm pulls open IMDB.com and types in “Blaze Claymore.”

“I’ve always wanted to watch one of Nathan’s movies but he’s been embarrassed to let me watch them… and Ooo boy. There are a ton! Wowzers.”

Bobby leans over - his eyes scrunching.

“Daihm. Why does that number keep changing?”

“What num-”

The Dragon’s eyes go wide as the “Credits” section under Blaze Claymore’s name begins to change. Where it used to say “Actor (432)” the number read 419… then 405…. Then 400.

Daihm looks up at Bobby, horrified.

“Want to keep looking?” Bobby asks.

Daihm swallows heavily and nods.

Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world.

Nathan sits across from his mother, trying to hide the smile on his face as they both look down at his trophy from the first game of Survivor.

Amy Lake tucks a strand of prematurely graying hair behind her ear and leans in closer to the glowing Aggro Crag.

“It’s… smaller than I expected.”

Nathan’s face crumples.

“Do you know what I had to do to get this thing!? I had to live in an Airbnb with an angry Russian and dodge barrels being thrown at me by a Minotaur on a wrecking ball!”

Amy looks up with concern and places the back of her hand against Nathan’s head, but he quickly grabs and lowers her arm.

“I do not have a fever. I thought you said you’d watch the show!?”

Amy shrugs.

“I had Millicent tell me about it. She clearly left some parts out…”

His once warm heart suddenly feels on the brink of collapsing; a red giant about to become a white dwarf. Nathan takes the piece of the crag and sets it on the table in front of them.

“Did she… uh. Did Dr. Armitage mention anyone named Anna Daniels?”

Amy raises her brow.

“You mean the Time Lord? She might have mentioned something about your alter ego getting erased across every possible timeline.”

Nathan takes a deep breath, the space in his chest now collapsing into a black hole.

“And thank God for that. I never liked who you were as ‘Blaze’ anyways. So rude to your mother. Never taking my phone calls or coming home for the holidays.”

Nathan’s shoulders slump as he puts his hands to his head.

Amy reaches over and grabs at Nathan’s shoulder.

“Wait wait wait. You want to save that version of yourself? That is not who you are, Nathan.”

Nathan pushes himself up off the bed and begins to pace the room.

“Well, it was me for more than half of my life, mom! And when everything happened to Montevideo? To you? It wasn’t Nathan fighting Max Kael to fix things! It wasn’t Nathan that agreed to take on Anna!”

Now it’s Amy’s turn to stand.

“And who was it that let that bitch into my house in the first place? Who was it that never came back in time to realize how bad things actually were until it was too late? It certainly wasn’t the Nathan Lake I raised!”

bbbzzzt bbzzzt

Nathan’s phone goes off as his mother gives him a particularly nasty don’t you dare answer the phone in the middle of this conversation look before sighing.

“Answer it.”

He does.

“Shit.”

“Language!"

Nathan looks up and lowers the phone.

“The next Survivor game… it’s…”

“Detroit!”

The door to Amy Lake’s room slams open. Standing in the doorway is a frantic-looking Millicent Armitage, head librarian of Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts.

Nathan and Amy look bewildered as Millicent steps into the room, thumbing through a massive tome. The browned and brittle pages fly by until she finally lands on a stopping point and raises her eyes over the brim of her cat-eye glasses.

“Detroit. You have to get to Detroit.”

Nathan looks at Amy and then to Millicent.

“I know I have to get to Detroit. That’s where the next show is.”

“Not you!”

She turns and looks at Amy.

“You.”

Nathan steps in front of his mother, holding her back with an outstretched arm.

“What… why?”

Amy pushes in front of Nathan.

“When do we leave!?”

Millicent slams the book shut with a loud TWHAP!

“At once. Thanks to the Time Lord, you may still have a chance.”

The doctor looks over the top of her cat-eye frames with a knowing smile.

“As the saying goes, history doesn't repeat itself…”

Nathan and Amy look at one another in confusion.

“...but it often rhymes.”

Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world.

“Are you prepared to step back in time, to a world of kings, queens, and dragons!?"

The voice of a young tour guide carries through the large and ornate lobby of the Detroit Institute of Arts Museum as about a dozen tourists slowly make their way in a somewhat uniform fashion forward into a sectioned off area of the building.

Nathan quickly scans the scene and sees several arms and armory behind plexiglass. On the walls are a hodgepodge of paintings, detailed maps, and portraits. And scattered throughout are small video screens with images of characters straight out of Game of Thrones.

But as he’s turning, Nathan’s eyes catch something else. Something completely out of place.

No. Someone completely out of place.

Nathan holds his mother back as he approaches Ivan Stanislav. The stoic Soviet stares intently at a painting depicting two men on horses charging at one another during a joust.

“Hey… uh. Ivan.”

The Red Army leader does not uncross his arms in turning toward Nathan Lake. The pair’s notable size difference begins to call attention to those filling the display area.

“Nathan. Good. You have a warrior’s mind. You come to prepare for next battle.”

The Lighthouse looks over toward his mom.

“Actually, my mom and I…”

Ivan’s eyes turn and clock Amy Lake. A rough-and-tumble Minnesotan just a few years younger than the Bear.

He extends a paw.

“Mother Lake.”

Amy squints her eyes, noting the “Guile from Street Fighter” haircut, red suspenders, and Soviet hammer and sickle emblazoned on Ivan’s chest.

“I prefer Lake Placid.”

Amy says like it’s a test. Because it is.

Nathan is confused. Ivan? Well he’s seeing red. More than usual, anyways. He squints and braces his body to face the diminutive woman.

“Vladimir Krutov.”

Nathan’s mother throws her head back in a cackle.

“Mike. Eruzione.”

Ivan’s face contorts into some mix of horror and disgust before turning to Nathan.

“Nathan. Why you here with this woman? She clearly does not appreciate history. Americans win one Olympics. Soviets win ‘64, ‘68, ‘72, ‘76…"

“Mom… this is… one of my tribemates. Ivan Stanislav.”

Amy’s glare becomes a laser.

“You trying to trick my boy, Sovok?”

Ivan’s eyes go wide.

Amy raises an eyebrow in return.

The Russian Bear looks at Nathan and grumbles.

“Your son… will be safe.”

Amy goes to say something but Ivan cuts her off.

“...but not because of Ivan Stanislav. Because of Nathan Lake.”

Nathan’s head spins as Amy and Ivan silently nod toward one another. Then Ivan turns to Nathan.

“Comrade Lake. You were winner of Crag… and perhaps I underestimated your resolve. But when you arrived at our lodgings in Pittsburgh, I learned not to underestimate your ability.”

Ivan once again folds his arms across his barrel of a chest.

“You made a choice to support Team Stanislav, even though you could have had plans purely for yourself. That is sacrifice. That is shared pain. That is… communism.”

Now Amy crosses her arms, her face a scowl, as Nathan holds up his hands.

“Woah, woah, woah… I’m just trying to do what I think is right. What is fair.”

Ivan nods, but gestures toward the displays lining the room. Swords and shields found in every corner.

“Fairness? Impossible. Concern yourself with unity.”

Nathan frowns.

“What’s the difference?”

Ivan uncrosses his arms.

“Fairness is goal. Unity is choice.”

Ivan nods toward Amy Lake.

“American team in 1980. They had unity. Soviet team… only fairness.”

Amy’s scowl softens.

“You teach me about choice, Comrade Lake. What separates unity from fairness.”

Ivan nods solemnly.

“I look forward to learning more. But later. Now I must exit and find my way to…”

Ivan lifts up a crumpled museum map.

“Caravaggio's Models: Friends, Lovers, Rivals.”

He looks up at Nathan with a curdled expression before turning and leaving.

Nathan barely gets a chance to wave before Ivan’s heavy army boots hit the floor, echoing off and up the cavernous walls.

Gonna change my world. Gonna change my world.

The squeak of sneakers and clicking of heels echoed off the museum walls as Nathan stood, mesmerized in front of a massive suit of armor secured behind plexiglass. A massive shield encased the left forearm and a sword was clasped in the hand of the right.

Visible in the glare and reflection of the plastic casing were the Lighthouse’s eyes, looking back at Nathan and framed by the small gap formed in the darkness of the armor’s lifted visor.

“A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

His mother’s voice cut through the noise as Nathan looked up to see her smiling from behind.

“Huh?”

Amy shakes her head.

“All those days you spent at the library and you never read any Twain? But I remember you talking to me about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn!”

Nathan shakes his head with a smile.

“The one with Elijah Wood or the one with Brad Renfro?”

Amy rolls her eyes.

“Christ, Nathan. Well, they made the one I’m talking about into a movie too. Multiple, actually.”

Nathan looks around the room.

“Think watching them could be helpful for the next challenge?”

Amy seems to consider it for a beat, but then shakes her head.

“Not at all.”

She chuckles to herself before continuing to walk along the length of the exhibit. Nathan’s gaze shifts from the suit of armor to a massive globe sealed behind glass. His eyes traverse the impressive display before landing on the accompanying description.

“The Hunt-Lenox Globe is recognized not only as one of the earliest surviving terrestrial globes… one of only two medieval maps or globes known to bear the famous motto ‘Hic Sunt Dracones,’ or ‘Here be dragons.’”

Dragons.

His heart skips a beat.

“Nathan!”

Amy’s voice echoes through the massive room as the tension pulling at the Lighthouse’s brain snaps back to reality.

“Mom!?”

Nathan looks up to see several bodies all moving in the same direction and begins running that way, his pacing increasing as he pushes through the quickly-amassing crowd.

Above the doorway leading to the next room is a piece of copper signage that reads “History of Detroit.”

The Lighthouse finds his mother standing in front of a small, otherwise innocuous painting, a hand over her mouth as she staggers backward.

Nathan wraps an arm around her shoulder and takes in the painting. An impressionist piece filled with shades of browns, blacks, and blues. In it, there is a crowd gathered outside of an old church.

A man and woman have their arms wrapped around a young girl in a white dress who is wiping at her eyes.

A woman in the crowd is being caught by another man as she faints.

Meanwhile, a small group of young men point toward a figure in the distance who seems to be walking away from the church. He wears black vestments and is holding a dark brown leather book with his face turned and looking back at the gathered crowd.

Nathan’s face.

The Lighthouse’s knees buckle as his vision begins to blur. As he struggles to stay upright, holding his frantic mother in his arms, he sees a simple placard underneath the piece that simply reads:

“Untitled. Undated. Artist: Unknown.”

Change my world.

Who is Nathan Lake?

I spent years hoping nobody would ask me that question.

I grew up believing someone like me — some guy from a town nobody's heard of — could never be someone anyone cared about.

So I built somebody they would. Somebody harder to forget.

Blaze Claymore.

But then he became a bit too hard to forget, and for all the wrong reasons.

Superman keeps showing up in my dreams lately. An alien from another world who turns into humanity’s greatest defender. A man raised in small-town Kansas and a God from the planet Krypton.

Hard to feel whole when you’re not sure where one ends and the other begins.

But maybe that was Superman’s actual weakness. Not Kryptonite.

It’s that he felt he had to carry the weight of two worlds by himself.

Every secret.

Every burden.

Every threat.

Because if he let anyone else try? They could get hurt. 

Maybe Anna was right after all. Maybe this whole time I’ve been shielding others at the same time they’ve been telling me they want to be my sword.

I can’t pretend I don’t have a target on my back after reaching the top of the Aggro Crag first.

But I also can’t ignore that I am part of a tribe. 

For one more show, at least.

A tribe where my biggest threat seems to want to put his faith in me.

Maybe that’s a trap.

And a tribe where the person I thought would be my biggest ally has gone radio silent.

That might be one too.

But sometimes, when you find yourself adrift without a map… all you can rely on is trust.

Trust that you can find your way.

And that you don't have to find it alone.

With a Universal Title shot on the line? 

I can live with that.

Even if it means sailing off the edge of the known universe.

Change my world...

“Mom. No… that’s too much!”

Amy Lake tries to walk forward while balancing a stack of books taller than her head as Nathan chases behind, trying to keep everything from crashing down around them.

“So help me, Nathan, we are going to find out why your face was in a painting from the 1800s sitting in a Detroit art museum.”

The Lighthouse grabs the top layer of books and holds them to his chest.

“Then at least let me help you carry them! It’s my face, after all.”

Amy lets out a huff, blowing a tuft of frazzled hair out of her eyes.

“Me and this… Anna Daniels. We’re going to have a chat.”

She and Nathan approach the gift shop counter, setting their stacks down.

“That’s a bad idea. If you thought Ivan was blunt…”

Amy scoffs.

“As long as she’s not a Red Wings fan, we won’t have a problem."

“Oh my! Avid readers, are we?”

The cheerful clerk slides her head between the stacks and begins scanning bar codes.

“You should check out Books n’ Cooks next week. They do a reading with a tasting menu — and they’ll be featuring a brand new release.”

“That’s sweet, but we won’t be in town. Just here on business.”

Amy is already turning for the door, arms reloaded. Nathan taps his card, catches the word “Approved,” and hurries after her.

The bell above the door chimes them out.

The clerk hums to herself, sliding the receipt into the bag they left behind, and drifts back to the glow of her monitor — a storefront page she never bothered to close.

On the screen is a book cover.

A photo of a woman with long black hair, a bubblegum-pink suit, nails filed to talons.

And a title written in beautiful serif font:

My Turn.

Life Without Blaze Claymore.

A Memoir by Sonja Cuchilla.