“A-Ha-Ha!” a deep, manly voice guffaws.

“Great show, sire!” a less-deep, slightly lackey-esque voice responds.

“I doth vanquished that foe!” the deep voice boasts.

“Twas another easy victory for the greatest warrior in all the land!” the ‘Renfield’-like companion yells.

“HEAR! HEAR!” a coalition of vocal cords correspond.

No. This is not Arthurian times. We are not at King Arthur’s court. A phone booth did not transport us to some magical era of whimsy.

NO. This is NOT a shitty television series being shoved down our throats via Netflix featuring historically inaccurate storylines and casting.

YES. This is a mother fucking LARPing event. Some guy dressed as a warrior defeated some other guy dressed as a warrior. To go into further detail would merely lend credence to the embarrassing activities enjoyed by these nerds.

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE!” a voice cries.

Which makes sense because it’s THE TOWN CRIER. He stands atop a tree stump with a scroll in hand.

“Gather round for I have a tale that shall tickle thine beard and sharpen thine ale!”

“oooohhhhh…” the group of LARPers bellows with intrigue, gathering around. Even the ‘dead’ ones rise up, totally breaking character for this news MUST be good.

“ON THE FINAL SUNDAY OF THE DREADED MONTH OF JULY, NAMED AFTER THE TYRANT JULIUS CAESAR, OUR BELOVED WIZARD TOOK ON HIS GREATEST FOE YET, THE NEFARIOUS MASTERMIND.”

The crowd sits down, cross-legged (for Indian style is no longer considered appropriate). Staring up with wide eyes and hopeful hearts, they lean forward, eager to find out whether or not LARPing’s modern-day hero emerged victorious.

You’d think, given their interest, these fuckers might have ordered Leap of Faith. But, LARPing is an expensive passion for adults without a defined, professional career. So they must choose how they spend their money wisely – aka on robes, staffs, wands, swords, etc.

“THE NEFARIOUS MASTERMIND USED HIS SUPERIOR WIT IN AN ATTEMPT TO ETERNALLY IMPRISON OUR BELOVED WIZARD!”

The LARPers gasp.

“HOWEVER, IT WAS THE WIZARD’S INDEFATIGABLE SPIRIT THAT WOULD PREVAIL AS HE VANQUISHED THE NEFARIOUS MASTERMIND PROVING ONCE AND FOR ALL THAT HE IS MASTER OF HIS DOMAIN.”

The LARPers leap to their feet – or, well, they try to. Most of them are out of shape so the rise is a struggle. But, hey, they get there. An ovation breaks out...tears flow. These LARPers are impassioned with love and hope in The Wizard.

He is their hero.

---

As with every story’s end, a new beginning rises. New beginnings are circular, in nature – a lyrical loop taking place in familiar surroundings. Surroundings so familiar one might be forced to reckon, ‘isn’t this where the previous story originated?’

The Woods of Elderdom – POST MASTERMIND

Nestled against the giant, thick, brown trunk belonging to Jamal (The Wizard’s favorite tree), The Wizard, knees pulled against his chest, staff secured around his legs, gripped at both ends, stared up into the fairly clear night sky. Stars fighting through a haze of industrialization. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, if this were some type of douchey metaphor for wrestlers fighting adversity in an effort to let their inner light shine.

A sigh of whimsy brought his head back to a paralleled view. A leaf drifted from Jamal’s mighty branch. “Oh, it’s nothing,” The Wizard replied. His voice teetering on the edge of a rooftop, begging for someone to save it. Another leaf fell. “I guess I just thought after defeating Mastermind everything would be downhill, you know? Awards. Championships. Magazine covers. Plush dolls made in my likeness. Edible Wizard gummies. Official XWF Wizard crocs. Bask in my aura face masks. COVID testing swabs made to look like my staff…”

Jamal’s branches swayed, releasing an annoying groan. It did not detour the Wizard.

Several minutes later.

“Officially branded Wizard hummus. A pack of Wizard chewing gum. A tiny bonsai tree named Jamal. Toilet paper licensed by The Wizard with the name Mastermind on every square...ya know, the simple stuff. Nothing too outlandish.” The Wizard removed the staff from his legs and poked at the ground, “I guess I just thought things would be different.”

And why wouldn’t our wise wizard think a veritable utopia awaited post-victory against his arch-nemesis, Mastermind? He’s seen movies. He’s watched TV shows. He’s read a comic book, or twelve. The sun always shines down upon the protagonist once he’s vanquished the loathsome foe.

But, not this time. This time The Wizard’s moment of exultation was one of brevity before having his skull abused at the hands of Robert ‘The Omega’ Main. The most violent act The Wizard had ever experienced. An act that seemed to produce lasting consequence.

“I go out there and issue a challenge like a normal human being and what does Robert Main do? He tries to break my head open. Ever since I…” The Wizard paused. He leaned forward, reaching for his head, grunting.

---

THE RINGING WON’T STOP

A perfectly serene moment in The Woods of Elderdom ruined by this incessant ringing! I fell to my side, clutching my head, writhing about – legs kicking at nothing in particular. All in an effort to make it stop.

My suddenly bare hands reached into my hood, grasping at my head. I felt around the stitches, touched tenderly around the hot, swollen area (of which there were multiple)...I located someplace relatively safe to the touch and rubbed, massaged, anything in an effort to alleviate the ringing...that sharp, piercing ring. More than just a noise. A relentless stabbing into the typically unmolested matter guarded tightly by what I used to believe was a relatively thick skull.

“Hey!” a voice struggled through the ringing. “You okay?” There it was again. My eyes were shut, tears welled...nothing was working.

Imprisoned by an unimaginable pain, I lost grip of reality – time. It wasn’t a blackout. More like a splice...whatever took place from then until my next memory had simply been removed.

Seated up against trusty Jamal, I located Edward Mof, towering over me. His trembling hand deposited a number of pills into my anxious palm. I threw them into my mouth before receiving a bottle of water, of which I devoured.

Wiping the excess liquid from my mouth, I looked upward. My eyes were irritated and swollen, my hood pulled back, “Thanks.”

Kneeling, Mof’s more-concerned-than-usual expression reached out, “I think we should cancel the match.”

“No way.” That oh-so capricious entity known as momentum had my back. I would not risk losing it.

Acknowledging any effort to the contrary would be completely in vain, Mof extended a hand. Upon taking it, he aided in yanking me to my feet. The pain had dissipated. I was beginning to feel just north of okay.

“So which one is it?” I asked, wiping bits of earth and nature’s debris from my robe. Jamal seemed to groan, I turned and gave him a thumb up, letting him know not to take offense. Nothing against him, it’s just I was running low on robes. Needed to keep them clean.

“Donovan…” Mof paused, as though he were introducing James Bond, “Donovan Blackwater.”

I’d defeated Mastermind. I had Robert Main stalking me. So, you’ll have to excuse my snap reaction to the Donovan Blackwater revelation.

With a faux shake and shimmy, I replied “Woooo…”

“Hey!” Mof snapped, “your head is all messed up. You better take this guy seriously. Sure, he may seem like a mental patient with all his superpowers but that doesn’t mean he can’t easily sour the progress you’ve made.”

Mof was right. I was beginning to exude a form of arrogance. Arrogance is, as we all know, the downfall of greatness.

---

Where does one begin with Donovan Blackwater? Apparently this dude is making his return to the ring – or something. He also seems to be part of a bigger group. The Brothers Blackwater.

Not the worst name I’ve ever heard.

But far from the best.

Without much to go on, I’m forced to check this guy’s profile out. I enjoy reading wrestling profiles as much as personal ads. Such lame attempts at getting yourself over. No matter how hard a person tries they always come off cliched.

First thing that jumps out is a logo that says “HOW DO YOU WANT ME?”

I...I’m not really sure how to answer that, Donovan. What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? Is that some sort of sexual offer? Are you hear to fuck your opponents?

If so, I’ll have to decline. While you aren’t the worst looking dude I’ve ever seen (that goes to Robert Main)...you really aren’t my type.

Or maybe it means he wears costumes to the ring. Do I want him to dress as an alien? A supervillain? A time-traveling Grimace? Could be. He seems like someone that might be into cosplay. Not hating. I’ve done a bit of that myself...I am THE WIZARD, after all. But I think if I were to enter any cosplay arena with the tagline “HOW DO YOU WANT ME” even the nerdiest of nerds would scoff and say, “let’s stay away from that weirdo.”

But, hey, it’s simply a tag line. A catchphrase. Bask in My Aura could be misconstrued as me jizzing all over an opponent.

And why I just threw that idea out there so flippantly, I’ll never know.

You’re self-described as flawless when it comes to looks. I think the term ‘male perfection’ is even in there, somewhere. Pretty lofty praise. There isn’t much room for error when a person is described as flawless and perfect. You obviously think quite highly of yourself, Donovan.

Oh, and what’s this? YOU’RE ALSO BRILLIANT? Well, holy shit.

You seem to have a carefree, spunky attitude. How convenient. We couldn’t have a monotonous, boring, laborious genius – oh no. Your genius needs to be of the playboy variety – something of a Tony Stark (only smarter and more perfect).

Your strength is reckless aggression but with the right amount of calculation? The fuck? Why not condense that description into something laconic but with equal meaning like “perfect” or “flawless”.

Ego is your weakness because, of course it is. Can’t let anything outside of your own mind and power contribute to that inevitable downfall. It has to be of your own doing.

Powers – uhm, yea. I’m not even going to get into these. I might be A WIZARD but whatever the fuck you’re laying claim to sounds totally absurd.

The name to your finisher (which I plan on never experiencing) sounds like projection. The Shattered Mirror of Illusions. I guess it’s your way of showing the truth to your opponent – a truth that they aren’t as good as they originally thought.

Kinda clever if it weren’t so transparent.

You’ve obviously got some deep-rooted insecurity issues, Donovan. Nobody parades in such a braggadocious manner without a cavernous, black hole of doubt eating them up inside.

Fact – Nobody is perfect.

Fact – Nobody is flawless.

Fact – Nobody can create a fucking force field unless they are some type of alien that magically fell from the sky.

Fact – Nobody that perfect succumbs to ego. The act itself pretty much shits all over the very definition of perfection.

FACT – You realize you’re none of the things you claim to be.

FACT – You have to exist within a team of others in an effort to stand out.

FACT – You ARE the VERY definition of ordinary.

FACT – You are an abject failure of masculinity.

FACT – You’re a fucking joke.

---

“I guess we’d better study up on this Donovan Palewater…” I attempted to correct my previously perfunctory attitude.

“BLACKWATER!” a stern correction from Mof.

Both hands flew up, palms visible, “Sorry.”

“C’mon, we need to heat up our knowledge on Blackwater before you submit to his magical powers.”

“Magical powers?” That caught my attention.

“Yes, apparently he has those...I think, anyway.”

A twinge of pain pierced my brain. I paused. Then – voices. “HEY, FUCKING WIZARD! COME OUT AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN!”

“Oh no…” I lamented, doubling over, feeling nauseous. “Eddie,” I turned toward my aid, “I’m beginning to hear voices.”

He smacked me in the shoulder, “You’re not hearing voices. I hear them too.”

Ohhh...that made things intriguing. Who was screaming for me just outside The Woods of Elderdom? Could it be The Brothers Blackwater? Had they teleported from their perfect mansion to take up residence outside my haven?

I had to investigate.

With Mof trailing, I led us through the Woods of Elderdom. We reached the edge, staring down a hill. At the bottom of the hill stood…

Not The Brothers Blackwater.

Not Robert Main.

Not even Mastermind.

Nope...it was...THOSE FUCKING TEENAGERS.

They’d apparently been released from prison. A stay that left them THIRSTY for revenge. The weapons they carried informed everyone within eyesight that their visit was not intended to be friendly.

“THERE HE IS! THERE’S THAT FUCKING !” one of them pointed with a barbed wire bat.

“Hey!” I shouted back, “we don’t say the R-word around here, guys!”

They laughed.

“Seriously!” I screamed.

One of them stepped forward – I’ll assume him to be the ring leader. He was carrying a crowbar, “COME DOWN HERE, ! I’VE BEEN SENT TO JAIL TWICE BECAUSE OF YOU AND THESE STUPID WOODS. MY PARENTS ARE TOTALLY PISSED!!”

The others nodded along.

“I HAD TO CRAWL OUT OF MY WINDOW TO COME OUT HERE. YOU REALIZE I’M GROUNDED UNTIL GRADUATION, RIGHT? THEY EVEN CANCELLED MY SENIOR TRIP TO CANCUN – FUCKING CANCUN!”

The others winced. That one hurt. There is so much pussy to be had on senior trips to Cancun – or, well, any beach in Mexico, really.

“Listen! I’ve reclaimed my mind. I’m no longer afraid! So how about you kids just head on home before you make things worse!” I raised my staff in the air, an act that was supposed to elicit fear.

It didn’t.

“AHAHAHAHA!” they all laughed.

“LET’S KICK THAT ASS!”

They made their way toward the hill. I turned toward Edward, “What...what do I do? My confidence was supposed to scare them away.”

“All you have is that staff?” he asked. I nodded. “Shit, I think we’d better run.”

A noise sounded from above. I turned, looking into the sky. Unsure if it were real or another byproduct of Main’s vicious attack.

Turns out, it was real. A tiny comet was heading our way, descending with the fury of a wizardly fist. The teens hadn’t noticed. It was heading right for them.

“Uh, guys,” I tried to direct their attention, “you might wanna look up there.” I pointed to the sky.

“WE MAY BE YOUNG BUT WE AREN’T THAT FUCKING , !”

“Seriously, tone it down with the R-word!” They were using it way too much. Made me feel completely uncomfortable.

With disgust, the leader yelled at his group of hooligans, “LET’S BEAT HIS ASS!”

They charged up the hill. For our sake, they didn’t get very far.

BOOM!

The tiny comet SLAMMED into the Earth, right in front of them. The impact sent them flying backward, down the hill, tumbling into the harsh, lightly grassed ground at the bottom. Rolling around, they groaned, grimaced, and moaned.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Red and blue flashing lights. Cops were soon on the scene.

“Hey! What are you kids doing out here?!” an officer yelled, charging at them with his gun drawn.

“OH NO!” one of the high schoolers screamed. “NOT AGAIN!”

Totally oblivious to what had fallen from the sky, the cops shackled the teens and dragged them into the back of their squad cars. The teens pleaded with them about THE WIZARD IN THE WOODS. But the cops dismissed the notion as mental ravings of teenagers on drugs. Their weapons were confiscated. The teens were, once again, looking at jail time.

With the cops and teens gone, Edward tried to get me to head back into the Woods of Elderdom.

But I needed to investigate. Carefully sliding down the hill, I reached the comet’s point of entry. It was smoldering. Heat billowing out and into my face. I coughed, swatting it away.

“You’re not going to…” Mof tried to urge away my intent.

But, I reached in, “OW!” Okay, so that was dumb. Should have known the thing was really freakin hot. But I continued to feel around, growing resistant to the heat, “It feels like feet, Eddie. I think…” I turned, staring at him, “I think it’s a person.”

His mouth fell agape with shock.

---

There’s a huge, monumental difference between the two of us, Donovan. You spout confidence. You boast perfection. You’re a talker.

And that’s great. A lot of people can get plenty far with words.

But there’s one thing words do not carry. A load they are incapable of bearing.

TRUTH.

The reason talkers talk is to mask what lies beneath. A fact that cripples them with anxiety. A knowledge that reaches up and grips their throat whenever that big moment arrives.

The truth that the only thing special about them is how fucking ordinary they truly are.

I didn’t use my application to tell everyone how great I am.

You’ll never hear the words ‘perfect’ or ‘flawless’ come out of my mouth in reference to my abilities.

That’s because I know where the real battle is won. Inside that ring. If you can step inside the XWF ring and handle your business, then there’s no reason to talk. You don’t HAVE to brag.

Equipped with that knowledge makes it easy to find out the posers.

You’re a poser, Donovan. A shitty program used by nerds to SUPER pretend they are someone else.

At Savage, I’m going to wreck your fuckin poser profile and give you a lesson on what it means to walk.

You are less than perfect. You are totally flawed. And you will Bask in My Aura.