“And so, once again, the mighty Wizard vanquished yet another foe, this time in the mold of a young, quiet Blackwater brother named Donovan…” The Town Crier’s voice trailed off as though he felt a bit of sympathy for the bludgeoned blackwater boy. “HOWEVER, let us not pity the pain of fools. For it is by their own hand and sound mind that they dare step into the ring with The Wizard!”

“HUZZAH!” a group of LARPers seated cross-legged cheer, thrusting their swords, staffs, bows, hammers, and lord-knows-what-else into the air in unison.

“And now, our grand Wizard (yikes) faces yet another foe – one that, perhaps, poses the greatest threat toward our mighty lionheart.”

Audible gasps from the LARPers. They don’t like the sound of that. Nobody should dare pose a threat to their glorious Wizard.

“A warrior who goes by the name of Logan, Andrew. A leviathan. A beast. A living, breathing boulder with domination in his mind, fire in his eyes, and victory in his belly.”

The hushed group of LARPers lean forward, eager to hear more. If they were in chairs, they’d probably be on the edge of their fuckin seats.

“As fate would have it, our champion, the mighty Wizard has his sight set not only on Andrew Logan but the monstrous Robert Main. His quest increases in difficulty, testing the very spirit of his will.”

LARPers turn and nod toward each other saying things like “yes, this quest is difficult” and “he’s such a brave Wizard” and “I fear for his livelihood” and “Robert Main is a douchebag.”

“But fear not, fellow brothers and fair maidens of this majestic community, for our Wizard has limitless power and unrivaled soul. He shall triumph through adversity and reach new heights within the dangerous, treacherous realm of XWF!”

“HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!” The LARPers leap to their feet chanting and cheering in unison. Their numbers seem to have grown since we last saw them. A clear indicator that The Wizard’s fan base is growing.

---

“What’s up, Jimmy?”

“Not much, Timmy.”

Jimmy and Timmy, two LARPers by night, lonely manlets by day run into each other at the local costume shop.

“You here for alterations?” Jimmy asked, handing a receipt over to an employee.

“Yea, stupid fuckin Barry brought an actual blade to last night’s event and it cut a hole in my armor.”

“Fuckin Barry.”

“Really hope they kick him out this time.”

“Fuckin Barry.”

“How about you?”

“Had some stuff on layaway. Got my paycheck this morning so I can finally pick it up.”

“Huzzah.”

“Huzzah.”

Socializing in a normal setting creates an awkward atmosphere. Timmy and Jimmy, typically fierce allies and jovial spirits at night in the LARPing arena seem to be experiencing lockjaw, tightly fastened tongues.

“Oh!” Jimmy snaps out of it, remembering something interesting. “Did I tell you I secured a meet and greet with The Wizard?’

“No, you most certainly did not!” Timmy leans forward, super excited.

“Some guy named Puffman told me he’d hook me up.”

“Puffman?”

“Yea, he’s a wrestler. You know those wrestlers, they’re all friends behind the scenes.”

“Hey!” the man behind the counter shouts, withholding Jimmy’s bag of items. “That’s generalizing a very passionate profession. How would you like it if I said all LARPers were friends outside of the forest?”

Jimmy and Timmy nod. The man behind the counter has a strong point.

“My bad man behind the counter.”

“That’s okay...just remember,” he points two fingers at his eyes and then at Jimmy’s eyes, “stay woke, man. Stay woke.”

Jimmy takes his freshly purchased items after handing over some cash and exits, bidding Timmy adieu. We follow Jimmy as he makes his exit. He turns left and saunters down the sidewalk with an extra pep in his step...he can’t wait to show off his new gear to his fellow LARPers. Distracted due to this convivial spirit, Jimmy doesn’t see the giant figure heading his way.

SLAM!

He shoulders right into the menacing presence, nearly flailing to the ground. Looking up, his agitated voice warns, “Hey, watch where you’re going ya big goof!”

“Sorry,” the giant, gentle voice wafts down in an attempt to soothe Jimmy’s agitated ego.

They part ways.

We turn, following the giant man. He takes a right into the costume shop where Jimmy and the man behind the counter are discussing the latest episode of America’s Got Talent.

“You see the golden buzzer last night?”

“Oh for sure,” the man behind the counter confirms, “when that girl started talking about her dead parents I knew she had it in the bag.”

“I dunno, man, I thought the gymnast with no arms and legs had a strong shot.”

“True, he was legit.”

“Excuse me,” the giant man approaches the counter, interrupting a pretty lame and ordinary conversation about a show that is very predictable and, by this point, entertaining a numb audience. “Are you the man behind the counter?”

The man behind the counter slaps the counter, “Yes, that is me. I am him.”

“Great, I’m seeking someone.”

The man behind the counter and Timmy share a look. “And who could that be?” the man behind the counter asks, leaning forward. Timmy slants in. The giant customer whose face we’ve yet to see tenses up, feeling cornered.

“His name is Fred Eclair. I went to an address but he doesn’t live there anymore. I have something that belongs to him.”

The man behind the counter raises back up. Timmy backs away. They share a taut gaze. Something is obviously up.

Realizing he may be on the right track, the giant man pushes ahead, revealing additional information, “You see, I located someone of importance to him. I believe her name is...Sharon.”

---

My how things can change in an instant.

Stepping into unfamiliar territory I assumed the role of hunter. Going after those with more to lose than to gain. People with reputations. Legacies. Promotional clout.

There was a sense of ease in it all. Lose, no big deal. But win? Then you start to build something for yourself. Climbing the ladder faster than any wrestler in any ladder match has ever climbed. Ascending into a position of power. Becoming a name within a storied promotion.

Mission accomplished.

Upon winning July’s Wrestler of the Month, I found myself seated atop the XWF mountain for a moment. Attaining an award all other wrestlers within the promotion were eligible to procure. Being recognized as the greatest force for 1/12 of a calendar year. It’s an achievement that cannot be oversold. My name, now, will forever be etched in the annals of XWF history.

Great, right?

Sure.

Up to a point.

Before the partying and celebrations could commence, I received the notification. “Booked against Andrew Logan.”

The record came to a screeching halt. The music stopped. The guests departed. The champagne went flat. The party had died.

Andrew fucking Logan.

You might be asking...why? Why does this name bother me more than all the others? Why is this the lone name that creates an uncontrollable tremble in my nervous system?

Well, I’m gonna tell ya.

But first…

---

The man behind the counter is irate. “Don’t you come into my store talking about Sharon! How dare you! HOW DARE YOU, SIR!”

Timmy snares his belongings and high tails it to safer waters. Following him as he makes his exit, we observe Timmy pull out his phone and dial Jimmy. “Yo, Jimster. Man, some guy walked into the store talking about Sharon. I know! How did he look? Like a total nerd, that’s how. Huh? Yea, sure I’ll meet you over at your place for some D&D. Be there in a hot minute!” Timmy hangs up his phone and takes off, sprinting down the sidewalk. To everyone else, this makes him look like a wild man. But, to Timmy, he is merely an excited lad looking forward to playing some Dungeons and Dragons.

Tired of keeping up with Timmy, the device handling our view makes a 180 and heads back into the costume shop where the man behind the counter is pointing a nerf gun at the giant man asking about some woman named Sharon.

“Get the hell out of my store.”

“That’s a nerf gun.”

“Yea,” the man behind the counter agrees, raising both eyebrows, “but it’s a souped-up nerf gun. May not kill ya but it could definitely give you a bruised eye socket.”

The giant man’s hands leave his sides, reaching for the sky. “Look, man, I come in peace. I found Sharon’s burned body and I’m simply trying to return her to Fred Eclair. A good samaritan type deal.”

The man behind the counter slowly lowers his weapon, cutting the jib of the giant stranger. “I don’t know why, but I believe you, man. I actually kind of like you. Good vibes. Okay, I’ll give you Fred’s number.”

---

Climbing a ladder isn’t that difficult.

Driving to work isn’t that bad.

Making plans to meet a girl for drinks isn’t all that hard.

The destination, in many ways, is the easy part. Why? Because you know what you have to do. It’s pre-planned...laid out. There’s a formula.

Once you reach your destination...that’s when things get a little wonky. Unpredictable.

A minor leaguer terrorizing pitchers finally making it to the show only to realize they can’t hit major league curveballs. It happens, all the time.

In a sense, I’ve made it in XWF. I could be booked in a Universal Title match at the next XWF show and nobody would bat an eye. I have my own, albeit small, legacy.

Which is why Andrew Logan frightens me.

He’s where I was a month ago.

He’s ascending. He’s taking that journey en route to his destination. This is a man of focus. A man with talent. A man that, someday, will be headlining XWF pay per views.

He stands everything to gain by defeating me at Savage. I gain nothing by defeating Logan. This match has the potential to be Logan’s breakout moment. Atoms fusing into a star...just as I bloomed at the expense of so many others during the month of July.

In many ways, this is my toughest match to date. The first time where I stand the hunted. The first time in my career where I’m the one with the most to lose.

I don’t like it.

---

“Here you go,” the man behind the counter slides the giant customer a fresh address for Fred Eclair. “Bring that man some peace. We need Sir Chopranwulf back in the forest.”

The giant customer pauses, “Come again?”

“Fred. We need Fred Eclair back.”

“Right...well, I’ll do my best.” The giant customer turns to leave.

“Hold on, stranger. I never caught your name.”

Pausing at the door, the giant customer lowers his head and gives this great thought before announcing, “You can call me...THE WIZARD.”

The man behind the counter gasps, reaching for his heart and staggering back as the bell to his door chimes, announcing The Wizard’s exit.

---

As if facing Andrew Logan weren’t task enough...I’ve got Robert Main determined to murder me before Super Relentless.

No.

Seriously.

The dude wants to MURDER me. Like, literally. If guns were legal inside whatever arena XWF is hosting a show, Robert Main would shoot me in the head.

Wait, I take that back.

He wouldn’t use a gun.

That’s too clean.

Probably something more along the lines of a giant mallet. Or a rugged scythe. Ball and chain, representing his bromance with Chris Page.

Hell, I don’t know. All I can tell you is the more blood, the better. This dude is CRAZY.

I feel like a grilled, all-beef patty in between two buns. Andrew Logan on bottom. Robert Main on top.

It is my hope that I will bleed grease into the both of them, deteriorating their usefulness until they are nothing more than a mushy mass unable to control MY GREASY AURA.

---

KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK

“Who’s there?” a voice asks from behind an apartment door.

The Wizard contemplates a joke. But, realizing the severity of the issue, he bypasses ill-timed humor. “Is this the residence belonging to Fred Eclair?”

A slight opening. The eyeball belonging to a human sizes up The Wizard.

“Fred, is that you?”

SLAM!

The door is thrust shut in The Wizard’s face. Dejected, the Wizard looks down at the garbage bag near his feet...a bag that contains Sharon’s remains. “Hmm…” he ponders before snapping his fingers and hustling toward his car.

MOMENTS LATER

KNOCK!
KNOCK!
KNOCK!

“Who’s there?”

Again, The Wizard has an urge to recite a joke. But, again, he bypasses. He’s also transformed his image. He is now dressed up as THE WIZARD. Hat, robe, beard, staff...he’s in magical mode.

The door creaks open. That same eyeball sizes up The Wizard.

“Muwahaha! Well, I’ll be a minotaur’s mistress! Come on in, friend!” The door opens and The Wizard is allowed passage into Fred Eclair’s home. He drags the garbage bag behind him.

“Thanks for letting me in, Fred.”

Fred opens the fridge and snares a couple of pints of ale. Reaching into a cabinet, he snares the two finest goblets a person could find in that apartment complex. He fills them to the brim.

“Uh, thanks,” The Wizard sniffs his ale. He takes a sip, “Damn, that’s pretty good.” He licks his fake beard clean. As it turns out, LARPers do kinda know their way around a liquor store.

“So, what can I do ya for, friend?” Fred asks before snapping his fingers. “Oh darn, should I get into character, too? It’s been awhile since Sir Chopranwulf filled this realm with his presence.”

The Wizard places his goblet down on the nearest surface, realizing things might get real. He lifts up the bag.

“Whatcha got in there, friend? A new costume?”

“Not exactly.” The Wizard pauses. He’s not sure how to go about this. Does he tell Fred Eclair what’s in the bag first or just rip it out? He remembers a pivotal moment in childhood surrounding a bandaid. Better to rip it off. So, he dumps Sharon’s body onto the floor.

“Ahhhhhh!!!” Fred shrieks, dropping his goblet of ale. He clutches his heart before going stiff and passing out, hitting the floor. The Wizard stands, dumbfounded. Two bodies on the floor...one that could pose some serious issues.

Feeling a sense of panic...The Wizard reaches for his goblet. He takes a sip. And then, it hits. The sharp pain in his head. He grunts...he staggers...the room starts to blur. He reaches into his robe for the pills before realizing he left them in his pants which are in the car. He falls into the couch before tumbling to the ground.

Silence.

Both men and one sex doll are down.

---

Robert Main. You did the unthinkable last Saturday. You attacked Fanny when she was alone. You decimated her. You left her in ruin.

Why?

She wasn’t part of this. She was innocent. All she ever wanted was to pursue a wrestling career. That’s it. She had no quarrels with you. No beef. Yet you treated her like she stole your lunch money.

And now?

Now she’s in the hospital, man. A wreck. Reduced to metaphorical ash. Her career may as well have an end date attached to it. Over before it ever began.

Does that make you feel good?

Does it make you feel strong?

Well, I hope so.

Get your kicks in, pal. Because at Super Relentless you’re going to answer for all that you have done. I offered you a way out. I offered you a chance to turn this into something that resembles sportsmanship.

But, no. It’s got to be murder and mayhem with you.

Fine.

Keep throwing it at me, Omega. You will not break me. I will not become the deviant you are. And, by standing firm in my beliefs...by remaining true to who I am, I will muster the strength to defeat you.

---

“Mister, wake up. Mister Merlin, wake up.”

The Wizard’s eyes open. He spots Fred Eclair wearing a worried expression. Stunned and a bit scared, The Wizard scrambles to a seated position and slides away as far as he can before his back hits a wall. Fred breathes a sigh of relief. Nobody likes explaining to the cops why a dead wizard is on the floor.

“It’s Wizard, by the way.”

Fred Eclair nods, half listening. His focus is on Sharon’s charred remains. “Where did you find her?”

“She fell from the sky.”

Turning toward The Wizard, Fred Eclair’s face contorts with confusion, “The sky?”

The Wizard nods.

“But...how?”

“I don’t know. I was able to trace her back to you. Figured you might want some closure.”

Fred Eclair grabs Sharon in his arms and stands. He looks down at The Wizard, “You’re a good man, Wizard. I shall cheer for you during your next combat.”

“Well that’s good because I’m going to need it, Andrew Logan is…”

Fred Eclair takes Sharon into the bedroom and shuts the door.

“Oh,” The Wizard observes. The door is suddenly locked. “Oh my.” The Wizard hurries to his feet. He grabs the goblet and chugs the rest of the ale before leaving.

---

Andrew Logan, I appreciate what you’re doing.

And trust me when I say, someday, you’ll get there.

But not Saturday.

Not at my expense.

I’m afraid, Logan, Andrew. That you will, like everyone else...Bask in My Aura.

---

Miles and miles away from Fred Eclair, The Wizard seeks refuge in a strip club filled with live women. His phone goes off. He spots a text from an unidentified number.

“Hey, it’s Fred Eclair. Where did you run off to? We have more to discuss. I’m not the only LARPer who lost a wife. It’s happened to several of us…”

Slamming his drink onto the table, The Wizard tosses the stripper from his lap and stares, angrily into the distance. “Son of a bitch.”

There is no turning back now.