Post by wwjbcd on Feb 12, 2021 23:32:22 GMT -5
The #1 Hit-Maker Johnny Bonecrusher sat at his desk, his head in his hands. The past couple of weeks have been embarrassing for him and the current UGWC World Heavyweight Champion “Deathwish” Hide Yamazaki. As the face of the company, it was Hide’s duty to show just why he’s the 14th longest-reigning World Champion in the Coalition’s history, yet, BOOM, Centurion avenged his loss to Yamazaki last year, BOOM, Sloane Taylor’s slump officially comes to its true end by pinning the very top of the food chain in her first encounter with him one-on-one. Johnny can’t afford Hide to come across the next BOOM, because that’ll mean the tiger finally gets toppled from the mountain. Being locked out of the first Global Challenge Key is one thing - failing to hold onto the top prize in the game today is another thing entirely. Another thing that can’t be allowed to happen.
One being lost in their thoughts can be quite the ordeal, but for the former Canada’s Greatest Athlete, it was a twofold affair. In Johnny’s minds, flashbacks of Hide’s rookie year bombarded him, traumatized him. He couldn’t go back to mediocrity, he wouldn’t! The Harpy Queen CAN’T be made to be right about Hide, otherwise, who’d want to live in a world where a literal nightmare of a hag could be given the ammunition to boast indefinitely? Johnny tried to reminisce about how amazingly last year went, a year where Hide did in fact lose a bout here and there. What’s the big deal, losing to Centurion and Sloane? It’s not a big deal! Who cares? Johnny doesn’t care. He pits both brains against each other in an attempt to brainwash himself into believing things will be okay. And things WILL be okay… so long as Hide can withstand the might of his next challenger… again.
Hide, meanwhile, merely commiserated with Johnny out of empathy, simply so Johnny wouldn’t have to suffer alone. To him, losing was bad, yes, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to fix anything. When he lost to Centurion, he upped his training regimen to an insane degree. Why it still wasn’t enough to defeat Sloane was only apparent to him in hindsight: bulking up was a foolish thing to do against someone as quick and agile as The Sky Queen. A lesson learned. But now… now he was sufficiently prepared for round two with JC.
Being the World Heavyweight Champion seemed to be taking its toll not on The Strong Style Satanist, rather, on his manager. It didn’t matter that Hide had been so incredibly dominant as much as it mattered whenever he lost. To Hide, Johnny’s opinions were miopic. It was okay to lose, so long as the following four things occurred after each loss:
1: A newfound sense of humility
2: A vow to improve
3: An act of contrition
4: A recognition of the grand scheme of things
Hide would try - with the aid of the nameless translator - to explain to Johnny these essential lessons, but Johnny would always be too busy with unneeded damage control and cooking up some other scheme to get ahead. Johnny was very intelligent - don’t laugh - but petty as well. A poor sport, though he was working (not very hard) on being less of one. Johnny wanting Hide to only win was absurd; Hide wanted to dominate the competition but at the same time learn from each encounter. Adapt. Evolve. This, to Hide, was true victory. This, to Hide, was the ONLY way to show his pride in being The World Heavyweight Champion.
After a half an hour of Johnny pouting as if he were the one to physically have lost those matches himself, Hide had had enough and decided to go for a walk. It was the evening now, and it was extremely cold. Hide took this as a sign; he would execute his next act of contrition by facing the elements dressed as he would for combat: bare-chested and draped in chains and his championship belt. If JC would be the incinerating fires of Hell, Hide would be the snowy mountain top, where any snow heated to steam would merely rise and return as snow descending from the skies anew.
Initially, the cold was a shock to his system. As he moved and continued to move, the energy he exerted alongside his adrenaline abated the cold, or so it seemed. Now, it was natural for Hide to have all eyes on him in his neighbourhood - most everyone into wrestling knew he was the UGWC’s top guy by now - but regardless of whether one was into the sport of kings or not, ALL eyes, and I mean ALL eyes were on the barely-dressed wildman wandering about the streets of Chicago in 11°F (-12°C for proper people) at nearly 9pm.
Hide decided that maybe jogging would generate more heat. Hide didn’t think that that would perhaps be a bit of a challenge, what with being weighed down by all sorts of metal. All sorts of metal… of which doesn’t get warmer when exposed to cold. So Hide was basically fighting an uphill battle… up a slippery slope… with shoes made of butter. But since Hide never backed down from a challenge, these weren’t the thoughts that swarmed his mind. So, he jogged.
At first, he felt pretty good. He was building up a sweat - at least he thinks he is - and with a mind cleared of worries and other negativities, he persevered with ease. His jogging took him past several bodegas, supermercados, corner stores, convenience stores, and twice as many coffee shops (only 75% of them were Starbucks!). His travels took him past where he believed Sloane and Sebastian lived, but he couldn’t dare stop now just to say hello. Hmm. Was he feeling numb now? Was his footwear of poor quality? Were the chains and belt affecting his upper extremities?
Anyway, while he didn’t stop for any fans, he did wave at any he passed by, apologizing for his perceived rudeness. He was in strictly residential areas now where there were fewer people around; it was practically bedtime for many at this point. He tried shaking the strange feeling out of his arms and figured picking up the pace would be a good idea. He was making his way back in the direction of his apartment, but made a detour into the park he and Johnny occasionally frequented. The park was virtually abandoned now; maybe there was a jogger, maybe a homeless person scouring the playground for cigarette butts, but no one else.
Hide felt his muscles and joints stiffen a bit. The numbness was more intense now. His movements were more forced and slow. His breathing became shallow and every inhale was painful. He stumbled forward a bit, but regained his composure. He removed the World Championship from around his waist and just carried it in a hand. A hand that could barely grip it. He felt tired. So tired. No… not tired, actually: sleepy. Hide suddenly had the urge to just lie down and take a nap. Just for a moment. Just to regain a little… bit of… energy.
The playgrou
nd
Y es
That’s a n
ice place to
to just
to just
to just lie d
own
Maybe
on the
slide
Y e s
Ju st fo r a min
ute
I’ll fe
el so
much
be
tter
When Hide woke up, he was somewhere he didn’t recognize. He was underneath a bride. Everything seemed greyer here. Dilapidated. Trash strewn about everywhere. People shambled about. Some slept right on the streets in sleeping bags up to their heads. Hide felt warm though, thanks to the lit barrels surrounding him. As he woke up more, he noticed he was missing his chains and belt. This revelation caused him to jump to his feet. Several transients immediately scuttled seemingly out of nowhere and spirited him away deeper into the recesses of this apparently war-torn area. Something compelled Hide to not resist.
Soon, he was in the presence of some makeshift throne comprised of a discarded box-spring mattress, milk crates, and dirty tattered blankets. Sitting on it and looking at Hide not in his eyes but in his very soul, was an old man wielding a three-tiered crown made up of scrap metal, though the third tier was a Burger King paper crown instead. He was draped in several bathrobes and wielded a sceptre which was in actuality just a crowbar with a screwdriver taped partway up the top of it, making it look more like a cross than anything else. At the old man’s feet were two oversized plastic novelty keys painted to look metallic. To both sides of the peculiar man were pillars constructed from buckets glued together. One has “LAW” scribbled onto it in black sharpie, the other “LIBERTY”.
“Who are you?” was all Hide could say. It was cliché, yes, but he was still groggy and it felt difficult to even get that simple question out.
“Why, I’m The Hierophant, of course!” he said in a gruff aged almost British accent.
Hide confusion was twofold: first, wasn’t Hide speaking to this man in Japanese? Yet they responded in English? Right? Anyway, secondly, he claims to be The Hierophant? The Hierophant was not merely the name of Hide’s ultimate solution to victory in the ring: it was the name of the fifth card in the Major Arcana. The card depicts a religious figure of the highest regard seated on a throne, wielding a triple cross. This was the ultimate in a bastardization of that trump card. Hide’s trump card.
“Where am I?” Hide asked.
“Chicago’s West Side!” The Hierophant responded cheerfully. “You come from sufficient affluence that this face of the city, nay, of humanity, is obfuscated from your vision. Those with no hope, no future, no ANYTHING congregate here to take heed my gospel.”
Now Hide wasn’t a dummy, regardless of what some of his peers might think, but the way this so-called Hierophant spoke was overwhelming to him. He furrowed his brow, trying to extrapolate from the old man’s words some semblance of sense. “But… why am I here?”
The Hierophant chuckled as he slowly shook his head. “So many questions! You see, my acolytes saved you from a gruesome fate!”
Hide espied the hobo he saw earlier at the park fishing for nicotine amongst the gravel.
“I don’t understand.” Hide said. “Everything was okay. I was about to go home from my jog when-”
“When you succumbed to hypothermia, my boy!” The Hierophant interrupted. “You might think you’re invincible - and there’s something to that theory - but even you cannot withstand the merciless onslaught of a Chicagoan winter!”
“And where did you put my chains and belt?” Hide said with more strength and conviction in his voice.
“Not to worry, not to worry! They are safe!” The Hierophant assured the burly Asian. “But first, I would like to discuss something with you.”
Hide pointed at the old man. “Listen, I need to return to my manager-”
“Johnny Bonecrusher, yes.” The Hierophant casually retorted.
“And retrieve my belongings-”
“Your chains and United Global Wrestling Coalition World Heavyweight Championship belt, yes, yes.” The Hierophant said, followed by a yawn.
“And prepare for my match at-”
“Infinity!” The Hierophant exclaimed as he pointed right back at Hide. “Not merely a sleeping number 8, rather, all numbers… no numbers… a concept of foreverness! Slumbering in the cold, dark embrace of the cosmos!”
As Hide attempted to absorb the profundity of the words of the Great Value Hierophant, the Exalted Most High Amongst the Most Low continued. “And what, you might be asking yourself, is the relevance to all of this?”
Hide cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow, looking on expectantly.
“Do you know why this all-important event is called Infinity to begin with?”
Hide shook his head, “No, I don’t.”
The Hierophant nods once. He pauses. He beckons Hide to come closer. Hide complies. The Hierophant looks to the left. The Hierophant looks to the right. He clears his throat.
“I don’t know either.” then a pause before he bursts into laughter. His acolytes follow suit.
“Hey! Listen to me!” Hide barked as he grabbed a hold of the elderly pontiff. “Don’t mess with me, understand? I have a duty to my company to perform to my maximum ability! At Infinity, I once more trudge through the depths of hell to battle-”
“To battle JC!” The Hierophant snaps back as he yanks his robes out of The World Champion’s grip. Acolytes immediately pull Hide back. Both men regain their composure, though Hide’s visage remains intimidating. “And your infernal analogies are rather silly, so-called ‘Strong Style Satanist’. What are you, anyway: a majestic tiger atop a mountain reaching the heavens… or a serpent coiled around the brimstone stalagmites of Hades? You can’t be both, you know.”
“It’s a moniker you’re reading too much into.” Hide replied, “And besides, Johnny - who I assume you know too - gave me that nickname to-”
“To represent your ferocious unyielding tenacity.” The Hierophant sighed, then a short pause. “Duh.”
“Then you should also know that this battle between JC and myself is not personal. Not like other fights have been. There’s no need for me to be any sort of way. But the endeavour will be life-changing all the same.”
The Hierophant shrugged, “Yes. True. I suppose I am lingering on needless points. Needle-less points, if you will.”
The acolytes laughed. Hide didn’t understand the joke. He still didn’t understand whether this old man was speaking to him in his native tongue or vice-versa. The words came out of each others’ mouths strangely, otherworldly. Like a movie dubbed slightly off, with subtitles that don’t quite match exactly what’s being said. But all is understood nevertheless. Mostly.
“Get to your point.” Hide said wearily.
“The point is as it always is, only multifold this time.” The Hierophant said. “A struggle between two beasts: one, this JC, who feeds on redemption. He has observed you ever since you defeated him at Battleground. You unleashed the ultimate power that night: you invoked my name, and I bade you to strike true. Through odds even I never knew possible to overcome, JC survived. He recuperated. He made his mental notes. He looked upon you and desperately sought out a weakness, something, anything, to exploit. It took a few months, but he found it.”
Confused, and a little offended, Hide asks, “What did he find?”
The Hierophant chuckles, “Oh, you know what he found.”
Hide shook his head, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
The Hierophant shakes his head and tisks.
“Just tell me straight, damn you!!” Hide roared.
The Hierophant wagged his finger at the champion. “Uh, uh, uh, temper, temper! These outbursts of yours are not very holy. In fact, I’d daresay they emit infernal energy!”
Hide growled, “My time is limited! Please just tell me what he’s discovered!”
The Hierophant raises an eyebrow, “Oh, so you really want to know?”
But before Hide can answer, the saintly albeit sassy old man cuts him off, “You’d want to counter his knowledge with your own?”
And once again, before Hide even has a chance to retort, The Hierophant continues. “Take all of his hard work and throw it in the trash?”
Hide doesn’t even try to respond, merely crossing his arms, waiting for this little diatribe to be done with. When it finally seems like the old man’s spoken his fill, Hide goes to speak.
The Hierophant pipes up, “Defy the very order of Heaven most high and-”
“ENOUGH!!!” Hide bellows, his words echoing thanks to the acoustics of below the bridge. “I don’t care to know! JC can and must use anything and everything he can in order to beat me! Every edge! Every tactic! Every exploit! He’ll need to do all this and more, because I have much to make amends for, and Monday night is my night for atonement.”
The Hierophant slowly nodded as Hide spoke. He beckoned Hide to come closer again. Hide begrudgingly complied. “What are you even trying to atone for, my child?”
Hide was taken aback by that question. “My… I… Well, I had failed myself inside the ring two weeks in a row.”
It was now the papal senior’s turn to be taken aback. “All that ado for a couple defeats? Really now.”
“But I am their champion!” Hide replied. “Yes, defeat is to be expected from most everyone, but not from me!”
The acolytes burst out into a cacophony of boisterous howling at what they perceived as utter audacity. But this time, The Hierophant doesn’t join in: he merely shakes his head in disappointment. “Now I know you’re not forgetting about your humble beginnings. You were green. You were mocked for losing here, there, everywhere! Oh, some saw potential in you, but for all your might, all your hardiness, you lacked focus and experience. There was a time when being defeated was the only thing expected from you. Ah, those were simpler times, weren’t they?”
But for Hide, those times were blurry. He was confused, only occasionally lucid, and effectively a flailing animal lost inside his own mind. Thanks to Johnny gaining some semblance of a conscience, he helped Hide get medicated, get therapy. He was able to make peace with the losses in his life, even those beyond the wrestling landscape.
The Hierophant, sensing some tiny sliver of pain caused by his words, pats Hides shoulder, “No… not so much, huh? But you have grown! You have evolved! And even then, you proved that there were other ways to effectively keep the spotlight on you.”
“That was Johnny’s work.” Hide corrected.
The aged priest shrugs, “He spun his webs, yes. His sleight of hand - or would that be mouth? - was quite effective. But, they still required a vessel: you. They say it could have been anyone in your spot, but I don’t think so. There is something special about you. He told me so.”
“‘He’?” Hide asked.
The Hierophant smirked as he pointed upwards with his sceptre.
“God told you so?” Hide said, almost accusingly. “God told you so.”
The old man nodded, “Yes, yes he did.”
Hide clenched both hands. “Then you ask God for me… why did he take them away from me?”
The Hierophant sat up straight. “U-uhhhh… Well, I, ah-”
He then snapped his fingers, and pointed at the keys at his feet. “Aha! You can ask him yourself! Those are the Keys to Heaven! They’re your one-way trip to the next life! You can not only ask Him yourself, you can see Michiko and Kenichi again!”
He nudges the keys forward with his toe. “Come on, take them! Take them!”
He then makes many gestures encouraging Hide to pick the keys up. Hide meanwhile believed those keys were exactly what the old man said they were, for he felt in his heart that this was indeed The Hierophant or an avatar of them at the very least. So, the temptation was sheer agony for him. He tried to maintain his composure, but he felt himself ever so slightly bend over. In fact, it was as if he left his body, because before he knew it, he had stooped down and swiped the keys up. There was no look of any particular sort on The Hierophant’s face.
Then he felt the keys land on his lap. The venerable holyman looks down at them, then back at Hide. “I don’t understand.”
Hide breathed in deeply before replying, “I have learned that I don’t need any key, not to reach the past, not to unlock the future. Everything I do is with these:”
He extends his hands, which slowly turn into fists.
“And every obstacle in my way can be undone with them! So Monday night, JC will once again experience my fury. No keys, no Tempests, no anything but he and I! My body will accept his rage, become awash in his desire, aid him in unleashing every mote of force within him, take him to his limit! He will make me roar in pain as he tries with all his might to do something - anything! - to keep me down!”
“And if he does?” The Hierophant quizzes.
“Then he does!!” Hide snaps back. “Then his all was greater than mine, and he will be powerful enough to bear the World Heavyweight Championship as its new herald! He will make a fine exemplar for The Coalition!”
“Excellent!” The Hierophant says with glee as he points right at the insightful warrior. He beckons for his acolytes to take action. “Bring him his chains and belt!”
The vagrants scramble to retrieve the Strong Style Satanist’s items. They drape the chains over him as gently as if they were draping a robe on a king. They cautiously fasten the World title around his waist and all scamper away once they finish.
“Your humility is godly, but being humble won’t be enough, not against JC. Being strong, fast, tough, skillful, resourceful, and cunning will be enough, but only to keep up with him. Forget who you faced at Battleground, for he has perished, yet, from his ashes, a hellish phoenix has arisen, a primal shriek echoing through the cosmos. God has heard JC, boy. He has recognized this JC as the ultimate version. Your trial this Monday will determine whether you’re ready for your next ordeal.”
Hide slightly cocked his head to the side, “My next ordeal?”
The Hierophant quietly chuckled, “You ought to discuss matters regarding The Empress with your agent.”
“I don’t care about any of that.” Hide said with determination. “My focus is on JC now, not on that woman. Her time will come soon enough.”
The hallowed geriatric nodded. “Don’t wait too much longer: The Empress and therefore The Emperor too are accumulating influence and power. Soon, we will not be enough to withstand their ire.”
It was Hide’s turn to nod. “Yes, but, JC first. JC with all my might.”
“JC with all your might.” The Hierophant echoed softly.
“Now, I seriously have to go.” Hide said as he began to walk away. He stopped almost right away, however. “But first, tell me: how did you know all of that?”
“Oh.” the old man chortled, “That’s easy!”
He snaps his fingers, and a hobo wheels in a television with a dangerously impossibly long extension cord. When the TV is switched on, a portion of the Centurion-Dave Rydell match from this past Monday plays. “We’re all wrestling fans here! Oh! Incidentally, could I get your autograph?”
Hide’s eyes widened, mostly as the illusion began to fade away. Soon, he was given a sharpie and scrap piece of paper to sign. So this wasn’t The Hierophant all along, not the real one, not a reasonable facsimile… or so it seemed.
As Hide signed the paper, he asked, “So… how do I get back home?”
The Hierophant smiles widely, revealing missing teeth. “You wake up.”
Wake up
W ak e u p
WAK E U P
W
a
K
e
U
p
Hide gasped as he sat back up. He was seated on the slide and looked around groggily. Breathing heavily, he slowly rose to his feet and continued to look around. Perhaps for any trace of The Hierophant? Or was that a dream? But… it seemed so real.
He started to walk away from the playground, but he felt something strange from behind his belt. He fished underneath for a moment, only to pull out the Keys to Heaven with a note attached:
Hide gripped the keys in his hand and looked at them for some time… before tossing them away as far as he could.
“The only key I need is for home.” Hide said as he jogged away to reunite with his manager.
One being lost in their thoughts can be quite the ordeal, but for the former Canada’s Greatest Athlete, it was a twofold affair. In Johnny’s minds, flashbacks of Hide’s rookie year bombarded him, traumatized him. He couldn’t go back to mediocrity, he wouldn’t! The Harpy Queen CAN’T be made to be right about Hide, otherwise, who’d want to live in a world where a literal nightmare of a hag could be given the ammunition to boast indefinitely? Johnny tried to reminisce about how amazingly last year went, a year where Hide did in fact lose a bout here and there. What’s the big deal, losing to Centurion and Sloane? It’s not a big deal! Who cares? Johnny doesn’t care. He pits both brains against each other in an attempt to brainwash himself into believing things will be okay. And things WILL be okay… so long as Hide can withstand the might of his next challenger… again.
Hide, meanwhile, merely commiserated with Johnny out of empathy, simply so Johnny wouldn’t have to suffer alone. To him, losing was bad, yes, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to fix anything. When he lost to Centurion, he upped his training regimen to an insane degree. Why it still wasn’t enough to defeat Sloane was only apparent to him in hindsight: bulking up was a foolish thing to do against someone as quick and agile as The Sky Queen. A lesson learned. But now… now he was sufficiently prepared for round two with JC.
Being the World Heavyweight Champion seemed to be taking its toll not on The Strong Style Satanist, rather, on his manager. It didn’t matter that Hide had been so incredibly dominant as much as it mattered whenever he lost. To Hide, Johnny’s opinions were miopic. It was okay to lose, so long as the following four things occurred after each loss:
1: A newfound sense of humility
2: A vow to improve
3: An act of contrition
4: A recognition of the grand scheme of things
Hide would try - with the aid of the nameless translator - to explain to Johnny these essential lessons, but Johnny would always be too busy with unneeded damage control and cooking up some other scheme to get ahead. Johnny was very intelligent - don’t laugh - but petty as well. A poor sport, though he was working (not very hard) on being less of one. Johnny wanting Hide to only win was absurd; Hide wanted to dominate the competition but at the same time learn from each encounter. Adapt. Evolve. This, to Hide, was true victory. This, to Hide, was the ONLY way to show his pride in being The World Heavyweight Champion.
After a half an hour of Johnny pouting as if he were the one to physically have lost those matches himself, Hide had had enough and decided to go for a walk. It was the evening now, and it was extremely cold. Hide took this as a sign; he would execute his next act of contrition by facing the elements dressed as he would for combat: bare-chested and draped in chains and his championship belt. If JC would be the incinerating fires of Hell, Hide would be the snowy mountain top, where any snow heated to steam would merely rise and return as snow descending from the skies anew.
Initially, the cold was a shock to his system. As he moved and continued to move, the energy he exerted alongside his adrenaline abated the cold, or so it seemed. Now, it was natural for Hide to have all eyes on him in his neighbourhood - most everyone into wrestling knew he was the UGWC’s top guy by now - but regardless of whether one was into the sport of kings or not, ALL eyes, and I mean ALL eyes were on the barely-dressed wildman wandering about the streets of Chicago in 11°F (-12°C for proper people) at nearly 9pm.
Hide decided that maybe jogging would generate more heat. Hide didn’t think that that would perhaps be a bit of a challenge, what with being weighed down by all sorts of metal. All sorts of metal… of which doesn’t get warmer when exposed to cold. So Hide was basically fighting an uphill battle… up a slippery slope… with shoes made of butter. But since Hide never backed down from a challenge, these weren’t the thoughts that swarmed his mind. So, he jogged.
At first, he felt pretty good. He was building up a sweat - at least he thinks he is - and with a mind cleared of worries and other negativities, he persevered with ease. His jogging took him past several bodegas, supermercados, corner stores, convenience stores, and twice as many coffee shops (only 75% of them were Starbucks!). His travels took him past where he believed Sloane and Sebastian lived, but he couldn’t dare stop now just to say hello. Hmm. Was he feeling numb now? Was his footwear of poor quality? Were the chains and belt affecting his upper extremities?
Anyway, while he didn’t stop for any fans, he did wave at any he passed by, apologizing for his perceived rudeness. He was in strictly residential areas now where there were fewer people around; it was practically bedtime for many at this point. He tried shaking the strange feeling out of his arms and figured picking up the pace would be a good idea. He was making his way back in the direction of his apartment, but made a detour into the park he and Johnny occasionally frequented. The park was virtually abandoned now; maybe there was a jogger, maybe a homeless person scouring the playground for cigarette butts, but no one else.
Hide felt his muscles and joints stiffen a bit. The numbness was more intense now. His movements were more forced and slow. His breathing became shallow and every inhale was painful. He stumbled forward a bit, but regained his composure. He removed the World Championship from around his waist and just carried it in a hand. A hand that could barely grip it. He felt tired. So tired. No… not tired, actually: sleepy. Hide suddenly had the urge to just lie down and take a nap. Just for a moment. Just to regain a little… bit of… energy.
The playgrou
nd
Y es
That’s a n
ice place to
to just
to just
to just lie d
own
Maybe
on the
slide
Y e s
Ju st fo r a min
ute
I’ll fe
el so
much
be
tter
When Hide woke up, he was somewhere he didn’t recognize. He was underneath a bride. Everything seemed greyer here. Dilapidated. Trash strewn about everywhere. People shambled about. Some slept right on the streets in sleeping bags up to their heads. Hide felt warm though, thanks to the lit barrels surrounding him. As he woke up more, he noticed he was missing his chains and belt. This revelation caused him to jump to his feet. Several transients immediately scuttled seemingly out of nowhere and spirited him away deeper into the recesses of this apparently war-torn area. Something compelled Hide to not resist.
Soon, he was in the presence of some makeshift throne comprised of a discarded box-spring mattress, milk crates, and dirty tattered blankets. Sitting on it and looking at Hide not in his eyes but in his very soul, was an old man wielding a three-tiered crown made up of scrap metal, though the third tier was a Burger King paper crown instead. He was draped in several bathrobes and wielded a sceptre which was in actuality just a crowbar with a screwdriver taped partway up the top of it, making it look more like a cross than anything else. At the old man’s feet were two oversized plastic novelty keys painted to look metallic. To both sides of the peculiar man were pillars constructed from buckets glued together. One has “LAW” scribbled onto it in black sharpie, the other “LIBERTY”.
“Who are you?” was all Hide could say. It was cliché, yes, but he was still groggy and it felt difficult to even get that simple question out.
“Why, I’m The Hierophant, of course!” he said in a gruff aged almost British accent.
Hide confusion was twofold: first, wasn’t Hide speaking to this man in Japanese? Yet they responded in English? Right? Anyway, secondly, he claims to be The Hierophant? The Hierophant was not merely the name of Hide’s ultimate solution to victory in the ring: it was the name of the fifth card in the Major Arcana. The card depicts a religious figure of the highest regard seated on a throne, wielding a triple cross. This was the ultimate in a bastardization of that trump card. Hide’s trump card.
“Where am I?” Hide asked.
“Chicago’s West Side!” The Hierophant responded cheerfully. “You come from sufficient affluence that this face of the city, nay, of humanity, is obfuscated from your vision. Those with no hope, no future, no ANYTHING congregate here to take heed my gospel.”
Now Hide wasn’t a dummy, regardless of what some of his peers might think, but the way this so-called Hierophant spoke was overwhelming to him. He furrowed his brow, trying to extrapolate from the old man’s words some semblance of sense. “But… why am I here?”
The Hierophant chuckled as he slowly shook his head. “So many questions! You see, my acolytes saved you from a gruesome fate!”
Hide espied the hobo he saw earlier at the park fishing for nicotine amongst the gravel.
“I don’t understand.” Hide said. “Everything was okay. I was about to go home from my jog when-”
“When you succumbed to hypothermia, my boy!” The Hierophant interrupted. “You might think you’re invincible - and there’s something to that theory - but even you cannot withstand the merciless onslaught of a Chicagoan winter!”
“And where did you put my chains and belt?” Hide said with more strength and conviction in his voice.
“Not to worry, not to worry! They are safe!” The Hierophant assured the burly Asian. “But first, I would like to discuss something with you.”
Hide pointed at the old man. “Listen, I need to return to my manager-”
“Johnny Bonecrusher, yes.” The Hierophant casually retorted.
“And retrieve my belongings-”
“Your chains and United Global Wrestling Coalition World Heavyweight Championship belt, yes, yes.” The Hierophant said, followed by a yawn.
“And prepare for my match at-”
“Infinity!” The Hierophant exclaimed as he pointed right back at Hide. “Not merely a sleeping number 8, rather, all numbers… no numbers… a concept of foreverness! Slumbering in the cold, dark embrace of the cosmos!”
As Hide attempted to absorb the profundity of the words of the Great Value Hierophant, the Exalted Most High Amongst the Most Low continued. “And what, you might be asking yourself, is the relevance to all of this?”
Hide cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow, looking on expectantly.
“Do you know why this all-important event is called Infinity to begin with?”
Hide shook his head, “No, I don’t.”
The Hierophant nods once. He pauses. He beckons Hide to come closer. Hide complies. The Hierophant looks to the left. The Hierophant looks to the right. He clears his throat.
“I don’t know either.” then a pause before he bursts into laughter. His acolytes follow suit.
“Hey! Listen to me!” Hide barked as he grabbed a hold of the elderly pontiff. “Don’t mess with me, understand? I have a duty to my company to perform to my maximum ability! At Infinity, I once more trudge through the depths of hell to battle-”
“To battle JC!” The Hierophant snaps back as he yanks his robes out of The World Champion’s grip. Acolytes immediately pull Hide back. Both men regain their composure, though Hide’s visage remains intimidating. “And your infernal analogies are rather silly, so-called ‘Strong Style Satanist’. What are you, anyway: a majestic tiger atop a mountain reaching the heavens… or a serpent coiled around the brimstone stalagmites of Hades? You can’t be both, you know.”
“It’s a moniker you’re reading too much into.” Hide replied, “And besides, Johnny - who I assume you know too - gave me that nickname to-”
“To represent your ferocious unyielding tenacity.” The Hierophant sighed, then a short pause. “Duh.”
“Then you should also know that this battle between JC and myself is not personal. Not like other fights have been. There’s no need for me to be any sort of way. But the endeavour will be life-changing all the same.”
The Hierophant shrugged, “Yes. True. I suppose I am lingering on needless points. Needle-less points, if you will.”
The acolytes laughed. Hide didn’t understand the joke. He still didn’t understand whether this old man was speaking to him in his native tongue or vice-versa. The words came out of each others’ mouths strangely, otherworldly. Like a movie dubbed slightly off, with subtitles that don’t quite match exactly what’s being said. But all is understood nevertheless. Mostly.
“Get to your point.” Hide said wearily.
“The point is as it always is, only multifold this time.” The Hierophant said. “A struggle between two beasts: one, this JC, who feeds on redemption. He has observed you ever since you defeated him at Battleground. You unleashed the ultimate power that night: you invoked my name, and I bade you to strike true. Through odds even I never knew possible to overcome, JC survived. He recuperated. He made his mental notes. He looked upon you and desperately sought out a weakness, something, anything, to exploit. It took a few months, but he found it.”
Confused, and a little offended, Hide asks, “What did he find?”
The Hierophant chuckles, “Oh, you know what he found.”
Hide shook his head, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
The Hierophant shakes his head and tisks.
“Just tell me straight, damn you!!” Hide roared.
The Hierophant wagged his finger at the champion. “Uh, uh, uh, temper, temper! These outbursts of yours are not very holy. In fact, I’d daresay they emit infernal energy!”
Hide growled, “My time is limited! Please just tell me what he’s discovered!”
The Hierophant raises an eyebrow, “Oh, so you really want to know?”
But before Hide can answer, the saintly albeit sassy old man cuts him off, “You’d want to counter his knowledge with your own?”
And once again, before Hide even has a chance to retort, The Hierophant continues. “Take all of his hard work and throw it in the trash?”
Hide doesn’t even try to respond, merely crossing his arms, waiting for this little diatribe to be done with. When it finally seems like the old man’s spoken his fill, Hide goes to speak.
The Hierophant pipes up, “Defy the very order of Heaven most high and-”
“ENOUGH!!!” Hide bellows, his words echoing thanks to the acoustics of below the bridge. “I don’t care to know! JC can and must use anything and everything he can in order to beat me! Every edge! Every tactic! Every exploit! He’ll need to do all this and more, because I have much to make amends for, and Monday night is my night for atonement.”
The Hierophant slowly nodded as Hide spoke. He beckoned Hide to come closer again. Hide begrudgingly complied. “What are you even trying to atone for, my child?”
Hide was taken aback by that question. “My… I… Well, I had failed myself inside the ring two weeks in a row.”
It was now the papal senior’s turn to be taken aback. “All that ado for a couple defeats? Really now.”
“But I am their champion!” Hide replied. “Yes, defeat is to be expected from most everyone, but not from me!”
The acolytes burst out into a cacophony of boisterous howling at what they perceived as utter audacity. But this time, The Hierophant doesn’t join in: he merely shakes his head in disappointment. “Now I know you’re not forgetting about your humble beginnings. You were green. You were mocked for losing here, there, everywhere! Oh, some saw potential in you, but for all your might, all your hardiness, you lacked focus and experience. There was a time when being defeated was the only thing expected from you. Ah, those were simpler times, weren’t they?”
But for Hide, those times were blurry. He was confused, only occasionally lucid, and effectively a flailing animal lost inside his own mind. Thanks to Johnny gaining some semblance of a conscience, he helped Hide get medicated, get therapy. He was able to make peace with the losses in his life, even those beyond the wrestling landscape.
The Hierophant, sensing some tiny sliver of pain caused by his words, pats Hides shoulder, “No… not so much, huh? But you have grown! You have evolved! And even then, you proved that there were other ways to effectively keep the spotlight on you.”
“That was Johnny’s work.” Hide corrected.
The aged priest shrugs, “He spun his webs, yes. His sleight of hand - or would that be mouth? - was quite effective. But, they still required a vessel: you. They say it could have been anyone in your spot, but I don’t think so. There is something special about you. He told me so.”
“‘He’?” Hide asked.
The Hierophant smirked as he pointed upwards with his sceptre.
“God told you so?” Hide said, almost accusingly. “God told you so.”
The old man nodded, “Yes, yes he did.”
Hide clenched both hands. “Then you ask God for me… why did he take them away from me?”
The Hierophant sat up straight. “U-uhhhh… Well, I, ah-”
He then snapped his fingers, and pointed at the keys at his feet. “Aha! You can ask him yourself! Those are the Keys to Heaven! They’re your one-way trip to the next life! You can not only ask Him yourself, you can see Michiko and Kenichi again!”
He nudges the keys forward with his toe. “Come on, take them! Take them!”
He then makes many gestures encouraging Hide to pick the keys up. Hide meanwhile believed those keys were exactly what the old man said they were, for he felt in his heart that this was indeed The Hierophant or an avatar of them at the very least. So, the temptation was sheer agony for him. He tried to maintain his composure, but he felt himself ever so slightly bend over. In fact, it was as if he left his body, because before he knew it, he had stooped down and swiped the keys up. There was no look of any particular sort on The Hierophant’s face.
Then he felt the keys land on his lap. The venerable holyman looks down at them, then back at Hide. “I don’t understand.”
Hide breathed in deeply before replying, “I have learned that I don’t need any key, not to reach the past, not to unlock the future. Everything I do is with these:”
He extends his hands, which slowly turn into fists.
“And every obstacle in my way can be undone with them! So Monday night, JC will once again experience my fury. No keys, no Tempests, no anything but he and I! My body will accept his rage, become awash in his desire, aid him in unleashing every mote of force within him, take him to his limit! He will make me roar in pain as he tries with all his might to do something - anything! - to keep me down!”
“And if he does?” The Hierophant quizzes.
“Then he does!!” Hide snaps back. “Then his all was greater than mine, and he will be powerful enough to bear the World Heavyweight Championship as its new herald! He will make a fine exemplar for The Coalition!”
“Excellent!” The Hierophant says with glee as he points right at the insightful warrior. He beckons for his acolytes to take action. “Bring him his chains and belt!”
The vagrants scramble to retrieve the Strong Style Satanist’s items. They drape the chains over him as gently as if they were draping a robe on a king. They cautiously fasten the World title around his waist and all scamper away once they finish.
“Your humility is godly, but being humble won’t be enough, not against JC. Being strong, fast, tough, skillful, resourceful, and cunning will be enough, but only to keep up with him. Forget who you faced at Battleground, for he has perished, yet, from his ashes, a hellish phoenix has arisen, a primal shriek echoing through the cosmos. God has heard JC, boy. He has recognized this JC as the ultimate version. Your trial this Monday will determine whether you’re ready for your next ordeal.”
Hide slightly cocked his head to the side, “My next ordeal?”
The Hierophant quietly chuckled, “You ought to discuss matters regarding The Empress with your agent.”
“I don’t care about any of that.” Hide said with determination. “My focus is on JC now, not on that woman. Her time will come soon enough.”
The hallowed geriatric nodded. “Don’t wait too much longer: The Empress and therefore The Emperor too are accumulating influence and power. Soon, we will not be enough to withstand their ire.”
It was Hide’s turn to nod. “Yes, but, JC first. JC with all my might.”
“JC with all your might.” The Hierophant echoed softly.
“Now, I seriously have to go.” Hide said as he began to walk away. He stopped almost right away, however. “But first, tell me: how did you know all of that?”
“Oh.” the old man chortled, “That’s easy!”
He snaps his fingers, and a hobo wheels in a television with a dangerously impossibly long extension cord. When the TV is switched on, a portion of the Centurion-Dave Rydell match from this past Monday plays. “We’re all wrestling fans here! Oh! Incidentally, could I get your autograph?”
Hide’s eyes widened, mostly as the illusion began to fade away. Soon, he was given a sharpie and scrap piece of paper to sign. So this wasn’t The Hierophant all along, not the real one, not a reasonable facsimile… or so it seemed.
As Hide signed the paper, he asked, “So… how do I get back home?”
The Hierophant smiles widely, revealing missing teeth. “You wake up.”
Wake up
W ak e u p
WAK E U P
W
a
K
e
U
p
Hide gasped as he sat back up. He was seated on the slide and looked around groggily. Breathing heavily, he slowly rose to his feet and continued to look around. Perhaps for any trace of The Hierophant? Or was that a dream? But… it seemed so real.
He started to walk away from the playground, but he felt something strange from behind his belt. He fished underneath for a moment, only to pull out the Keys to Heaven with a note attached:
In case you change your mind
Hide gripped the keys in his hand and looked at them for some time… before tossing them away as far as he could.
“The only key I need is for home.” Hide said as he jogged away to reunite with his manager.
x 2
x 2
