Out of the Shadow, Into the Fire
In the world as we know it, winter has come and gone, and springtime is just beginning to show its glorious face. But where we are now, what we witness is a perpetual state of visual dismay. A season caught somewhere in the ‘tween. The sky is gray and overcast. The trees of the seemingly endless forest, withered and void of green. And all along the surface of the ground there was a rising mist, a fog that clouded the senses.
And within this seemingly endless void, there was no sound. It was a time and place of contemplation and reflection of both things that were and things that would soon be. And with no sound, it was all the more unnerving when the figure stepped through the fog, the mist parting itself as if it were its own singular entity, treating her with the respect she both desired and deserved. Clad in a drab, brown robe, hood drawn over her head, the elderly woman of endless years and knowledge, walked into the clearing where the only object was a stone stand with a book drawn closed and laying on its cold surface. She was of the Norn, one of a triad of goddesses. The keepers of all Celtic history, past and present.
She stood before the pedestal and opened the large tome to the center, allowing her fingers to 4eace down the parchment so old it threatened to wither and chip at a mere touch. On that one page was a perfect artist's rendering of a very familiar face. That of “the White Wolf” Fenris.
”I tell a story, one of a man who came from one world to another. A stranger to that which we know. A man who walked in, confident in the belief that he was destined to conquer this new world, much like he had done the one of old. And true to form, he did just that. In less than four months, he held this new world in the palm of his hand, and conquered all who crossed his path, wanting to topple him from the pinnacle of his kingdom.”
“That was then. Yet this new tale is not of the risen King, but one who stood at his side, as he had always done in life. One who watched over and cared for him, and protected the king in his own way. Despite the simple fact that the king was the dominant one of their shared bloodline.”
The wrinkled hand slid from the page of Fenris, to one of his younger brother, Aron Baltasarsson.
”Is it then time for a new King to arise…?”
Las Vegas, Nevada - February 2018
Of course you know the tale told before; the one where Kristjan Baltasarsson had come to the world of professional wrestling at Daniel J. Morgan and the rest of London Underground. And you have heard stories of the efforts between Gabriel and Odette Stevens collectively to incorporate everything Fenris knew in his MMA background to become this lethal hybrid of two worlds, and having done so quite successfully. But what about the other half of the Baltasarsson siblings, Aron? Was he content to simply sit there while his brother was inside of the ring, training with some of the very best? Because the Stevens at GO Gym ran such a rugged ship, that simply training was putting your very body on the line. Oh sure, Odette and Synn took it upon themselves to train Aron in the nuances of the business side of the sport, particularly Synn who was a record holding SCW Manager of the Year. Better for Aron to learn from experience how best to care for his brother from that standpoint while Fenris took care of business inside of the ring…
This particular day, Aron was enjoying a rare respite from his own teachings, and opted to stand at ringside while “Sxxxy” Shane Boswell and Despayre helped put Kristjan through this particular training phase. Gabriel believed it imperative for Kristjan to know how to handle opposition of varying sizes, since pro wrestling did not have restrictive weight classes like MMA did. Kristjan himself was no lightweight, weighing in at just under 210 pounds. So while Shane Boswell was considerably larger than him at 6’8” and almost 270, Despayre was smaller in stature at 5’6” and barely 160 pounds soaking wet.
And when permitted, Gabriel himself always insisted on being inside of the ring to take the lead in training, not wanting to be one of those pros that just took the paycheck and left the work for others to fulfill. Gabriel was more Kristjan’s size equal, and he was something of a technical wizard in wrestling -- magic pun be damned. Shane was a powerhouse and Despayre? While the little guy was an aerial wildcard, his style was too unique and unpredictable to have a class of its own. So between the three men, time and again, Kristjan was being taught not to adapt to different sizes, but different styles as well.
Aron watched with clear interest as Despayre made a grab for Kristjan, but Kristjan countered by dropping to his knees and taking the smaller man over with a fireman’s carry takedown. A week ago, that maneuver never would have been at the forefront of his brother’s thoughts, but that’s what a week of tutelage by the Stevens and their friends/family could do for you. It instilled a sense to both change and to adapt; just not too much. Gabriel was adamant that he did not want Kristjan’s style to change too much from his MMA experience. He was dominant during his foray in that world, so why mess with what works?
Kristjan’s advantage did not last long as he pounced on Despayre on the mat in the attempt to wrestle control, but Gabriel swore that it was harder to simply get hold of his “little brother” than it was to get a win over him. Despayre all but squirmed right out from under him and ended up in a seated position on Kristjan’s back where he grabbed two BIG handfuls of his long, sandy blonde hair and shook his head wildly while Kristjan cursed quite audibly in his native Icelandic.
What was that we were saying about a unique offense?
And Aron’s interest in the goings on inside of the ring was not lost on Gabriel who saw Aron’s rapt attention from out of the corner of his eye. Taking a respite from “officiating” this session, Gabriel turned the corner of the ring and approached Aron from the side.
“Your brother is having some trouble in there.” Gabriel observed with a light hearted manner, knowing as boisterous as Kristjan was, Aron was equally reserved. At least for now.
Aron smiled, despite himself. If he were to be perfectly honest, he was drawing a rather large amount of entertainment from watching Kristjan go through this. So much so that every time Kristjan’s angry glare shot outside of the ring, Aron was quick to smother the smile that he was experiencing.
Aron casually motioned inside of the ring, and he asked with genuine interest, “Is he always that way when he’s wrestling?”
“Despy?” Gabriel asked with a a slight frown, then nodded. “Absolutely. Kid never went through the same, formal training that I did. That your brother is. Just the way to take bumps and such. His dad and I pretty much agreed that he’s the most effective when we just turn him loose on whoever he’s in there against.”
“And that works for him?” Aron asked, to which Gabriel smiled, “Kid’s been pinned three times in eight years. You tell me.”
Aron silently mouthed, “Wow.” as Gabriel turned to continue keeping a close eye on things, in case Despayre took things too far or Kristjan lost that infamous temper of his. Again. Gabriel continued talking for Aron’s own benefit, “Kristjan is adapting. Faster than I thought. When we first started his training, he never would have gotten his hands on Despy that easily. Now…?”
Gabriel then turned his head to finally address the interest that was etched all over Aron’s face. He said, “You need to consider stepping inside of the ring yourself.”
“Me?” Aron turned, his frown not hiding the small twinkle in his eyes; one that Gabriel noted easily enough. Aron shook his head and despite himself, denied the possibility. “It’s not what I’m here for. I’m not a fighter. I never was.”
“Your brother is a natural fighter, I’ll grant you that.” Gabriel fully acknowledged. “But you don’t have to be born a fighter. You can learn. And just remember; they’re words. Titles. Fighter. Wrestler.”
Aron smiled, admitting, “Well, I’m not either, I’m afraid.”
<HR>
Reykjavík, Iceland - Years ago
”What. Happened!?” The hard demand was uttered by the patriarch of their family, Benedikt. Usually when word came about that there had been a fight at school, all in the family simply assumed that it was kristjan who had been involved. Only, not this time. Not yet.
Seven year old Aron had wandered in the front door, looking every bit the victim that he had actually been. Hair mussed. Lip split. Hair mussed up. His school uniform shirt disheveled and the sleeve torn. His trousers caked in mud from where he had been shoved onto his knees, palms scraped up. Oh sure his school, just as many the world over, ‘claimed’ that they had no tolerance for bullying. ’Claimed’ being the operative word.
“Sigurður Jónsson.” Aron sniffled, wiping his eyes with the ball of his hand. The family knew the classmate of Aron’s somewhat; he was a year or two older having been held back, and probably had their son outweighed by a good hundred pounds. Not of muscle, but over indulgence in fast food thanks to his equally over indulgent parents.The fear was all-too real for poor Aron and how his parents would react to know he had gotten into trouble at school. The one rule that mom and dad agreed on was ‘no fighting,’ no matter what the reason. A rule that Kristjan had broken more than once. But not Aron. Never Aron. His voice quivered from fear and exhaustion, as he explained “We were on the playground when he pushed me down and jumped on me and just started hitting me.”
“Did you do or say anything to him?” Benedikt asked, promp[ting a glare from his wife for such an accusation. But as a responsible father he had to ask so as not to shelf the entire blame in the corner of this Sigurður Jónsson boy.
Aron looked down, prompting his eldest sister Viktoria, to say, “Aron…?” and earning her a hush from their mother. Aron shrugged his slim shoulders and said, “He threatened me before class to let him copy my answers on the test. So i did…”
“Aron…” Eva started to reprimand him when he continued on, talking over her, “I wrote down all the wrong answers so after he turned his test in, I wrote down the right ones and turned mine in. He failed. Then he jumped me after recess.”
His parents shared a look, and even his two older, spiteful sisters shared smirks at what he had done to this bully. Only Kristjan remained stone faced, leaning against the kitchen wall and watching with close contempt.
But when the aforementioned bullying actually did take place, the school administrators, just like so many others, swept the incident under the rug and pretended that it did not happen so as not to sully their premiere reputation. It was typical. Unfortunately for the school, they were not dealing with a typical family who would accept that decision. Especially when the victim was the ‘darling’ of their family, perhaps the nicest and most innocent of them all.
Eva, their mother, took the paper from Aron’s trembling fingers and read it while Benedikt dabbed at his lips with a cool, wet cloth.
“Suspended!” She practically spat at her husband. “He gets jumped on the playground and beaten up but he gets suspended!” She shoved the paper in Bendikt’s hands to gloss over as she spun around on her foot and marched from the kitchen, their children parting quickly to give a very upset mother room. “We’ll just see about that!”
The very next day, both Benedikt and Eva marched into the office of the school administration, and the poor sod didn’t know what hit him having not expected such a kick back from his executive decision. And while Benedikt sat there silent almost the entire time and allowed an angry Eva to defend her son, neither left that office until the decision had been overturned, and Aron was allowed to return to school that following Monday.
Unfortunately, that also meant the instigator of the attack had been allowed to return as well, so as to avoid claims of favoritism. But now the teachers and officials were keeping a closer eye on things, just as they should have been doing from the very beginning. The two boys had been instructed to stay far away from the other, but that did not stop Aron’s tormentor from menacing him from afar. Sending him dirty looks and threats that were, again, ignored by the school since he was not actually DOING anything.
Aron sat by himself on a swing, downtrodden as many of his friends were avoiding him for fear of incurring the wrath of Sigurður Jónsson.
“Is that him?” if it weren;t the voice of his brother Kristjan coming from out of nowhere that startled him, then the realization that his brother was on the playground of his grade when he should have been in class most certainly would have! Aron turned to face him , wide eyed and Kristjan emphasized his question, repeating and pointing right at his brother’s tormentor.
“Is. That. Him!?” He demanded, and little Aron just nodded meekly. Kristjan stood upright at his tallest and power walked toward Sigurður ….
<HR>
“Let me guess.” Gabriel mused with a smile, having listened to the humbling story from Aron. “Kristjan got suspended that day. Didn’t he?”
“Mm.” Aron nodded as he watched Despayre roll from the ring, allowing the much larger Shane Boswell to take over the session. “Try to imagine witnessing a car wreck. That was how i felt when I was sitting there, watching K beat the hell out of that kid. And when I had to sit there and watch him explain to our parents why he had gotten suspended -- again.”
Gabriel chuckled, “I can imagine. But he’s protective. That is an older brother's prerogative.”
“Speaking from experience?” Aron asked, and Gabriel found himself admitting, “Yes and no. Back when we first started competing in AWA, I was always watching out for despy, ready to fuck anyone up who turned a dirty eye his way. Then …” He drew in a deep breath, “Then I started giving my little nutter his space and to fend for himself. Oh i still wouldn’t stand by anyone attacking him! Hell no! But … he wasn’t going to grow into his new lot in life if I kept him from evolving on his own.”
“Respect.” Aron nodded, his eyes never leaving the ring. “But can you imagine if K did that to a playground bully, what he’d do to anyone who hurt me in the ring? It wouldn’t matter if I was a willing participant or not. The first man who hit me would get seriously messed up.”
Gabriel turned aside from the ring and leaned his backside on the ring apron, folding his arms. He said, “Let me try this from another perspective. You know we’re trying to negotiate contracts for you both to sign with SCW.” It was more a statement than a fact, but Gabriel paused in wait until Aron had nodded in acknowledgement.
Gabriel went on, “If you both are signed, you would both be legally classified in your contracts as SCW Superstars. That means if the situation called for it in extreme circumstances, they could call on you to get into the ring for a match.”
Aron frowned at him, but Gabriel went on before he could utter a protest. “It doesn’t happen very often where the managers are concerned. I can only recall once or twice. But the point is, it has happened. So the question is; if the unlikely happened, would you want to be caught unprepared?”
Aron turned from him and looked back into the ring, drawing in a deep breath.
<HR>
“And that was only the beginning.”
“If you would have told me two years ago that I was going to be stepping side of the ring as an active wrestler, I probably would have laughed and asked how long ago my brother kicked you in the head. I mean, you saw how surprised and upset Fenris was when I went behind his back to announce that I had signed up for the 2020 Blast From the Past. And if you think he had a coarse reaction, then you should have heard what the rest of my family had to say!”
“You’re not a wrestler. You’re not a fighter. Trust me, there’s nothing anyone around SCW or SCU could possibly say that members of my family hadn’t said to me once my cover was blown. Supportive? Maybe not the word I would use, but I can’t fault them for showing me concern. It is what family does, although I could have lived without Kristjan calling me a daft bitch.”
Aron smiled at the recollection as he wandered down the Shambles, an old street in York, England. This was a popular attraction for both tourist and local, as several of the buildings were dated back as far as the 14th century. If one was craving fo0r a more precise visual, just look to the films in the Harry Potter franchise. It was well known that the Shambles was a key inspiration for the setting of Diagon Alley. There was a variety of good; shopping for clothes and souvenirs. Essentials. And of course some of the very best vendor food that money could buy.
Aron had used his brother’s desire for a stiff one (a drink ya perverts!) to sneak away and find a little time to himself, and process what he was currently facing. A custard-filled tart in hand, Aron strolled along the market, his eyes never lingeroing too long on any one thing as there was so much to look at and experience.
“I won’t lie and try to convince anyone out there that I’m not nervous about being in my first wrestling match -- ever. I’m no liar and if I tried, I’d make for a terrible one. So many men and women who enter this sport do so with confidence and the mindset of how they are going to just win, win, win and do so easily. I should know. My brother was one of them. Of course, it wasn’t like he wasn’t experienced at fighting someone in front of such a large crowd where every eye was on you.”
“I don’t have that same luxury. I think I can count on one hand how many physical altercations that I’ve been in my entire life and still have a few digits left over. Some people, like Kristjan, were made for fighting.”
He shook his head, pausing just long enough to take a bite of the pastry he purchased.
“I’m not one of those people. Which begs the question; why did I even sign up for this event when I had everything going against me? Because, contrary to that belief, I don’t have everything going against me. I have a brother who has been at my side since the day I came into this world, and from that day on we just witnessed, I trained beside him every step of the way. He wasn’t happy about it, and almost threatened to walk, but deep down I think he understands why i did it.”
“And why I need to do this. I knew he wasn’t going to sign up. It was like pulling teeth for everyone involved, getting him to sign up for the first one he debuted in. I have an appreciation for history, and I think it’s a great thing that SCW holds this event every year to honor the men and women who paved our way into this sport, no matter what our role.”
“I’ll be the first to admit that I was sitting right there at the computer, staring as the tag team partners were being announced by Mark and Christian, and I couldn’t have been happier that I have Mother Mavis Shepherd as my partner.”
He closed his eyes and held up a hand.
“I know, I know. A lot of people are thinking I’m nuts right now, but if the point of this event is to win it, then I had luck on my side when a proven wrestler and champion to add, was announced as my partner. Mavis and her family have been nothing short of dominant down in SCU, so I am not complaining. Her religious views are just that; her own. Our opponents…?”
Aron paused and stared into the streetlights as they started to illuminate under the deepening of the sky.
“Well, I can’t exactly say that I’m not concerned. Sierra Williams’ name is synonymous with success. Don’t let her self deprivation delude you. So she has lost a title match or two. So what? Who here can say any different. Nobody wins all the time, but when she was teamed with Lachlan Kane in the mixed tag team division? I think you would be hard pressed to find anyone other than London Underground who were more dominant in those ranks. I can’t say that this doesn’t give the other side an edge, because this is a mixed tag team tournament and Sierra is a mixed tag team expert. She’ll rise to the challenge of the singles division one day, that I’m sure of. But for now? All I can do is put my faith and confidence in my own partner to handle what I can’t.”
“Because I have someone just as dangerous across from the ring, watching me like I’m something tasty being served up on a silver platter. While I have to admit Hitamashii’s time in SCW wasn’t everything he might have wanted or expected, the man really hit his stride when he went to SCU to further his training and in-ring time. The results speak for themselves as Hitamashii is himself a former singles champion in SCU, and for anyone, man or woman, that makes you a threat and someone to take seriously. I’ve watched Japanese fighters, both in MMA and wrestling, and you would be hard pressed to find men and women more disciplined than they are. “I’m also willing to bet that when this match was announced, HItamashii thought he hit paydirt, being put in a match against a man that has literally never stepped inside of as ing before as a competitor in his life! He probably thought ‘Jackpot!’ or “Paydirt!’ or whatever other vulgar term you might use in a spot like I’m in. He can look past me all he wants, thinking me as nothing more than a morsel being served to him for a quick and easy snack. But try to remember who I am, who I have at my side and who has been there for me, training me and making certain I would be ready if and when this day ever would come. Win or lose, Hitamashii, I am no free ticket. And if Hitamashii wasn’t dangerous before, the fact that he’s now aligned with that GRIME faction makes him even more so!”
“But while I have my brother at ringside watching my back, I’m pretty certain Mavis will have her own backup with her husband watching hers. An over protective big brother. A husband watching out for his own. You can’t get finer back up than that.”
Finishing off his treat and finding the proper receptacle to dispose of his trash, Aron tucks his hands in his pockets and meanders on further down the Shambles.
“I can’t say what will come after this tournament concludes, whether I’m the winner or no. A lot depends on my partner, Mother Mavis Shepherd, and the luck of the draw in who we’re up against. I never saw myself as an active participant in this sport, and I don’t know if I’ll keep wrestling after the tournament concludes.”
“I just know that I have to do this. I have to try. Because if we don’t try, how do we know what we’re capable of in life? All we’re left with are the two most terrible words the mind can wonder…”
“What if?”
<HR>
The cover of the ancient tome of the Norn closes with the old hand resting on its cover…
The final sight is the Norn walking into the fog, her last words “Fate is what we make it.”
