Fergal vs. The World

Even with the tinges of darkness, the day shone brightly in Fergal O’Reilly’s eyes.

Indeed and in fact, he had come to see the silver linings much easier this way.

His usual morning was underway, and it involved the kind of things other people would see as punishment. A five mile run, followed by two hours of lifting weights and, a newish addition to the routine, that odd cross training stuff with the tires and the ropes and all.

He himself didn’t quite grasp it, but it did seem to help with his quickness and stamina in the ring, so there it was in his routine now.

Then there was the best part of match nights: The visualization, the build in his mind of his time in the ring. He had gotten the message that he was facing Cedric Davidson tonight. Oh, I’m sorry, he told himself, the “Star Child” Drew Morton.

No matter what they called him (and how much Ceddy hated it), Cedric was someone Fergal came up with, grew to respect, and even, as friendships go in this world, call a friend.

He thought, at least, it would be time for the pleasant visualization. Instead, the visitor wanted to have a word.

The visitor went by many names, many more forgotten in the centuries of its existence, its hosts often not knowing what to call it before they met their ends, usually at their own hands.

Fergal was determined that would not be him. So, he didn’t want to dignify it with a name. He even fooled himself, at times, that he was in more control than most.

Something the visitor was quick to prove untrue.

The visitor began to assert this by speaking to Fergal in a tongue both foreign and familiar, the glee it took in not being understood very clear in its inflection.

“Try again, fool,” Fergal snapped, “This time in English.”

“You, a proud son of Eire,” the visitor growled, “not knowing Gaelic. You should hang your head in shame.”

“Get on with it, you. I have a match tonight.”

“Ah, yes. How is Cedric doing these days? You know he’s going to quit soon, right? Do you really want to put your life in his hands?”

“There’s few I trust more. What do you want?”

“Before you go out and do your little song and dance act in your underwear, there’s a task I need you to accomplish. And you need to come with me to do it.”

“You must be joking,” Fergal said, glad he had the foresight to be in his room and away from eyes, “I told you--”

Fergal’s body went limp, his eyes turning fully black in the time before they closed, and he would later be happy he decided to sit on his bed.

He wished he could say he was surprised what he awoke to, but for Fergal, this was all too familiar to him now.

In front of him stood the full impersonation of the visitor. It stood a good foot taller than Fergal’s five foot ten, was charcoal gray in color, except around its eyes and mouth, where those openings should have been were pools of lava that moved and blinked along with the creature’s words and movements.

Fergal, long past intimidation at the sight, stood up, jutted out his jaw and stared right into the visitor’s lava.

“I feel you need a reminder of my power, of my hold on you. A big decision is coming, and I need you to make the right one.” The visitor, as it often did, decided now was a good time to vomit out some lava at his host. Fergal, as he always did, evaded it easily.

“You really need some new material, fool. How old are you? And the best you can come up with is to spit at me like a little chi--”

A massive hand shot out, grabbing Fergal around the throat and lifting him up to eye level. This, Fergal had to admit, was a surprise.

“You know the words. And you know the only thing keeping me from snuffing you out like a candle here and now.” The creature brought Fergal closer to its face, he could smell the smoky afterburn of its face. “I think we both need a reminder before things...go too far.”

“‘Only by death shall this end,’” Fergal choked out, “‘but not by thy hand.’”

The creature seemed to get some perverse thrill out of this, dropping Fergal hard to the ground and moaning pleasantly. 

“The rules make no sense, yet it means I get to, literally, wear someone down to death. But, heed me, O’Reilly. You’d be surprised what one can live through. And we haven’t even begun to dance yet. I suppose you know this mortal.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, a picture appeared out of thin air in front of Fergal. A woman, tall and blonde, muscular with the years of training their shared craft required. A legend, a trailblazer. Even in this circumstance, it was hard not to be a little in awe, but the human knew he had to focus on the question at hand.

“Daria Chandler,” Fergal replied.

“Another one of your ridiculous Spandex play actors, I assume. I’m sure she has some equally stupid moniker like you do.”

With a snort, Fergal responded, “I wish mine was half as good as hers. ‘The Wrecking Ball Angel.’”

“Whatever,” the creature said, while waving the picture of Chandler away like a puff of smoke. “She’s going to come searching for you, and you are going to tell her no.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been on either of the big company’s radar, so why would Daria Chandler be looking for me?”

“As usual, fool, I have no regard for what you call a career. It has little to do with your job, and more to do with what someone is sending her to do. Someone thinks they can help set the world right, at least to their version of right. And you, no matter what, are going to tell her no.”

“You know, you could’ve come to me after the match tonight for this bollocks, fool,” Fergal said, “There’s very little that Daria Chandler can offer me that I would refuse. Outside of a contract killing--”

This time, Fergal was ready for the choke lift. His hands, fast from so much training, reached out in a flash, grasping the middle finger with one hand while pushing a palm flat against the huge thumb with the other.

“Oh, what a shame,” he grunted, trying to keep the immense effort to himself, “now you have no more surprises.”

A chuckle from the creature sent a chill down Fergal’s spine, then something rose up from the ground and lifted him up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten up to the creature’s face.

“I admire your fight, O’Reilly, I really do. But, like the hundreds I have inhabited before, eventually you will lose. I have nothing further for you now, but heed my words: The pain has just begun for you if you defy me.”

A giant hand covered Fergal’s face, his eyes darkened to black again, and he was gone.

Back to his senses, it was night now. Fergal scrambled to find his phone. He was just in time to head to the show, but he had to leave right then.

The morning, which would sap the normal person of all strength, had no effect compared to a short trip to the visitor’s world. All he wanted to do was sleep now.

What overcame that was the light of his world: the wrestling ring.

“I’m done, Fergal.”

Yet another unpleasant non-surprise, just as Fergal got to the building. By his standards, he was very late, and there wasn’t much time to plan the match, and, now even worse than that, the visitor was right. Cedric Davidson was quitting.

“Look, man, I have too much respect for you to go through the motions, and you deserve

better. I don’t want to put you at risk by being distracted, and I think it’s time to go to plan B.”

It was true. Fergal had seen it too many times. Someone was unhappy with their position in the card, someone was ready to call it a career, someone had a personal issue with their opponent that just had to be settled in a violent and unprofessional way right then, and someone got hurt. Seriously hurt.

So, against his better sense, seeing something in Cedric, Fergal decided a leap of faith was in order.

It was time for his own Plan B.

“You and I, we’ve gone round and round before we even got here. Remember that little place in Kansas? That night, I wanted to quit, and that was before I got my pay that night.”

Cedric, despite his mood, smiled. That night, that was a great memory of dues paying.

“Look, just because you were too good for the two hot dogs and cola--”

“The damn things were wrinkled and green, Ced! And that was all we were getting, after going through two tables and your God-awful chair work. What did you say to me that night?”

The younger man groaned, started to protest, but Fergal pushed the point. “No, damn it, what did you tell me that night?”

“‘You aren’t going to be working for crap pay for long. You’re too good for this.’”

“So, look here. Tonight ain’t exactly main event in New York, I get it. But you’ve got many things going for you. You’ve got a great look, the crowds love you, you’re a better athlete than most of us.” Fergal stopped to look away and modestly cough.

“Are you saying you’re more athletic than me?”

“If the boot fits, fella. Anyway, you ain’t working for two moldy hot dogs exactly, and you get to be in the ring with a guy who’s got your back and is damn good at his job. Bigger things are coming.”

Cedric gave another groan, and Fergal knew he was wearing his friend down.

“I know it. With the right push, at the right time--”

“Fine, fine. I’ll go out there, but I don’t know how much more I can take. Especially if you’re going to stomp on my chest.”

“Bro, I’ve gotta stomp on your chest.”

Cedric was in, but that left no time to plan a match. Fergal would have to think of something. And the visitor was in his ear.

Looks like you won’t have to worry about offing yourself. Star Child gonna drop you on your head. Star Child gonna break you, end you. All because you think he loves this crappy business like you do, somewhere deep down.

Let me in. I can protect you. I can…

Fergal looked in a nearby glass case, saw his eyes darken. Someone came around a corner, he looked up, and when they locked eyes, the young woman went running. Closing his eyes, he began to fight back.

I can protect you.

“I will protect myself, fool. I am more than enough match for you! You are not going to defeat me, and there will, sooner rather than later, be nothing left of you. Do you understand me?!”

Fergal opened his eyes, and Cedric was standing in front of him, looking gobsmacked.

“Cedric, I--”

He grabbed Fergal by the back of his head, pushed his own forehead up to his, and glared into his eyes as he spoke.

“Hell yes, bring that fire! I’m ready for your ass, ring that damn bell!” With a whoop, Cedric turned around, went to the curtain separating the backstage from the ring area, hopping back and forth, then, when his music hit, he shot through the door like a human cannonball.

Fergal looked back at the glass case. His eyes were now clear.

“It’s my time. You will not defeat me.”

He stalked to the doorway, now feeling a calm he hadn’t felt all day.

Then his music hit.

The day was over. The night was now.

And the night was his.