The Man Among Men

The lights were hot, the floors dirty and the ring was ripe with sweat and blood and the heavy odors of men. The sounds of people talking, shouting and the hawkers crying their wares, "Get your programs here!" "Oi get yer beer! Cold beer!" could be heard backstage but were nothing more than a minor distraction. In the next few minutes his manager would be here, hat pulled low over one eye, large Cuban cigar shoved between rotten teeth and an voice still thick with Yorkshire. But even that was minor. Tonight was the night. Tonight he would take it all; his strength against the strength of another man, at stake: the champion of all champions.

Not that he was worried. How could he be when he alone, out of hundreds before him, had beaten - the Master: the Gran Hatena. His master, his teacher, Great Gama himself, had passed on his teachings, his philosophy, his wisdom. No lesser man could beat him, and no lesser man would beat his student - no, his successor.

Joachim stood as his manager entered, his blue eyes wide with excitement.

"Joey, you ready for this? You ready to show these American bums what true English muscle can do?" the manager asked, his teetch still clamped hard on the cigar.

Joachim nodded, ignoring the "English muscle" remark, after all, his manager didn't know the truth. He flexed for a moment, feeling the strength of his muscles rippling as he did so. He felt his arm with his own fingers and smiled, just a little. Only he knew what damage this arm could do - had in fact done, in the defense of their world. Only he knew, as did his companions, how hard he had fought to save their world from the machinations of villany; how much sweat and blood had gone into saving the world. But that was a hero's job, world saving - and Joachim was a hero. A super hero.

With a smile, then a laugh, he strode purposefully toward the square circle and his destiny: the heavy weight wrestling championship of the world.