Smash! His fist hammered into the punching bag. Crack! Followed by a knee. Terry had been at this for hours after his most recent loss. He had finally earned enough trust from his boss to be promised a title reign. He was suppose to be the new Canadian Champion but once again right before the show plans changed and Terry was back alone in the gym.

  Terry hadn't even bothered to take off his ring gear, or facepaint. Still in his black pants, combat boots, and face painted like some demon he could give someone quite the fright if anyone was still there. "Another loss for Legion, another big L for Terry Starr." He thought.

  He swung his fist again, harder this time, the bag swaying violently under the impact. Sweat ran down his forehead, smudging the black and white paint across his face, giving his demonic visage an even more distorted, feral look. His knuckles ached, bruised from the relentless assault, but he kept going, the rhythmic pounding on the punching bag the only thing keeping his anger in check.

  “Trust,” he muttered under his breath, slamming his knee into the bag once more. “I gave them everything, and still…” He punched again, harder. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle as anger, disappointment, and exhaustion all tangled inside him.

  Terry paused, resting his forehead against the bag, his eyes closed. The empty gym around him was silent, the usual clamor of other wrestlers long gone. It was just him—just Legion—alone again. He could hear his own breath echoing in the vast space, the weight of failure pressing down on him. Every time he got close, every time it seemed like things were turning around, it was yanked away from him. He wasn’t a main eventer, not even close. He was a “big L,” destined to be the guy who makes others look good, never the one to stand on top.

  The bitterness tasted foul, thick in his throat, and he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. His gaze fixed on his own reflection in the mirror across the room. The dim light cast eerie shadows, making him look monstrous—almost as if Legion was real, glaring back at him with his demonic eyes. He hated it, and he loved it, that persona that let him be everything Terry Starr wasn't.

  “What do you want, Legion?” he whispered, eyes still locked on his reflection. The face in the mirror didn’t answer, but something stirred inside of him. The frustration, the anger—it felt different tonight. Almost alive.

  Suddenly, the air in the gym grew cold. The lights flickered, and Terry pulled away from the punching bag, his eyes narrowing. He looked around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The lights flickered again, and this time, they didn’t stop. It was almost rhythmic, like a heartbeat. An uneasy feeling settled deep in his gut.

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing through the empty gym. No answer.

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  Then, the fog started to seep in—not the typical smoke machine fog from his entrances, but something else, something thicker, darker. It pooled around his feet, swirling in unnatural patterns. Terry took a step back, his heart pounding. The fog crept up his legs, and that’s when he saw it—a shadow.

  It wasn’t his own. It was darker, more defined, almost like it had substance. Terry's eyes widened as the shadow moved, separating itself from the fog, and before him stood a figure, shrouded in darkness, its face obscured beneath a hood.

  “Who are you?” Terry demanded, his voice hoarse. He tried to sound confident, but there was an edge of fear he couldn’t shake. The figure didn’t answer at first, instead, it seemed to study him, as if peering into the deepest parts of who he was.

  Finally, the figure spoke, its voice a low whisper that somehow seemed to echo everywhere at once. “Legion.” The way the figure said the name—it wasn’t just an acknowledgment. It was a declaration, a command, almost as if the name itself held power.

  “I know what you want,” the figure continued, taking a step closer. Terry wanted to move, to back away, but his body felt frozen, like the fog had rooted him in place. “You crave the power, the recognition. To never be overlooked again. To be more than just Terry Starr.”

  Terry swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The figure knew. It always knew.

  “I can give you what you desire,” the figure whispered, extending a hand towards him. “The power of Legion is real, if you’re willing to accept it. But understand this—power always comes with a price.”

  Terry stared at the hand, his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel it—the weight of the choice before him. He could walk away now, go back to being just another guy in the locker room, forever scraping by, forever almost there. Or he could take the hand, embrace the darkness, and see just how far he could go.

  He glanced back at his reflection, at the face of Legion staring back at him. Terry took a deep breath, his fingers twitching as they moved towards the figure’s outstretched hand.

  “Anything,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’ll do anything to prove myself.”

  The figure’s lips curved into what might have been a smile, though it was impossible to see beneath the hood. “Then it begins.”

  The fog rose, swirling around Terry, engulfing him completely. The cold was overwhelming, and for a moment, there was nothing but darkness, and the sensation of falling. He closed his eyes, feeling the world shift around him, the very ground beneath him giving way.

  When he opened his eyes again, the gym was gone. He was somewhere else—an arena, in some town he had never seen. Seemed to be a local show, the crowd was hot and into the action. Legion looked around and he was on the entrance ramp. Almost as if something compelled him he made his way to the ring.

  "Its okay, its fine, just dreaming." Terry mumbled to himself. The ref was motioning for him to go back. A scowl and a fake lunge made him tumble back.

  "What are you doin?" The wrestler in the ring turned to ask him. He had his opponent down on the mat. One! Two! Three! The ref counted the victory.

  Terry walked through the ropes and squared up to the blue eyed baby face. Must be the local star, he was well built, dressed in blue and white tights with the babyface blonde buzzcut. Legion pushed him, and the man hardly moved.

  "You want a match weirdo? Ring the bell." Ding ding. The answer came for the wrestler. They both circled each other, watching for each other to make the first move.