A Certain Muromets Ilya: The Hesychast

My name is Ilya. I’m a heavyweight boxer, and my nickname—though I never sat on the stove—is “the Muromets.” Everything was going well until I was disqualified. My father got sick, and we need money for his treatment. But where do you get it if all you know how to do is smash other people’s faces? I went to fight in an underground arena. I thought I’d wave my fists, make some money, and ride off into the sunset. I didn’t take into account that when big money is on the line, business people don’t stop at anything. In the end, after the final bout, they sold me—half-dead—to some weirdos, and they threw me into a portal. I was dumped into another world. Into a monster-filled labyrinth built as entertainment for local freaks. And on top of that, the portal granted me the ability “Voidwalker.” What it is, I still don’t fully understand. All I know is that they named it that way not because it’s cool. But I will get out. I’ll find a way home. And then I’ll talk to the ones who set up this circus—Russian-style—no rules, no referee, and no gong for a break.