“Lord Kael! Lord Kael!”
The shrill and impatient voice of Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose cut through the air as the costumed Herald of Maximillian Kael came screaming into the office of the Lord of Kaelsalvania. Max was seated behind his desk with his blue eye fixed upon the screen before him where he had been carrying out a threat assessment with his lawyers, Fartharder and Shitemoore. Max lifted his head to stare at the young man who seemed winded, bent over his knees as he held his cellphone up.
“..excuse me.” Max grunted to the two men on his screen as he fixed his gaze on Bentley. “..yes? What is it, Herald?”
“I.. I.. I succeeded in eliminating one of your opponents for War Games! The girl with the Emmf name?” Bentley’s voice was strained as he gulped in deep breaths of air. He wasn’t a runner, he was a Farthington, even if in part, and that meant he generally didn’t have to exert himself much. “..she.. She just posted a gif on Twitter where she accepted the terms of her surrender!”
Max stared at the young man for a moment then looked back down at the screen in front of him. Biting his lip he scratched his chin and thought about what he had just learned for a moment.
“Fartharder, Shitemoore, I’ll give you a call back about Halitosis, my young ward brings me news.” The Prime Minister of Maxopotamia grunted and cut the line before either man could reply to him. He straightened up in his chair and returned his gaze toward the young Herald that stood before him. “..explain how you managed to get someone to give up their War Games position?”
“Well, see, I was running your twitter page just like you told me and I was sharing all the cool stuff you were known for when this EMF person butted in and, well, I had seen your opponents for War Games listed on the wall and so I knew who this person was and see, because I knew who this person was, I offered her the chance to back out and she posted a gif that said Sure, Jan which, I mean, that’s an affirmation right!? So she backed out!” The Herald of Maximillian Kael cooed loudly as he waved his phone in Max’s face. Max blinked, or perhaps winked, at the young man, sizing him up before he slowly shook his head.
“Are you certain she wasn’t just being coy with you? Like, sarcasm? Perhaps a little facetious in her delivery? I’ve never met her personally but.. Well.. I just doubt that she is the type of person who just gives up the ghost online, you know?” Max said in a dubious tone as he stared down his herald.
“But…but…BUT I WON!” Bentley screeches as he looks back down at his phone. “I beat her and I beat Eric Dane! I won the internet fights over Twitter! She said Sure with a gif! That counts! WE.. We need to take her to Wrestling Court! This Won’t STAND! I WON! I WON!”
Max’s eye widens as the young man’s face flushes bright red, his face distorted into a grotesque expression of outrage. In his rage the young man turns and throws his phone against the wall where it explodes into expensive little bits of broken technology. The act causes Max to draw up to his feet quickly, a snarl slipping over his own lips as he witnesses the temper tantrum being thrown by his young Herald. Lifting his left hand he draws a pause to his Heralds screaming before beckoning him closer. With childlike curiosity the younger man prances over like an obedient, if inbred, chihuahua, water eyes wide, jaw slacked slightly.
With the speed and ferocity of a man who had learned first hand how cruel and belittling a slap can be Max sent his weathered palm across the young man’s face. Not a bitch slap, not a wake the fuck up slap, not even a 1950ies esque this is better then me punching you slap. A bitter, harsh, cruel slap aimed at the side of the boy’s face rather then his cheek, a full on open hand crash, the kind that knocks your spit out and makes you feel like a lonely little boy at the mercy Uncle Happy Hands. The young Farthington-Primrose is ill prepared for it as it sends him sailing over the corner of the desk and crashing down to the ground in a pile of fancy garb and waifish youth. Max slowly rises from his chair, his blue eye almost glowing with malice as he peers down over the boy whose pale face is dazed with pain and surprise, Max’s handprint already forming the purple red of a welt.
“Never. Ever. Raise your voice to me again.” Max said in a close to a Minister voice as one gets without stepping over the line. “Never interrupt me again.. I don’t care what you are doing. Fuck around on my Social Media, get me some attention, tell people whatever.. Keep the world outside of my office occupied. I have more important.. More.. Visions to see done. You know what is happening this week, correct?”
Max spit the words down at Bentley through clenched, dagger like metal teeth giving him a particularly ferocious appearance.
“Y..yes, mi’Lord! You.. You challenge Halitosis for his High Octane World Championship where.. Where in you shall surely succeed!” The spineless Farthington-Primrose managed to whimper out as his hands cradled his face, tears welling up in his eyes.
The expression of the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia softened from its harshness as he stared down at his pathetic Herald. Part of him felt bad but he couldn’t go around looking like he had feelings like that. Still, maybe the slap had done what it needed to do and the trembling mass of Heraldry and awkward human being wouldn’t tempt Max to strike him again.
“Yes.. well. .that’s the goal. And I plan on reaching that goal but as we talked about earlier I will need time to plan it out. I’ve had enough ring experience, defeating Halitosis will require a more.. Thoughtful approach… you know..” Max stared down at the young man with a thoughtful expression before reaching down a hand to help him to his feet. “I do think I have a task for you to carry out on Reloaded. Beyond just being my herald I.. I think you might have an even more important use. Yes.. yes let me think about it. Until then..”
The young Herald of Max Kael quickly grabbed Max’s hand accepting his assistance back up to his feet with a fevered expression of joy at being given a potential assignment.
“Yes? Yes-yes, what can I do? You want me to get a tire iron and beat Halitosis with it? What about a gun!? Uncle Danforth Agusta Primrose says shooting someone in the head is the only sure way to make sure they stay down, right in the base of the skull, super fast! I’ll blame it on a crackhead and we’ll pay off the local sheriff’s office!” Herald Bentley said as his excitement grew once again, that malicious, cruel glint shimmering in his wild blue eyes as his hair tousled from side to side. He even made mock gunshot motions as his mouth began a drool filled grin. Max raised his eyebrow again grabbed the young man by the shoulder.
“While I like your enthusiasm I can tell you that blaming murder on hobos isn’t just completely viable but that doesn’t mean we should do it. That kind of tragedy actually drives the company I’m trying to kill, there is a reason Dirk Dickwood calls it a shitty death match company. We need to think the opposite.. We need to think about perfectly viable means of eliminating the competition in the ring, where it looks legit and we can’t be sued.” Max says in his best Father Knows Best voice. “With Halitosis I need to beat him in the ring, possibly breaking his shoulder or leg in the process, so he has to leave the company for a few months.”
“..but he might come back? I don’t understand..” The dim witted Bentley squawked out with a stupified stare.
“He he’ll definitely come back at some point buuuuut..” Max let a grin crawl over his face as knife like roses of silvery teeth reflect the Farthington-Primrose’s dumbstruck expression back at him. “..if there is no company for him to come back to, who cares? See, I’ll slowly and methodically kill this company’s fan base when all the people they want to cheer for are gone.. And all that’s left are random pieces of shit nobody gives a fuck about. And with you…. Oh I have plans for you.. Heh-heh..”
“..heh-hah!” retorts Bentley.
“AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” Max lets out one last throating, villainous laugh before he covers Bentley’s mouth right as the youthful young fancy lad was drawing in a deep breath to follow up. “Ok, that’s enough, breath… and breath..”
Bentley begins taking in controlled breaths as he managed to work himself down from his hysteria, joining Max in laughing that had, itself, falling a bit out of control. Once the Herald had regained his composure Max released his grip and made a dismissive gesture toward him.
“Very good then, leave me now. I have things to deal with on my end of the world and, as I said earlier, and entire federation to plan the destruction of. So off with you, I’ll fill you in on the rest of my plan and your role within it later. For now.. Just.. do whatever you’ve been doing, I am sure they love you on twitter, everybody loves everybody on twitter and is super supportive of each other, or so Michael tells me.” Max said as he turned his back and settled into the chair behind his desk once again.
“As you wish, Lord Maximillian Kael, First of your Name! Long May You Maim!” Bentley screeches before offering a weak limped salute into a curtsy before backing out of the room. The sound of his feet skipping merrily across the floor slowly faded away as Max was left with his own thoughts once again.
“Weird fucking kid, nice though.” He mutters to himself as he reflected on the young lad. In many ways he reminded him of himself when he was younger, vicious, loud, obnoxious. Shame he was a little bitch. Maybe Max would be able to beat that out of him though, miracles do happen.
Turning his blue eye toward the computer monitor in front of him Max toggled it out of sleep mode and stared at the desktop. He knew he had to call back Fartharder and Shitemoore to finish his tactical briefing on Halitosis but there was little more to discuss. The man had beaten Max fair and square because, just as Max had done in recent history in OCW, he underestimated what he was up against. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again, not so close to his previous fuck ups.
His mind replayed their previous encounter as he focused on his computer once again, the mouse hovering over the Skype icon. It was the smart thing to do, the right thing to do but..
His computer let loose a little chim, a little ding of excitement as his step-brother, Michael Lee Best’s name popped up in the corner of his screen. He was playing Dota Underlord. He was OCW Champion, the Craze Champion, had just had his world rocked in a certain sense of the words on Monday and here he was playing Dota Underlord like it was no thing.
“..maybe one match..” Max rationalized out loud to himself. “Or two. They go fast and.. And I really think I’m getting the hang of it..”
The mouse quickly slithered away from the responsibilities of Skype and his upcoming match toward the time wasting game that had proved easy to learn but difficult to quit. The sound of metal grinding on metal filled the back of his ears as he ground his metal teeth together, a nervous habit he had formed since having the teeth installed. The gums would often bleed when he did this and he could taste the coppery taste of his vita dripping down onto his tongue. It wasn’t completely undesirable, the taste of blood had recently become something he hadn’t necessarily disliked.
He wondered for a moment if that made him strange..
The moment passed quickly as he rationed that someone who had been through all he had been through and done all he did could be loads more messed up and enjoying the taste of blood, even human blood, just made him a more capable Twilight fan, something he reminded himself never to tell Michael.
He clicked on the icon for Dota Underlords as he let his mind abandoned the current situation he found himself in. He’d escape for a few hours into the game, he told himself, and return to a world where he was in a must win situation with Halitosis. He had to beat the man for his plan, as it were, to be effective. He HAD to be HOW World Champion.. It was the key to tearing down HOW and more importantly..
He needed to prove to himself he deserved to be in the eMpire.
He needed to prove that he still had what it took to be the Best.
He needed to prove that he was still Maximillian Kael, First Of His Name, Long May He Maim.