The Lizard and the Cockroach: The Friend of my Friend is my Enemy

“People can do all kinds of things that maybe aren’t wise in hindsight because of jealousy.” - Kristen Bauer van Straten

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Fiserv Center, Milwaukee, Wisconsin…

…ReVival 71…

“Aw shit.”

Max sighs moving up the ramp of the KAISER OF THE SKY AND SPIRIT OF ARKHAM, his eyes locked on his phone. The silent panicked look on Turnbull’s face as he tries to free TAL from FLAMBERGE’s arms tells him all he needs to know. “Here we go again.”

MWK limps into his zeppelin, pocketing his phone.

“What’s afoot?” Kael’s constant shadow, Snark Darkly, follows.

Kael refrains from answering, hobbling through his airship to the boardroom. He sinks into an overwrought chair upon arrival. He takes in a deep breath before sinking his face into his hands.

Only one round into this thing and he’s already exhausted.

“Oh, come now…” a voice as dark as the table set before Max calls out to him. “It can’t be that bad.”

Max peers through his fingers as the strange shadows that refuse to retreat from the bright lights of the room. He leans up immediately, the sight of the sticky darkness unnerving him. The more he stares at it the more he sees them, thousands of eyes glittering across the roiling void.

“Uh… Darkly?”

His voice waivers, lowering his hands to stare in disbelief at the distorted shadows. Unblinking eyes shine like diamonds before blinking out of existence. A round, grinning face coalesces from the patch of shadows before it is joined by the rest of Snark Darkly.

“Snark folds awkwardly behind his back. “... whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

“No… well, yes.” mutters Max, pushing himself up in his chair, recoiling from his manager's presence. “I’ve got FLAMBERGE next in the tournament. He could be problematic.”

There is no sound of footsteps or the swish of fabric as Darkly settles into a chair, his upper torso pivoting stiffly so he can stare at Max. “Haven’t you defeated him before? We’ll just call in Green and Vale again.”

The room jolts as the zeppelin begins its ascent toward the heavens.

“It won’t be that easy. Hall was… is a functional pariah. FLAMBERGE has friends and even with the Green Vale Gangsta Murder Posse’, we’re out numbered. The boys are enthusiastic but even they’d be out of their depth in this case.”

The initial discomfort with Darkly wears off as Max slumps forward, his face betraying his fatigue. With both hands he gingerly folds his leg over the other, hissing in pain. “... and it wasn’t technically me who beat him last time. It was Wilhelm.”

Snarky tilts his head to the side like a confused mongrel.

“Ask him to help?”

“HAH-Urrrugh..”

The attempted laugh lights a fire in Max’s chest, burning up his throat. After a few agonized breaths he huffs bitterly. “If Wilhelm knew I was facing FLAMBERGE he’d probably hatch a plot to take over and teach the Frenchman how to beat me.”

“Oh!” Snark exclaims, his body jerking from side to side. “We shouldn’t do that then.”

Raising his brow, Max stares at his manager awkward movements.

“Why are you… moving like that?”

Darkly stops, looking down at himself then back at Max with a strained smile.

“I have forgotten to use my neck. I’m not used to having so many sections stacked on top of each other.” he admits before rolling his head from side to side. “Oh yes-yes, this is much better.”

“Glad to help.”

Darkly doesn’t register it but the words are heavy with disingenuous spittle. A dramatic sigh wheezes from Max’s limbs. “If only I could understand that lizard brain of his.”

“Understand his lizard brain?” Snark perks up. “That we might be able to do but we'll have to go back to Arkham…”

Max’s brow furrows at Snark’s words. Darkness creeps into the boardroom as Snark grins ominously at his client.

“To Miskatonic University.” 

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Orne Library, Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts…

…A few days later…

Though Miskatonic University was known for many things, such as being one of the few schools to offer classes on the Occult and Parascience studies, it was the Orne Library that it was most infamous for.

Though the public collection of the library was vast, it was the “Rare Books and Special Collections” section of the library that made this archive so special. Housed in a special caged section of the library, this collection was considered too dangerous for public consumption. As such viewing them was restricted to staff after approval by the library’s director, Doctor Millicent Armitage.

“No-one is allowed back there.”

The strained, pleading voice of a young library disturbs the otherwise quiet Orne Library.

“Oh fiddlefaps to that, do you know who I am?” Max oozes with political charm. Leaning across the front desk, his smile is all teeth and gums. “I’m Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, candidate for mayor!””

The librarian, a young woman in her mid-twenties, stares at Max from behind a pair of double thick glasses. Massive eyes, magnified by the heavy spectacles, flicker up and down Max’s face.

“Still can’t let you in.”

“Maximillian. Wilhelm. Ka-”

“Listen, I don’t care what our name is, nobody gets access to the Rare and Special Collections section. I don’t even have access.”

Max’s smile melts into a sour frown.

“Well who the hell does, then?”

The librarian draws in a breath, preparing to answer when her eyes dart over Max’s shoulder.

“The Orne Library Director and Head Librarian.” a cold, female voice stabs into Max’s head like an ice pick. “Mister Maximillian. Wilhelm. Kael.”

Turning, Max sees the matriarch of the Armitage Family and the most powerful individual in all of Arkham, arguably all of Miskatonic County. She is dressed in a matronly black and white pants-suit, a Miskatonic pin glimmering on her lapel.

“I’m Doctor Millicent Armitage, so glad to finally meet you.” Millicent continues, her crystal clear voice ringing out like a silver bell.

Extending his hand out to her, she merely peers down at it inquisitively, a single soft “Huh” escaping her lips. She offers an icy, empty smile Millicent folds her hands at her waist, gliding elegantly past Max. She makes her way toward the restricted section.

Max peers at his hand as she passes, rubbing his fingers together awkwardly before turning to follow her.

“Yes, a pleasure I’m sure.” he huffs, turning to follow her. “... I’m not here for a social call though. There is a book in your collection and I need it for… uh, research purposes.”

Her head cants slightly, the only acknowledgement she offers.

“Oh yes, but of course. And which of the numerous tomes in our illustrious collection will you be reading?”

“Not reading, at least not here. I need to take it with me, back to my estate on the Eastern side of Arkham.”

Reaching the iron gates leading into the Rare and Special Collections, the doctor turns, a condescending smile painted neatly on the otherwise emotionally neutral pallet. She lifts a thin hand, gesturing toward the darkened section of the library.

“Taking home, naturally. I shouldn’t have expected anything less. What is the title of the book you are looking for?”

A wide smile stretches across his face, this whole thing going much better than he was expecting. “Oh, I believe the name of the book in question is the Kyn’Sadk-Lrar Manuscript.”

The doctor’s eyes close as she nods to herself, her smile puckering as though she had tasted something bitter.

“Ah yes, the Kyn’Sadk-Lrar Manuscript. Written in 1755 by an insane monk of the Cistercian Order named Brother Lézard. He claimed to receive instructions on how to hear the Divine Truth. Over the course of five days, he ritualistically mutilated himself. On the fifth day, blind, mute, deaf and his nose removed, his fellow monks peeled his flesh off. On the sixth day, he wrote seven grimoires supposedly revealing the Divine Truth inked in his own blood, finally succumbing to his injuries. Of the seven grimoires Lézard supposedly wrote, only one remains. Our copy.”

About half way through Millicent’s exposition, Max zones out. He’s staring at her face, watching her lips move with no interest to her words. His only focus is Darkly’s promise that this book could give the edge he needs to keep his neck, defeat FLAMBERGE and move one step closer to the love of his life…

And victory in the Almasy.

“Yup, that’s the one!” He quickly responds when he notices her silence.

She nods, her brow arching in mild amusement.

“Well that’s it, right over there.” Turning back toward the darkened room she extends an index finger toward a shelf on the far side of the partitioned section of the library. “And, so long as it's in my power, this is as close to it as you’re ever going to get, Maximillian. Wilhelm. Kael.”

Max’s smile twists into a sneer. He’s about to bark something snide and hurtful when he feels two pairs of hands clamping down on his arms. Forced down to his knees, he catches the scent of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. He sees the flash of a badge before feeling Millicent’s cold hands grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“You think you’re clever, Kael? You think your little campaign has gone unnoticed? I should have you taken out into the woods and shot but something tells me that wouldn’t stick. So I’m going to do the next best thing.”

She releases his head, looming above him with an imperious hatred gleaming in her eyes.

“I’m going to embarrass you publicly. You see, I have also entered my candidacy for Mayor, running directly against you. And once I’ve defeated you in the eyes of the public, I am going to destroy you on a personal level and wipe every last disease ridden trace of your family from this… my City, forever.”

She steps back, her hands clasping together at her waist with a tight, professional smile once again finding its perch upon her lips.

“I’ve arranged a ride home for you, you of all people know how treacherous it can be, wandering the outskirts of Arkham.” Her voice rings out sarcastically. “Sheriff Mason, he’s all yours.”

“Ma’am.”

They are the last words he hears before Sheriff Mason drives the butt of a pistol into the back of Max’s head, dropping him into unconsciousness. The two deputies holding Max drag him from the library followed by the swaggering sheriff.

Millicent watches with that imperious gaze as her unwanted guest is removed. She makes her way back to the front desk, pausing for a moment. Her hand touches the black diamond hanging from her neck, an unexpected flutter of concern clawing at the back of her mind.

Turning, she scans the darkened forbidden section with her eyes. Satisfied after a few scrutinizing passes she shakes the feeling off, returning to her original course.

The stillness of the library is disturbed as a single glittering eye opens up in the stifling darkness. Like the stars spreading across the sky, dozens then hundreds and thousands of little pinpricks of light flicker into existence creating a constellation of Snark Darkly.

“...I can’t lose…”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Kael Estate, Arkham, Massachusetts…

…Two Hours Later… 

“Next time, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

Benton Mason, Sheriff of Arkham, head of the Mason Family and Doctor Millicent Armitage’s personal enforcer. Aged by cheap whiskey, cigarettes and a general sour disposition, his fists were as calloused as his soul.

Right eye swollen shut, Max looks up at the Sheriff.

“Eat shit, Bento-box.”

The words gurgle up from Max’s throat.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Benton barks, sending the heel of his boot into Max’s temple.

White hot pain explodes from the side of Max’s face. His head crashes into hot stone gravel. He feels the steel toed boot of his tormentor land square into his ribs, driving the air from his lungs.

A pathetic yelp that jumps from Max’s cracked lips as he curls himself into the fetal position.

He hears the sound of the sheriff’s heavy boots stomp to his truck, registering him getting in with his deputies before roaring away.

Body riddled with pain and injuries, Max lets his mind drift from this worldly suffering. Time passes, the sun slips across the sky and scavenging birds begin to circle..

“Max?”

He hears his name managing a low groan.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?!”

Sutler’s voice and the soft crunch of gravel as he rushed to Max slowly roused him. Strong hands find their way under Max’s arms, hoisting him up. Unable to support himself. Kael leans against Sutler.

“Help! Somebody help!” Sutler cries out as he helps his father toward the Kael Estate. There is an unusual desperation in his pleading out at the lonely estate.

“Oh dear. What happened?”

The voice of Snark Darkly, smooth and rough as crushed velvet buried in sand, pours over Sutler and Max.

“... Darkly?”

The words drip weakly from Max’s lips as Sutler turns to see Max’s manager moving up the drive way, an ancient leather bound book held in both hands.

“Where the fuck were you?! What the fuck happened to my dad!?” Sutler shouts.

Max’s manager pauses, his round face bisected by that cartoonish smile. “Why do you suddenly care about your father? A few weeks ago you accosted him and said some pretty hurtful things.”

A pervasive silence falls over them, only Max’s ragged breaths reminded the two he is there. Sutler turns back toward the house, dismissing Darkly’s question.

“I don’t owe you any answers, Darkly.” Sutler huffs. “Just help my dad.”

The smile doesn’t leave Snark’s face as he follows. His eyes swivel down to the book he holds, something ominous flickering behind his expression.

“...I have just the medicine…”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Kael Estate, Arkham, Massachusetts…

…a few minutes later… 

“Is he going to be okay?”

There was deep concern in Chloe’s voice as she stared at her adopted father.

“Dear sweet child…” Darkly purrs, kneeling down to meet her eyes. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure your father will…”

He pauses, searching for the words.

“... be at the next ReVival show, for certain.”

The darkness around Chloe dissipates at Darkly’s reassurance, a cheerful smile replacing a quivering frown.

“Thank you!”

Chloe skips away into the bowels of the Kael Estate. Darkly stands turning his attention back to Max.

Sutler had eased Max into a chair in the living room where the bloodied PRIME wrestler still lay.

“I’ll get some bandages and clean up these injuries.” the Son of Scions sighs. There isn’t rage in his eyes or even annoyance. Just… pity.

As he leaves the room, Darkly sweeps toward Max, the shadows of the room warping and shifting, fearful of Snark’s approach. He drops the grimoire into his client's lap. “Max… the answer to your desire… to know FLAMBERGE, sits before you. A word of warning, however. What you desire may not be what you discover.”

Max weakly lifts his head to look at Snark before his head droops back to the book. He hesitates, fear clutching at his heart as he considers Darkly’s words.

The Almasy drifts back into his mind. Cecilworth. FLAMBERGE.

“I… I must know… I must win.”

Trembling fingers grip the leathery cover of the tome pulling it open.

He feels a chill run up his spine as he feels the air grow cold. His eyes flicker up from the book as he suddenly finds himself surrounded in darkness. No Snark Darkly. No Sutler or Chloe. Not even a room, just a vast void and the chair he was sitting in. 

“...what the fuck.”

Really? You were this desperate?

You just read from an ancient, evil book.  A very stupid move, but then you don’t really know any other kind.

“Uh. Hello?”

You ask, your own biblical ignorance having put you in danger.

You claim you want to understand FLAMBERGE? We both know that’s not true. Deep down you know that’s not true. 

“Wait, wait, wait, what the hell is going on?”

Fear washes over you as you begin to realize the depth of your mistake. You didn’t stop to think of the consequences, something that’s haunted you your entire life. So quick to act, so shorted sighted. Now you’re here, with me, seeking some kind of truth.

“Who are you?!”

Panic strips any sense of dignity from your voice as you search for the source of your current distress. Of course you can’t see me, I’m not just off camera or hiding in the margins. I’m much, much closer.

“What is your name?”

Max’s desperate whisper amuses me. My name? I’ve gone by many names over many years. Villain, hero. Monster and savior. Names are unimportant here. Why you are here is so much more interesting.

“I know why I’m here! Darkly promised the key to understanding FLAMBERGE was in this book, and now I’m just listening to some shitty fucking voice try to tell me my own business! Fuck you, buddy, I get enough of this on Jabber!”

Oh the petulance and conceit in your words as you scream them into the void. Your impotent rage is an indictment of the truth. You don’t want to understand FLAMBERGE because of the Almasy. You want to know why Cecilworth chose him to be his best friend. 

What? No reply? No witty report or half-assed attempt to change the subject, or feign ignorance?

You’re a jealous cunt, Max. You want to know FLAMBERGE so you can figure out what appeals to Cecilworth. Maybe you want to defeat him in the Almasy because of your silly obsession with proving yourself to Farthington, sure.

But you’re worried that FLAMBERGE is ultimately going to steal Cecilworth from you.

After all, why would he? He’s younger, more handsome, exotic, more in line with Cecilworth’s own mindset. They’ve even proven themselves as a viable tag team.

 

Their stable has lasted longer than any group you ever were in with Cecilworth.

You’re so pathetic.

So weak.

Buried six feet under your own flaws and failings.

You’ll never win.

But maybe… maybe if you let me take over.

I could win this whole thing for us.

Just… give up.

…give up…

GIVE UP

“MAX?!”

Max’s eyes snap open, burning, his body wracked with pain. Panic lashes at his chest causing him to flail his arms wildly.

The heavy grimoire falls from his lap, slamming shut with a resounding thud. Kael’s wild eyes scan his surroundings, memories from the void fresh in his mind..

“What the fuck is going on!?” he screams.

CRACK!

Reality is jolted into focus as he feels the hand of his son come crashing down across his face with a hard slap.

He sees them, Chloe and Sutler, staring at him with concern in their eyes.

“You’ve been staring at the book for almost twelve hours…”

The words hit Max like a wave threatening to pull him back down into madness.

“Are… are you okay?” Chloe asks.

“My eyes are burning… and my body…” he pauses, his hands moving over his earlier injuries only to realize they’ve vanished. Even the swelling on his brow has vanished. “... what the hell? I… I think I’m fine actually. Except my eyes burn.”

Rubbing his eyes, he stands on wobbly legs.

“... about your eyes.” Sutler begins.

“What about my eyes?” hisses MWK, stumbling away from the chair toward a mirror set along the wall.

As he takes in his reflection, he gasps.

A pair of vibrant green eyes stare back at him.

“I got them…”

Then memories from inside the book flood his mind, a faint smile touching his lips. This is soon joined by a low chuckle, the green flashing an unpleasant opalescent.

“...jealous eyes…”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Here we go again, FLAMBO.

I used to think I hated you.

I hate a lot of people after all. 

 

But recently I’ve looked inward and seen the truth, my froggy Frenchman. 

 

The truth is I don’t hate you.

No, I’m actually fairly indifferent to you, Necktaker. 

Who am I to throw shade at a mentally unstable sociopath?

 

The last time we faced each other I wasn’t quite myself if we’re being honest. 

 

Wilhelm is a hell of an opponent.

But I’m a horse of a different color. 

And as I’ve come to realize that shade is green.

 

You have something that I want, that I desire more than life itself.

 

You’ve taken my best friend and made him your own.

Sure I was dead but what’s the excuse now? 

Your friendship has turned me basilisk green with envy. 

 

What’s so special about you, FLAMBERGE, that drew Cecilworth to you?

 

Last year Wilhelm defeated you to get to Cecilworth, to kill him.

This year I will defeat you to get Cecilworth, to prove myself to him.

 And I may not be able to destroy your relationship with him.

 

But I can destroy you.

 

Tata.