Darling, You Give Love A Kael Name

“Do you know what real love is? Sacrifice.” - Eric Qualen, Cliffhanger

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…A Trendy Coffee Shop…

…A few days before ReVival 66…

Max nervously tugs at his collar, clearing his throat.

“Enjoying Canada?” he manages to choke out. Max chides himself, what kind of question was that? Nobody enjoys Canada, not even Canadians.

Cecilworth’s eyes narrow, taking a measure of the man sitting across from him. The Financier had spent the last year under the threat of MURDER from this man. Not that long ago they’d nearly ended each other's lives in the ring.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Max flinches as Cecilworth dispatches his reply with cold indifference. Trying to ignore the hole growing in his gut, Max presses on, “So you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked to see you after, you know, the attempted murder?”

“Yeah.”

“First, I want to say that I wasn’t quite myself. It’s not an excuse, it’s just being reincarnated, mixed genetics, the curse of being a Farthington and a Kael, the voice of your genetic lineage screaming in my head, heh-hehmmer..”

He does his best to stifle the little giggle. It wasn’t funny, not by any sane standard. For Max, it was anyone’s guess if it was nerves or amusement.

The man sitting across the table from him didn’t find any of it amusing.

“ANYWAY.” Max quickly continues, “I’m not here to explain what has been. I want to talk about what is. Through all the confusion, and the chaos of the last year and a half, I’ve been struggling mentally. I was never what you’d call a stable person, but I’ve been forced to cobble myself back together, physically and mentally. It’s been… difficult at times. A lot of people died to bring forth the Max Kael who sits before you.”

There might be some pride in that last statement. Max’s lips peeling back to reveal those chrome teeth with that fabricated smile. Cecilworth remains unmoved and unimpressed.

“And the Max Kael who sits before believes… Wait, no, that’s not right.” he scoffs, wrinkling his nose as though smelling something foul. “No, I know beyond a certainty that I-”

Before he can continue he chokes, the words bunching up in his throat. Brushing the moment away, he starts over again with confidence.

“I know that I l-urrrrrrRAGH!”

He pounds his fist on the table with frustration, face flashing red with embarrassment and anger. The sudden outburst doesn’t seem to phase the Financier who calmly lifts his cup of tea out of danger.

“Sorry, I’m not sure what’s wrong. Excuse me for a moment.” The anxiety crackles through his voice as he sidebars himself.

Giving himself a peptalk, Max’s hisses quietly to himself, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Just say the words, you’ve said them in private a dozen times.”

He mouths what he intends to say three times in quick succession, before nodding to himself. With a deep breath he turns back to Cecilworth, an oversized smile showing off his chrome grill.

“I know that I love you, Cecilworth Farthington. Oh hey! I said it! Fuck yeah!”

There is more excitement in his ability to actually say the words, than what they mean. Max lifts his hand for a celebratory high-five.

He is left hanging.

“Prove it.”

Max blinks a few times before cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy as he pulls his hand back.

“What?”

Cecilworth stands, finishing off his cup of tea before casually tossing it aside. The cup crashes across the floor drawing everyone's attention to the two of them. With a tired sigh, Farthington looks down on the man who calls himself Max Kael.

“What does a thing like you know about Love? Can you prove you even know what love is? What could love even mean to you?”

Reaching into his pocket, Cecilworth produces a large bitcoin. A literal, real-life golden bitcoin. Wait, isn't bitcoin a digital currency, you ask? Well, when you’re Farthington rich, there is no financial barrier you can’t break. He tosses it out onto the table where it explodes with a metallic ringing noise, each smaller coin vanishing into the digital aether. He pays for the broken cup, and is now a part owner in the coffee shop.

“Get some answers, otherwise, don’t talk to me again.”

Then he’s gone, disappearing out into the cold Canadian Spring. Everyone's eyes moved from the exit back to Max who sat there, pale faced and uncertain.

“But… but he was supposed to…” he sputters to himself before he realizes everyone is staring at him.

Embarrassment slowly turns to realization. Where others might have seen a rejection, Max saw an opportunity.

“... I have to prove to Cecilworth that I love him. That I need to…”

A horrible, hideous, down right heinous smile stretches across his face as Max’s mind begins to scheme. 

“...Show him what Love means…”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Mayor's Office, Arkham, Massachusetts…

…Valentine's Day 2026…

Winter settles into the Miskatonic Valley with a thick blanket of snow. The endless white gives the impression of untouched purity.

This is a lie.

Arkham has a rot growing beneath the placid snow, a festering decay that has putrified all the way into the heart of the city.

Into the Mayor’s Office itself.

“Contrary to what you may believe, I do have better things to do on Valentine's day, Mr. Mayor.”

Doctor Millicent’s cold, clinical voice matches the frigid outdoors.

“Just wait!” Max snaps, lifting his hand toward Miskatonic University’s Head Librarian. “... I swear it happens at least once every hour or so.”

Rolling her eyes, Millicent sighs sarcastically, “Congratulations on your face by the way, but I really do n-”

“...Монстр…”

An otherworldly accusatory voice echoes around the spacious Mayoral Office. A deep cracking noise, like ancient oak timbers breaking, follows. Black cracks form above Max’s head, arching out like lightning made of shadow.

“There it is!” Max yelps, jumping beneath his desk.

Taking a step back Millicent’s eyes widen. She stares at the terrible obsidian cracks with awe and terror.

CRACK!

The room flashes brilliantly before returning to normal. The cracks, and the haunting voice, the impending feeling of doom are all gone. Max scans the room suspiciously before crawling back into his chair.

“How many times did you use that temporal spell!?” the Doctor shouts, fingertips rubbing the outrage from her brow.

“... what? You think that has something to do with this? I don’t know. How many times does it take to master killing a seven foot Russian ubermench?” Kael shrugs.

“... this is… those are cracks in spatial time forming around you. I can only assume that you messed with time so much that you’ve broken something. Typical. As for the voice, that’s a new one to me.” Millicent says, shaking her head in disgust. “But if there is any justice in the world, whatever it is will find you. And kill you.”

Max blinks at Millicent, faux offense splashing across his face.

“I thought you liked me, jeez. Let's put a pin in the whole spatial time haunting thing for now. City Hall needs another favor and by City Hall, I mean me.” the Mayor says, beaming with pride and excitement. This is famously a terrible combination for any version of Arthur Pleasant.

Millicent braces herself for yet another one of Max’s insane requests.

“Today is Valentine’s Day, which really made me reflect on my own personal romantic entanglements. I’ve just got so much to do, and it seems like I’m running out of time. So what does a man in my situation do when faced with a looming deadline?”

“Cheat.” Both of them answer at the same time, with a distinct difference in their tone. One with abhorrence, the other with gratification.

“Yes-yes, indeed! And the best avenue for that is a Love Potion. A love potion that I can trick-er… Encourage the love of my life, Cecilworth Farthington, with! It’s the perfect plan, because he was gonna fall in love with me anyway, this just bypasses a lot of the harder stuff… heh-heh.”

Millicent stares at Max, watching him giggle childishly. With a deep breath she shakes her head.

“There is no such thing as a Love Potion, Max. At least nothing that we’ve got available in our Library, or my experience. I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to do this the old fashion way, and earn Cecilworth's love and affection.”

It's her turn to try and stifle a laugh, though she doesn’t give it much effort, openly giggling at the concept of Max earning anything.

Max doesn’t join her in giggles. Instead he enters a deep sulk, stewing in his own self-pity. Typical three year old behavior.

“Why not ask your friend, Snark Darkly?” she chides, the dagger of her words twisting in Max’s ear.

Grinding his teeth, the Mayor of Arkham stews even harder, the giggling idiot replaced by a sullen child.

“Ahh, so you’ve figured out it’s not the relationship you thought it was? Tell me, when did you find out he wasn’t your manager, but that other thing? A master?”

She revels in each word, a thin smile pulling tight across her alabaster visage. Looking down on Max she clucks her tongue, continuing to rain on Max’s parade.

“... it also pleases me to let you know that those two transfers you dumped in Arkham have left… or were taken.  Possibly both.” she coos, shrugging away any responsibility she might have had.

Max’s fingers slide across his face as he stares through them at Millicent, snarl growing as he hisses, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing has changed. The Claymore situation is done.”

“Well, that must be a relief. Happy Valentine’s Day, Max. And good luck with,” the Doctor twiddles her fingers at the spot where the black cracks had appeared.”... all that.”

She turns and saunters out, happy to leave Max to the consequences of his actions. Kael's eyes burn as he watches her leave. He weighs the cost of throttling her to death. Or perhaps just breaking her arm.

That random thought of violence snaps Max out of his daydream, reminding of the next nearly impossible task between himself and Cecilworth’s love.

After taking in a deep breath he releases it as a low growl. Burying his face in his hands, Max turns toward the window looking out over Arkham.

The Diamond in his shoe.

The Papaplex in his coffee.

The Tower of Babel in his universal translator.

“... Brandon Youngblood …”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Kael Estate, Arkham, Massachusetts…

…A few days before ReVival 83…

“Brandon Youngblood.”

Max points at the portrait of PRIME’s Primarch of Rage and Suplexes.

“I’ve faced this bald fuckin’ bastard twice. The first time was a draw in a threeway with FLAMBERGE, Youngblood and myself. The second was a loss to the man they call The Diamond. Diamonds are hard as fuck, and prized for their clarity. There is no one in PRIME with greater clarity for violence than Brandon Youngblood. Trust.”

Max sets his hands on his hips glaring at the portrait.

“Couldn’t we have done this on the zeppelin? I like being up high, it tickles my-uh, it tickles my…” Snark snaps his fingers trying to think of a word.

“Raaaauugh.” the Bolognese Bull growls from the corner.

“Kidneys! It tickles my kidneys! Thank you, BB.”

“We don’t have time to talk about your kidneys, Darkly! We’ve got to figure out a working strategy to defeat Brandon Youngblood! ReVival is just a few days away!” snaps Max, stomping his foot on the ground like the moody child he is.

“Why don’t you just use time portals to go back in time and figure out a winning strategy? Like you did with Ivan Stanislav. Without my knowledge or permission.” accuses Snark with a pointed look, smug smile hanging loosely on his wizened face.

“Ptth, as if I need anyone’s permission to bend the rules of time and space. I managed to develop the Cruelest Stroke™! It’s the perfect move, the perfect weapon to put anyone down.”

“Oh really? How did that work out against Ivan?”

“RAAaaauugh!”

Snarky chuckles, “Thank you, it was a good burn.”

“Shut up! Listen, it’s not my fault that the referee is a pussy. Just as things were getting good, that goosetwaddle called it a no contest! That’s out of my control! But trust me, I would have ended Ivan with the Cruelest Stroke™, if it had landed. I was just getting him buttered up for it, manuvering his massiving fucking head into the right position. There is an ART to this, you know?!”

Max’s rant washes over his audience with about as much effect as throwing an aspirin at a dismembered limb.

“I need to, I must defeat Brandon Youngb-”

“...Монстр…”

Darkness crackles across the portrait of Youngblood as the haunting, hateful voice cries out in Russian. Stumbling back, Max’s lips pull up in shock while Snark’s smirk vanishes. Rising from his seat Snark lifts his hand toward the crackling breaks in reality.

All sound vacates the room, a complete and dreadful silence smothering everything. Clambering to his feet Max speaks but nothing comes out. His eyes drift to Snark Darkly whose mouth seems to be moving in impossible ways. Despite not being able to hear the words, he can see their effect on the world as they’re spoken, warping and distorting it, like heat shimmering off pavement.

There is a flash from the fracturing lines as everything washes negative, all colors reducing to black and white. Max’s stomach turns, his legs turning rubbery as the room spins. He collapses down, throwing up monotone bile across the floor.

CRACK!

A titanic cracking noise breaks the silence, bringing with it color once again.

“How long has that been happening?” Snark croaks, turning to Max.

“Uh, well, it probably started last week? I asked Millicent about it, she said a lot about spatial time and something-something. You know how she likes to drone on.”

“You’ve been Baba Yaga-ed, old friend.” Snark begins, calmly smoothing out the creases of his brown cardigan. “Seems in your time traveling hijinks, you’ve drawn the attention of a powerful witch, crawling its way from a doomed timeline to you. You’re safe, for now.”

“That’s fine by me!” Max declares, scrambling back up to his feet, “Because we REALLY need to figure out what to do about Brandon Youngblood.”

“RaaaaaAAUGH!” the Bolognese Bull roars.

“Trust me, if PRIME allowed sawed off shotguns, I’d be the first one packing heat. Unfortunately Troy is one of them liberals who hates guts and the 2nd Amendment. No-no, we need a plan. We need a strategy. We need-”

…bzzt. …bzzt. 

His brow knits together as he digs his phone out of his pocket, holding it up so he can see whose calling.

Then he smiles and giggles.

“... Cancer Jiles …”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mexico City, Mexico…

…The day before ReVival 83…

Of the many chapels and churches that made up the Basilica, the Mayor of Arkham had secured himself a private visit to the Old Basilica. Ancient, built in the 16th century and having endured the test of time.

The central shrine was richly adored in regal reds and gilded gold ornaments, unsubtle representations of the Church's wealth and power.

“You know, Mr. Youngblood, this place of old power reminds me of you.”

Standing in the middle of the empty cathedral was Max Kael. His eyes danced around the vast interior with its stone pillars and ancient wooden supports.

“An old fixture in professional wrestling, a Patron Saint of Suplexes. If PRIME had a church, you can be sure there’d be at least one stained glass window dedicated to the Diamond of PRIME. Why, it could be argued that you, Brandon Youngblood, could be the poor sap nailed to the cross for this company!”

Max’s shrill voice echoes through the high ceilings and off the stone walls creating a cacophony of noise.

“So much respect for Brandon Youngblood… and so much fear. Oh, I remember it well, the taste of bile as it boiled up the back of my throat when you showed up on Segment One to threaten me over some entrance antics. The uncontrollable tremors I had in my hands when I learned I’d have to face you, along with FLAMBERGE. How I had to keep from pissing my pants when I stood across the ring from you when we faced each other, one on one. Fear of your power. Of my end.”

His hands fold neatly behind his back and starts to stalk toward the central shrine.

“... and my fear won out. Twice over, I failed. One tie. One defeat. And now, here we find ourselves, once again facing each other. But, things have changed. When last we met I wouldn’t say I was quite myself. Since that time I’ve not only found myself, I’ve discovered my purpose. I uncovered something that is more powerful than my fear, more powerful than even your rage, Mr. Youngblood.”

The sound of Max’s shoes thunder across the wooden steps of the central shrine, Kael ascending upward the pulpit.

“For the last year I have worked to prove… to show what love means. It started with Dawkins, and his pathetic family. Originally the plan had simply been to kidnap Kai to manipulate Dawkins, but I soon realized I could do more. I twisted Dawkins' soul for a year, driving him to the Red Army, warping him into the vengeful, hateful INTENSE Champion we see today. I broke Kai down, stripped away her weakness and made her hard enough to survive ANYTHING, even me. I sacrificed them both and they left the crucible of my love stronger. My love is a transformative experience!”

Madness dances like fire behind his eyes as Max moves to the pulpit.

“... I had to prove that my love was worthy of him. That I, too, could be wealthy and powerful. I created the opportunity for a special election, and then sacrificed over and over again to ensure that I… that I won, and became Mayor. Not just of my flesh, but of my soul, every little piece thrown to fuel the furnace of my political ascension. Could you have done that, Mr. Youngblood?! Could you make that kind of personal sacrifice?! In the time I spent stalking your family a few years ago, it certainly doesn’t feel like you could. Perhaps you might drive your son to it.”

A horrible giggle bubbles up from Max’s guts which he does his best to stifle. It doesn’t work particularly well.

“And in the end even my quest for the Universal Title is driven by my love for if I can defeat Cecilworth Farthington and take his Universal Championship from him then… then…” he sputters, as if he hasn’t thought that far ahead.

“... then he’ll have no choice but to admit it. When I’m Universal Champion, I’ll be the face of Professional Wrestling. I will be Professional Wrestling. Then he’ll see me, he’ll understand me. He’ll love me. He’ll finally love me.”

His voice cracks with a painful, needy desperation.

“Then we’ll be happy. Then we’ll live happily ever after! Heh-hah!”

A delirious smile washes any sorrow from Max’s face, his eyes alive with poisonous hope.

“But you’re standing in the way of that Mr. Youngblood. You’re in the way of my plans. You’re in the way of my happiness. In the way of OUR happiness. I can’t have that, so I’m going to have to defeat you. And I’m gleeful to do it however necessary. Sand to the eyes? Kick to the groin? Mysterious outside interference? Whatever it takes. Someone once said love is sacrifice and I’m willing to sacrifice everyone, including you Mr. Youngblood, including YOU!”

The smile slips into something quite a bit crueler without ever leaving the definition of a grin. His eyes flash with a sickly green, swirling with his dangerous obsession. The make-up on his cheeks sizzles and melts as burning black tears run down his face.

“I am unshackled from fear, Brandon Youngblood, as I have the most powerful force in the Universe on my side. All your rage and talent and suplexity will mean nothing for my ally is LOVE. And in the name of that love I will remove you from the path of my destiny…”

Lifting his arm, Max examines his elbow the same way a butcher admires their cleaver.

“...with the Cruelest Stroke™ imaginable… heh-heh… heh-hah-HA!”