Magnificent Excellence/My Brother's Keeper (Rumble) (4994)

“Who the fuck has the balls ta’ sit and say that they are the best in their specific craft?

It takes a lot of ‘em ta’ be able say you’re the best at anythin.

Now, I don’t know about the best, but I can say with absolute certainty that I am one of the busiest.

Hell, when I first started in wrestlin, my first match was a battle royal…very similar ta’ this one. Anybody wanna guess the result?

Ding ding ding: I walked away the winner.

Anybody wanna guess what the prize was?

Ding ding ding: a World Title.

That’s right, ya pricks, I won a World Title in my debut match.

Ever since then, I haven’t gone a month without havin a match. All of that while still havin a regular job where my life is on the line every day.

But enough of my accomplishments. None of ya’ are here in this Olla-Rumble because of that.

You’re all here because of the glory. Ya’ want that prize just as much as I do. I mean, it’s essentially a…golden ticket?

Pick your prize, challenge for any title…I know the guy who came up with that golden ticket idea. He was a real dumb-ass, but he had heart. And the thing about heart is that anybody can claim ta’ have it, but only real people can assure they do.

Ya’ see…between last month and this one my ass is keepin busy.

Every week I’m bouncin between media appearances, companies, title matches, breakin new ground with Action Wrestling, Excellence, Valor, all while flyin over the country preparin for my professional MMA debut against the absolute best fighter in the world.

So yeah…honestly, PWE should be happy to be gettin this kinda exposure. They have an MMA pay-per-view main eventer in the Olla-Rumble.

And that’s the thing about all of this…I don’t say it ta’ brag. I don’t say it just because it’s true, because it is…

…I say all of this because ya’ need ta’ fully understand and grasp that I am a being of survival.

I go through all of this, and still wrestle every week, sometimes twice in one night, and I don’t bitch. I don’t complain. Nah, I go out there and face who I’m meant ta’ face. Sometimes shit gets hairy. It gets violent. Bloody, sick, disgustin, whatever adjective ya’ wanna use.

But do I step down? No.

Do I stand aside and let ‘em walk all over me? Nah.

Do I allow people ta’ say their shit about me without recourse? Hell no I don’t.

And if they keep on pilin on and attackin me until I am bleedin down my body, I am the kinda guy who will look ya’ in your eyes and spit in your face.

Because ya’ can bring a whole goddamn buildin down on top of me, and I’ll walk out, wipin the dust off.

I’m cocky. I’m an asshole. And I can survive enough ta’ back it up.

A stacked match like this is dauntin for a lot of people. Most would look at it and start hedgin their bets, strategizin, hopin ta’ make a plan that keeps ‘em safe.

My plan’s the same as it always is: walk in, beat some ass, get my ass kicked, and walk out with my head held high.

The best part about this is that a whole new company gets to see history repeat itself.

Cause my head won’t be the only thing held high.

In my first match in PWE, the referee will raise my hand up high to the ceilin after I’ve eliminated the other 29 competitors in this match.

Sure, there’s no World Title ta’ show for it, but hey, good things come ta’ those who wait. And if all it takes is winnin this match and then what over whatever other champion I have ta’ face just to win another World Title, than quite frankly, the wait will be long enough.

So I guess make it 30 competitors…

29 out over the top…

…just 1 fallin ta’ a 1…2…3.”

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“Virgil, why were ya’ here in the first place?” Max asks his brother.

After getting him out of the office style prison he was locked in, Max had dragged Virgil back to his home in a version of San Mateo as quickly as he could. Twas less a matter of urgency and more one of impatience.

“Nice place you have here…” Virgil comments.

He is sitting on Max’s sofa, his black dress shoes on the coffee table in front of him. The smirk on his face is under its own spotlight.

Max lets out a sigh as Doc walks into the room.

“I’m heading off to work. Is there anything else you need?” they ask.

Max wipes his hands through his hair.

“Nah, babe, it’s fine. I’ll…try and handle this,” he says.

Doc raises their eyebrow, folding their arms across their chest.

“You have Paddy coming over in an hour for your training. Your sister called as well. She wanted to talk to you,” Doc says.

“Oh cool, Virgil gets ta’ meet his sister…” Max mutters sarcastically.

Virgil, ever the adapt listener, still lets out a quip.

“Oh, we have a sister? Who else did mom and/or dad fuck?” he asks rhetorically.

Max growls, wiping his hand down his face.

“Not by blood,” he says.

Virgil just shrugs.

“Not Revy. Miranda,” Doc interrupts.

Max reacts as any man would at the revelation that the one person he does not want to see is on the way specifically to see him.

He falls back into his recliner and puts his hand over his face to hide his vision from the world around him.

Oh, and don’t forget the loud groan, very important.

“Why didn’t she call me?” he asks through his hands.

“She didn’t want to talk to you. Thought it’d be best to show up announced. I figured I’d let you know given our…unexpected company,” Doc says.

Virgil, smirk in tow, responds with a two-finger salute.

“I just got back in from DC after flyin a red eye from two matches the night before. I have a huge clusterfuck of a match next Monday that I’m preparin for. I’m still trainin for my debut MMA fight against the literal best fighter in the world at the beginnin of March,” Max complains.

Max’s white-haired brother clears his throat.

“Oh, and I gotta deal with this asshole on top of it.”

“Love you too brother,” said brother quips.

Doc shrugs at Max’s whining.

“I’m just letting you know the plan for today. Don’t focus too much on the negatives. I sort of understand the…history, I guess, so I know it’s something worth focusing on, but please, you’re already stressed as is with the withdrawals. The last thing you need is more sickness,” they say.

Max exhales loud enough to pause the room.

He takes the hands off his face, looking Doc right in their eyes.

“I know. And thank you for being here for me. I appreciate it,” he says.

Doc just nods, a glimpse of a smile crossing their lips.

“You’re welcome. Try not to stay up too late. Oh…” they say. “And you.”

They turn to focus on Virgil, who looks over his shoulder to get a glimpse of them.

“The last thing he needs is more drama coming up in his life. So, no matter what happens, do not escalate further. I may not be a half-breed, near immortal like the two of you, but I can assure you, whatever hell or heaven you might claim to have experienced, it is still nothing compared to the torture and anguish I could release upon you.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow, their smirk falling just a tad.

“Please. A god against a mortal? What kind of odds do you have?” 

“Only a half god and technically a mortal yourself. And anything mortal can feel pain and even die. I’m a doctor. Who do you think knows the most painful places for the death to last the longest while being unstoppable?”

There’s a tense and noted silence that permeates the room.

Virgil does not respond out of what seems like an impressed look.

Doc doesn't to make their point stick home more.

Max doesn't out of a combination of fear and a strange sense of arousal.

Their point made, Doc nods before looking back at Max.

“I left that list Paddy wanted on the counter. Make sure he reads it, it’s important for the contract signing in a couple weeks. Beyond that, just…” they start to peter off.

They clutch their hands close to their stomach, looking everywhere but at Max.

“…please be safe. I know this is the last thing you wanted to happen, but you’re strong enough to get through it. And hey, if all else fails, think of your friends in the group. Think of your family. Think of…think of me. Think of how we’d react if you would happen to…do something, okay?”

Max nods once, his eyes focus on Doc’s.

“Haven, I promise you that I would never put you through that,” he says, accent missing entirely.

“Good. I can’t stand to be in that position again.”

Their confidence returned, Doctor Haven gives both brothers one last nod before leaving the house.

Max watches them leave with a smile on his face.

Virgil, ever the brother, makes a whipping noise with his mouth, which earns another groan from Max.

“Shut up…”

“Nah, this is much more fun,” Virgil says. “Alright Dante, so tell me…why should I be worried about meeting our apparent sister ?”

Max returns to the shelter of his hands, letting out a deep sigh once more.

“Hopefully she gets here after Paddy leaves. He should be here in a little bit. In the meantime, let’s talk about you…”

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“Some genius decided an apt name of a big, huge supercard pay-per-view event was Magnificence.

In an organization built off excellence, being magnificent just seems like a step down.

I mean, I get it. It’s a general concept. It’s a grand word that encapsulates a grander design.

But I apologize if I find the field…somewhat lackin ta’ match the grandness they’re tryin ta’ portray.

Maybe it’s just me, but lookin at my opponents, and all of t jaded superstars both present and guest, it really makes ya’ wonder what the regulars here feel like.

I mean, a lot of us guests have vin cent from other places with the goal of takin their spotlight for ourselves. And make no mistake, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. A guest comin in ta’ take the spotlight and win it over a regular.

It’s not my fault that a lot of ya’ don’t have your cart wright ta’ have the drive necessary ta’ get the job done. Don’t have the heart right ta’ do what needs ta’ be done ta’ succeed when ya’ need ta’ the most.

I mean, why else would PWE go all en and open the door up ta’ outsiders? Quite frankly, it’s a bit insultin ta’ those regulars, don’t ya’ think? No worries, somebody’s gonna ease your burdens and just take that win off your hands.

That someone is me, by the way. In case the insinuation wasn’t obvious. A lot of y'all are slow, so I just wanted to make that clear.

I’ve got enough drive and motivation ta’ survive against worst odds than a 30-person clusterfuck brawl. Hell, I’ve got enough balls ta’ outlast anybody this company puts against me that it’ll start feelin like a coch rane pourin down on everyone. And maybe when I’m the only one left, you’ll realize that I was always comin in first…

But I understand how this game works. People don’t like arrogant pieces of shit like me. They especially don’t like that arrogant piece of shit comin in and claimin they’re better than them. Daw, son…I’m always proud of ya’…that ya’ think that matters. That ya’ think your opinion makes any difference ta’ how this is gonna go.

Experience dictates success. Luck is a factor, sure, but havin the experience necessary can help ya’ win in any situation. And even if my eyes were sapphire, the result couldn’t be any clearer. And I know that everybody’s gonna hear this and wanna get their dix onta’ the pot ta’ try and claim success or that I'm blowin smoke, but here’s the thing: I’ve never given a fuck about much of anythin in my life, let alone what people think about me.

Because it doesn’t matter ta’ me.

Because I know I’m good.

And if ya’ think you’re better?

Eeee…man u elle? Cause you bein all fucked in the head is the only reason I can think ta’ justify ya’ believin you’re better than me. The difference between me and a lot of other people is I can tell ya’ what it’s like ta’ make that shot that ends it all. I can tell ya’ what it’s like to stab somebody where it matters and watch the light in their eyes disappear. Hell, I can tell ya’ what it’s like ta’ squeeze the consciousness outta somebody until their arms fall limp and their head droops against your body.

So when it comes to witnessin gor? Don.

When it comes ta’ witnessin laid out bodies? Easy.

When it comes ta’ bein able ta’ throw all of ya’ other husks over the top rope and watchin ya’ crash onta’ the floor, hopefully in as much pain as possible?

I’ma start callin all of ya’ my servants, ‘cause I’m the fuckin master.

And I know I’m gettin away scott free, because as good as some of ya’ might be, as talented as this roster might be, and as hard as it might be ta’ halt er or his progress…I’m just too damn resilient ta’ stand for anythin less than the top.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a bottom or not or how ell ya’ think ya’ perform on any other night. When I’m in that ring and I’m driven enough, here’s not a damn soul on any world in any dimension that can stop me.

I’m just an adult beatin down a kidd and their friends.

I’m just a boss humiliatin an employee.

I’m just a government official committin larceny while you’re on the side of the road starvin without a home.

Ya’ can’t compare when I’m on, and guess what, that light switch can’t be flipped down.

This Rumble is stacked, I’ll admit that. We’ve got some big names and some…excellent talent across the board, but it doesn’t matter how well ya’ fly the plane, it only matters how ya’ land er, son, and I’m the captain now. It doesn’t matter if I’m flyin onta’ the tarmac or inta’ the Hudson, because I’m gonna make sure it’s a guaranteed success.

I’m Daniel pinpointin the weakness on Goliath and makin the big man hit the ground.

I’m David in the lyons den flippin ‘em off because they…can’t…touch me.

I’m a lexis drivin down the road, skirtin past all y’all while you’re stuck in your Civics barely reachin 50.

It’s not gonna be easy. I know I’m gonna have ta’ fight off a lotta people pissed off that this guest guy is talkin mad shit.

Will it be difficult? There’s a chance. Will I have ta’ fight off uneven odds? I ma son.

But I’m just the kinda chad ta’ stare down the weaker ones, and I’ve got 58 eyes reserved for lookin down at all 29 of ya’.

And when I quinn, my rhodes will be paved with gold. And not just any gold, the gold at the top. Because I settle for nothin less than the best.

That’s why I am the best, sanders nothin anybody can do about it.

It’s like Carlos Santana, a smooth ride to the finish line.

I’m shootin for the sky because the skye is just as limitless.

I’ve got a heart of steele and a body of iron. If ya’ try and flame me, put that heat on me, I’ll just forge myself inta’ somethin greater.

And stephen when ya’ think ya’ have me down, I’m the kinda fucker ta’ prove ya’ wrong.

And when that bell is rung, and I’m the last asshole standin tall in that ring with the ref raisin my hand, I’ma wipe the fuzz off my chest and flip all of y’all off.

Because the only thing magnificent about this show is the fact that I’m on it.

And as far as I can tell, I’m the only thing excellent about this match.

I’m Max fuckin Daemon.

And even if this is all an advertisement tour for my debut MMA fight…the fact that the best fighter in the world is gonna put up more of a threat than y’all is sad.

It’s not your fault.

I’m just the best wrestler in the world.

So I guess we know how much balls I have…”

------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s a couple hours after Haven had left.

About half an hour after they did, Coach Paddy came by, and we started the usual MMA training.

Now, the thing about training for an MMA fight is that there’s a lot you have to do. And the more your mind isn’t in the game, the more you’re prone to mess up.

The more you mess up, the more it starts messing with your brain.

The more your brain is messed with, the more stress that compounds onto it.

And for a man going through withdrawals, stress is a shot in the eye with an acid syringe.

Which explains why Max has been dry heaving over the toilet for the last 10 minutes.

“I never thought I’d see the day. Dante, going through withdrawals for not imbibing in drugs and alcohol,” Virgil comments from the doorway.

“I’d say that shows how dedicated he is to the fight, but—” Coach Conlon is interrupted by another empty dry heave, echoed well throughout the water closet by the porcelain bowl. “—I’m starting to think it’s time to slow it down. The last thing we want is you passing out in the cage because you haven’t had cough syrup and whiskey for about three or four months.”

Max takes his head out of the bowl, wiping his mouth and chin with his hands.

“Don’t forget the Advil,” he manages to mutter.

“Ah, right. The pièce de résistance of an early grave.”

Max just flips Paddy the bird before heading to the sink to clean himself up.

“Really? Cough syrup? Were you trying to get yourself killed?” Virgil asks.

“As Coach just so subtly referenced…” Max says through a bout of water on his face.

Coach hands him a towel. Once his face is dried enough, he tosses the towel at Virgil who catches it with his right hand.

“Yes.”

The white-haired brother raises his eyebrow at the black-haired brother’s bluntness.

“Shit was low. Shit is still low, but forgettin her is becomin easier, and I haven’t needed a Mix ta’ do it,” Max says.

He shoulders past Virgil. They exit the water closet and reach the kitchen.

“Haven said there was ice and water in there for you,” Paddy says.

Max opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He then opens the freezer and grabs an ice pack, planting it on the back of his neck. He takes a seat at the square dining table in the middle of the room, leaning back and taking a huge sip of the water.

“They also told me to tell you that you will always have people here who will care about you,” Coach says.

Paddy picks up the list that Haven mentioned from the counter. He gives it a quick read through before folding it up and putting it in his jacket pocket.

“What, am I on suicide watch now?” Max asks.

When Coach doesn’t immediately respond to his student’s smirking quip, Max drops the humor.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Doc never really took you off it,” Paddy answers.

“What, do they have their own personal one?” Max asks. “Wait, no, don’t answer that…”

Max finishes the remainder of the water. Once it's emptied, he tosses it into the sink. When he misses and the water bottle bounces off the edge of the counter towards the table, he ignores it entirely to continue the conversation.

“Doc is exactly the kinda person ta’ do that shit for people they care about. Whatever. Fair, I suppose.”

Paddy nods.

“You’re improving. Your strikes are crisp and on point. We still need to tighten up the speed though. Your grappling has gotten loads better from when we started, and mixed with your submissions, they’re a sound threat,” Paddy says.

“Buuut…” Max adds, staring a hole at Virgil who is just standing there smirking.

“…you’re facing the best fighter in the world, Max,” Paddy says.

“I am aware. I’ve only said it a million times since it was announced.”

“I just want you to be prepared for the worst.”

Max’s eyes flick over to Paddy. He compounds it by narrowing them at his coach.

“You told me that my goal was to make it to the third round to maximize the profits,” he says.

“Yes, and that’s still the goal. However…”

No answer comes at the end of the sentence.

Is there even one to give?

“Fine. Thanks for the vote of confidence Coach,” Max says.

“Max—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Max interrupts. “Look…why don’t ya’ just head on out for the day. We’ll discuss this when I’m not imminently awaitin my sister’s arrival.”

“Our sister’s arrival, apparently,” Virgil interjects.

“Oh, Revy’s coming over?” Paddy asks.

“No.”

The answer is curt, though Paddy’s raised eyebrow hints towards his pupil that he knows it’s not solely due to him.

“Alright…I guess I’ll see you in a couple days. Nice to meet you…” the coach leaves the request for a name open.

A request that is met with a raised eyebrow from the white-haired brother.

“Right.”

Paddy waves towards Max before turning around and leaving the house.

Once the front door is closed, Max lets out a sigh and sets the crumbled and thawing ice pack on the table.

“Why are you pushing yourself?” Virgil asks.

“What, is that brotherly instinct? Funny ya’ show it now,” Max says as he starts to clean his ear with his pinky.

“Dante, I’ve always cared. Besides, I was always the one to push myself to the brink for something I wanted. In the end, it cost me everything.”

“Pretty sure I had somethin ta’ do with that end…” Max mutters.

“In any case…” Virgil puts an edge to his voice that gets Max to cease his impromptu ear dive. “…you’re doing all of this promoting and advertising, but have you ever thought that maybe it’s compounding on your withdrawals and symptoms further? If what Mr. Conlon was saying was true, you come home and are like this almost every day.”

“It’s fine, Virgil.”

Virgil narrows his eyes and growls.

“You’ve always been stubborn…”

“Kinda one of my signature traits.”

“…but ever since you came to this world it’s gotten worse.”

“Which reminds me…why were you locked up in that tower?” Max asks.

Virgil doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes his sword and scabbard off his back. He sets it onto the table in front of his brother.

“Because of you,” is the answer.

Max snorts.

That’s it.

Just a snort.

“Figures…” he mumbles to himself.

“You made yourself active again, and when I arrived, they knew it wasn’t worth a risk of allowing two of you running around,” Virgil says.

“How did they capture ya’ so easily?”

“They didn’t.”

What?

“I let them.”

“The fuck?” Max finishes the question.

“I knew you would come to me. That was what I was told, anyway, and I had no reason to doubt them.”

“Them bein…?”

“They never gave a name. They were weird in a weirder way. Supernatural and…mysteriously magical, but not like us.”

“The Others.”

Virgil shrugs at the name of the group Max drops.

“Fantastic. Gonna have ta’ give a call to Mr. Silver, because I don’t already have enough on my plate…”

On cue, there is a knock on the door.

“Speaking of which. Virgil, let’s go meet your sister. For the record, her name is Miranda, and if ya’ try ta’ say otherwise, she won’t have it,” Max says.

“What, is she stubborn like you?” Virgil asks with a smirk.

“Nah, she just doesn’t know any better,” Max answers with absolute seriousness. “Literally. She lost any memory of who she was.”

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“I’ve said a lotta words already about my opponents and the Olla-Rumble as a whole, but I think somethin needs ta’ be said ta’ really wrap all this shit up in a bow.”

Max clears his throat.

“I am a man of a million words. I’ve always been a guy that, when I open my mouth, I let what I have ta’ say release inta’ the world. I don’t care if what I say hurts someone or makes ‘em feel like shit because they won’t care about me in the first place.

Hell, most people don’t care about me. How many people are gonna gloss over my name in the list of people in this match? How many people are gonna default ta’ the guests like Warstein who are known as legends or names like Emmanuelle who walk in representin multiple companies?

How many people are gonna look at regular PWE mainstays ta’ break out and earn their shot, even though they’re only in this match because they couldn’t get booked elsewhere on one of their biggest shows?

People are gonna see Max Daemon and go ‘the guy from that company nobody likes? The fed that gets a rub once a year from guys like Chris Page or James Raven or Betsy Granger comin in?’

And just like that, they’ve made their last mistake.

Diss Action Wrestling, by all means, but don’t underestimate, do not sit on Max fuckin Daemon.

I thrive off being undervalued and underestimated. So please, overlook me.

I’ll make sure ta’ overlook ya’ once you’re on the floor because I tossed you out.

I’ll make sure ta’ overlook ya’ when you’re watchin me win it all from a monitor in the back.

I’ll make sure ta’ overlook ya’ when I spit in the face of your World Champ, whomever that ends up bein.

And if anybody who is hearin this wishes me ta’ fail, wishes I’m tossed out immediately, than I can only hope you’re keepin an eye on me, because I’m set ta’ make the biggest impact from now until my MMA debut.

And the best part about all of this?

Winnin a match like this on someone’s else turf, disrepectin the host as a whole, and then dissin them by takin their world title?

Ya’ wanna talk notorious?

Ain’t much else more notorious than that.”

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My—our sister, sorry.

Our sister, Miranda, arrived about 15 minutes ago. She’s been sitting on the sofa ever since, with Max and Virgil standing in front of her.

Max—the brother who hasn’t seen her in a few months.

Virgil—the brother who hasn’t seen her in nearly a decade.

Both men have different opinions on her.

Let’s check in with Miranda first.

“What’s up with the interrogation style here? Max, who is this guy?”

Okay, not very helpful, but that’s fine. She’s pretty third party as is anyway.

How’s Max doing?

“Miranda, this is Virgil. He’s…my…our…?” his words powder off at the unasked question of what Virgil is to her.

Wonderfully astute.

What does Virgil have to say?

“Dante, what the fuck?” he asks.

Ah, that’ll do it.

“Oh…he’s somebody from that side of your job,” Miranda says.

“Look, I know angels and demons and gods aren’t ones to give a shit about bloodlines or sibling relationships, but really?” Virgil asks. “I never took you to care about eugenics.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Max mutters. “Look, I get enough shit about that as is, I don’t need your judgment on top of it.”

“Okay, then tell me, how the fuck did Kat go from your girlfriend to your sister?” Virgil asks.

“Wow, just gonna come out and ask it, huh?”

“Kind of an important question to ask, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about? Max has always been my brother. Unless he’s talking about something before…?” Miranda asks with a raised eyebrow. “…Max, who is Kat?”

Oh, wonderful, a deeply engaging conversation, and not one he was prepared for even if he knew it was coming.

“Remember when I told ya’ that I remembered who I was before I lost my memory? And that really you were the one who had lost your memory?” Max asks.

“Yeah, I waved it off because it was bullshit,” Miranda says.

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Max and Virgil say at the same time in a unison only brothers could match.

Miranda narrows her eyes and switches her glance between the two.

Eventually, she sighs and stands up.

“Look, you two figure out how you want to go about this,” she says. “Max, whenever you’re ready to tell me everything, let Haven know. Something tells me they’ll be able to make sense of this more than you could. I just wanted to stop by and let you know that they finally got into Mark’s will. They…want the both of us there when they read it.”

Max nods, not looking at Miranda as she exits the house.

When the front door is closed, Virgil looks over at Max.

Hesitantly, Max meets his brother’s eyes.

“Alright, she’s gone. Tell me all that happened that got you both here in the first place,” said brother asks.

“So long as you tell me what brought ya’ here yourself,” Max replies.

“Naturally.”

Max lets out a sigh.

And he begins to talk.