▶And It's Greatly To His Credit
THREE DAYS BEFORE ASCENSION
Well.
This isn’t where I expected to be.
I mean, it’s not that I had never fantasized about being a king – there had, after all, been a few things here and there when I was eight. But even then, as I played at being a king and my younger cousin Caledonia, playing along, insisted that she was to be the queen – and I lacked the vocabulary to explain why that was icky – I was always the king of some land far away and a long time ago; never actually the honest-to-God King of the United Kingdom.
And yet…
Urquhart had, in his facetious role as King of All England, given to him in mockery by the Amoralists, named me Lord Mark of House Carlton. We had had a good laugh, but… well, then he had actually proclaimed himself King.
The forces we had gathered in Albion were united solely by their collective trust in Urquhart – well, and Caledonia, but let’s face it, she would never have gone for this. The people – well, not the Chaote’s Children, but the far more numerous people of the North – wanted a king. And, after some negotiations, even the Children had come around to the idea of a constitutional monarchy.
This was a world where magic was real, and much power was concentrated in individuals. Caledonia had been powerful enough to win the Infernalia Tournament, and in so doing weakened the hold of the Amoralists over the world for just a second – but it was long enough. In this world, the idea of a monarch as a strong leader was not mere demagoguery, but literal power. A king, willing and able to enter battle for the sake of his nation, could bolster the strength and spirit of that nation in a very real way.
That was, I think, what Jarvis had never understood – his “kingship” was based solely on egomania, a faint desperation to live up to the misremembered legacy of his forebear. But I had known the real Jarvis King – known him as well as just about anyone, as a part of his Entourage. Jarvis had been an egomaniacal blowhard, and certainly he would have said his surname was well-chosen; a King in all but crown. And he had had the skill to back it up (notwithstanding the number of times his feckless arse had needed saving by me and Mace) - there was a reason he had been such a dominant World Champion. A reason that even invoking his name, his mere essence, had been enough for “King” Jarvis the First to so dominate the Infernalia tournament.
I looked to my left at my to-be Prime Minister, who had been appointed the place of honor by my side. This was the compromise we had made with the Children; a Prime Minister, popularly elected by the people, would be a near-equal with the monarch. The Prime Minister would take care of governance; ensuring that taxes were collected and roads were maintained and teachers were paid. The King, meanwhile, would serve as Britain’s Champion, putting his own body on the line for the benefit of the nation; in turn, where the King led, the nation would follow.
‘So,’ said the Prime Minister, a member of the Children named Yusuf, ‘what’s next?’
‘I believe I’m to be crowned.’
Yusuf chuckled. ‘I don’t mean the coronation – I mean the battle against the Amoralists. We’ve driven them off the island, but what are the plans going forward? Do you really need your Order now that you’re the king?’
I contemplated. Yusuf had a point; the Order of the Oncoming Storm had arisen under (to put it mildly) different circumstances to this. They had begun in the 19th century as a secret society opposing the Marxist revolution they viewed as inevitable. But we had no more need of subtlety and secret societies; the Order had, until its sudden blood-sacrifice-fueled destruction in 2318, been one of the two major powers of the world. And now…
‘I think,’ I said, ‘that our path forward is to begin gathering intelligence. We know so little about the other nations of the world; so many lines of communication have been cut. Perhaps there are other allies we have simply been unable to reach. And -’ A bolt of inspiration struck me. ‘ – and the more victories I win in the Colosseum…’
Yusuf nodded. ‘And so, we raise up a grand alliance and take down the A-Moles. Love it.’
I chuckled. ‘D’you know… I believe that’s the first time in history that a Prime Minister has ever said “A-Moles” to a king.’
---
After a very long ceremony, with a great many lengthy, wordy oaths (since no-one could find a reliable source for the actual coronation oaths and we ended up letting Eris’ pet AI write them, and I swear the infernal machine had it in for me), I ascended the stairs and sat upon the throne.
‘My people,’ I said, ‘I come before you with good news – this great island is now free of the Amoralist scourge!’
More cheering.
‘But our work is not done – three days hence, I shall ride into battle against the Amoralists, and when I am victorious in End Games… our true work shall begin anew, and we shall not stop until every last one of them lies dead!’
‘Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!’
---
ASCENSION
I was waiting in the backstage area by myself, apart from my “team”, and watching the World Championship match. I had not been discussed as a contender for that lofty title, of course, but it remained an ambition, and at any rate I felt like someone should probably keep an eye on Gordy King. Anyone who would replace a perfectly dignified belt with that ridiculous Canadian contraption – and anyone who would abruptly switch to an entirely different personality at least twice – was probably someone who should be supervised around sharp implements.
‘So,’ said AnHellica, who had appeared suddenly behind me. Bloody hell, how is she able to move so quietly that I don’t detect her? ‘Got… plans?’
‘If this is another clumsy attempt to seduce me,’ I said, ‘I can’t imagine what you can possibly hope to extract from me in exchange. I am already debasing myself; what else can you possibly want?’
She laughed. ‘Still mad about the rule change?’
‘I was told there would be an individual winner!’ I snarled.
‘Oh, now, where’s the fun in that?’ she purred.
‘There’s a great deal of “fun” in that!’ I said. ‘For one thing, it would have given me an excuse to shut you and the rest of your wretched Amoralists down.’
‘To punish me, you mean?’ she said, winking and pivoting so her bottom faced me.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘we should address this. I used to be the sex pest, now you are. When did our roles reverse here?’
‘Right around the time you lost all sense of fun, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Seriously, what happened to you? You would have been the perfect Amoralist, Mark; you used to exist solely for hedonistic pleasure.’
‘And then I found a fucking purpose,’ I spat. ‘I grew out of it. I realized that there’s more to life than the endless pursuit of pleasure.’
‘The endless pursuit of pleasure,’ she said, ‘is possible now. None of us have aged in three centuries, Mark, and I’ve been riding high that entire time. A damn sight better than you’ve been living.’
I didn’t dignify her. But I wished that I had the words to properly deny her.
‘Well,’ she said with a sigh, ‘your loss.’ She turned to leave. ‘Oh, by the way, Your Majesty… I got you a coronation gift.’
‘I don’t want it,’ I spat.
‘Oh, but you do…’ she said. ‘I see the look in your eyes as you watch Moretti and King. I saw how eager you were to tear down your cousin. You want that,’ she said, pointing at the title belt that Moretti was now holding aloft. ‘And it just so happens… that you’re going to get your shot at it.’
‘Wait, what?’ Wasn’t expecting that.
‘Happy coronation, Your Majesty,’ she said, kissing me on the cheek. ‘And… if you don’t want it as a coronation gift, consider it my thank-you for helping me wipe out the Major Arcana tonight. Golden Intentions. You. King. And Moretti.’
Suddenly a clown appeared on the screen and snapped Harlan’s neck.
‘You. King. And… whatever that thing’s name is,’ said AnHellica. ‘Good luck.’
Huh. That… did she just treat me with a degree of dignity?
Well. Guess it’s good to be the king.
---
Fucking Artoria!
There was at least some degree of irony that one of the so-called “good guys”, fighting to oppose Amorality, would flagrantly defy the rules to gain a sneak attack. And unfortunately, he had the upper hand on me. I just needed a distraction…
And then the cage began rattling.
I clipped Artoria in the jaw with an uppercut and knocked him away from me. I was then surprised to see him taken down with a Spear from… someone I only vaguely recognized. Sexy Boy? Big Daddy?
I was then handed a steel chain by some else I only vaguely recognized. I think his name was Marcus… something. Regardless, I wasn’t going to look a gift chain in the links, and proceeded to use it to take down one of my Major Arcana opponents.
Well… you know how the rest of that fight went.
Rishel surrendered.
I didn’t think my contempt for him could grow any greater, and yet…
Well. The battle’s now over; and I was nominally on the winning team. And I had a shot at the World Title. And I’m king.
2326 is finally starting to go my way.
Wait.
What’s Amelia doing with that button?
What’s happening to the sky?
Wait… no no noooooooo…
---
I landed sprawled on my face on what felt very much like pavement. Holding my hand to my oddly itchy forehead, I groaned and rolled over. I looked at my fingers – hm. Blood. That was odd. Maybe some of Artoria’s blood landed on me?
I took in my surroundings, though my vision was oddly blurred. I came to a horrific realization: the blood wasn’t stirring any sort of Hunger in me. That was why my vision was so blurry – it was what I had been used to before vampirism sharpened my senses.
Wait, but if I wasn’t a vampire, then…
‘Ere mate, you all right?’ slurred a drunken voice. I realized that I hadn’t sat up yet. I did so and saw a vaguely familiar face, a dim simplicity in his eyes complementing his look of concern.
‘Ugh… where am I?’
‘Well mate, s’Flydale North, innit?’ he slurred. Now that he was closer, I could smell cheap beer on his breath. ‘Ey up – oy, lads, it’s Mark bloody Carlton!’
‘… Ryan Berry?’ I said, horror dawning on me as I recognized one of my opponents in the by-election I had won.
He and his mates hooted as they helped me to my feet. Looking down, I saw that I was wearing a suit – the same suit I had been wearing when I had been snatched through the time portal to 2326. ‘Eyyyy, ‘e remembered you!’ guffawed one of Berry’s mates.
‘Erm… when am I?’
‘Oy lads, is it still Friday?’ said Berry. The others shrugged.
‘No, I mean… what’s the date?’
‘Erm…’ The lights were clearly not all on upstairs. ‘I think it’s May?’
Oh no. So much for the Narnia scenario; I had been away from the past – the present, now – for the entire time I was in the future, a one-to-one trade. So that meant…
‘Berry… what happened in the election?’
‘Well, you won, di’n’t you? But then you up and vanished right after you won, and when you didn’t come back… oy, but get this, I got six votes in the next by-election! A one hundred percent improvement, they said!’
‘… I have to go,’ I said.
---
‘Well now, Carlton,’ said Lord Fitzwilliam Urquhart (the ancestor of the Lord Urquhart I had spent the last few months with) as I sat in his luxuriously appointed study a few hours later, ‘I’m glad you’re back. I confess I was rather worried until you turned up on that wrestling show.’
‘You watch CWF?’ I asked.
‘Heavens no; I pay people to watch it for me,’ said Urquhart. ‘No one knew quite what to make of it, though – were you really in the future?’
‘I… I think so?’ I said. ‘It’s all becoming a bit hazy. I remembered most clearly when I first arrived back, but it’s like when you wake up from a dream.’
Urquhart nodded. ‘You know, Carlton, it sounds like utter rubbish, but this is the second instance in which someone has seen a vision of the 24th century, and the Order considers you a more reliable source than Justin Rishel. At this point, we must assume that this is the future the Institute seeks; and will bring about, unless we stop it.’
‘And that involves me running for Parliament again?’ I said hopefully.
‘Thing is, Carlton,’ said Urquhart, ‘your abrupt departure left us with a bit of a sticky wicket. We didn’t know where you’d gone for weeks, not until you showed up on television. We held off the second by-election as long as we could, but…’
My heart sank. ‘Is there another seat opening?’
‘Not until the next general election, as far as we know,’ said Urquhart. Bloody hell. And Starmer isn't going to call that for three years. ‘Terribly sorry, old chap; not least because when we had Connelly run in your place he came in fourth behind the bloody Lib Dems.’ He leant back in his leather-upholstered desk chair and interlaced his fingers, bringing his index fingers to his chin, thinking deeply. ‘However… I believe you will still be able to be of use to the Order.’
‘How so?’
Urquhart grinned. ‘Why, Mr Carlton,’ he said, ‘I do believe you have a match coming up?’
… I wasn’t expecting that. ‘Pardon me, my lord?’
‘Carlton,’ he said, his grin fading and his voice taking on a grave tone, ‘as ludicrous as it is, the fact remains that this “CWF” is central to the Institute – those who will eventually become the Amoralists. We know from your accounts – and from the data gathered by those who actually watch this nonsense – that the power of individual champions will be key. Even in our time, we have seen it – your cousin was able to stymy our plans entirely, in no small part because of the profile she gained as World Champion. If you can win…’
‘So the duty you would have me do for the Order,’ I said, vaguely disappointed, ‘is to wrestle?’
‘You know as well as I do the role that lore and legend will play in the future. Let Spencer and I worry about the present, Carlton; your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to secure the future. To that end… we have secured some help from an old friend of yours.’ He snapped his fingers and the door opened.
‘There you are, mate!’ boomed a deep Australian voice. ‘How’re ya doin? Back from the future?’
‘Steve?!’ I exclaimed at the sight of my former manager. Hm. I actually did miss the obnoxious bastard somewhat.
‘Yeah mate,’ said Steve with a hearty chuckle. ‘Old Fitz over there – ’ he gestured at Urquhart, who clearly did not like being called “Old Fitz” ‘ – got wind you were back and called me up! So it’s back to the old days – but hopefully you don’t pass out starkers as much!’ He guffawed and threw his arm around me. ‘C’mon! Time for your promo!’
We cut to the newly-renovated CWF studios, where Mark Carlton sits in a comfortable, not-remotely-thronelike chair. He looks deeply contemplative.
Carlton: It has been what one might say is a long time coming.
He takes a deep breath.
Carlton: I have been associated with this company for sixteen years at this point. It is not an exaggeration to say that CWF was my salvation. When I was first discovered by CWF scouts, my life was a wreck. A wreck that I cannot even say was due to circumstances beyond my control; no, this was destruction entirely of my own doing. The hedonistic pursuit of short-term pleasure obliterated any chance of long-run success… until this path opened before me.
In this place, I found a new purpose. And before long, through sheer coincidence, old paths began to reopen. But in the end… it has always been CWF. Though I have walked other ways, and though CWF itself has ebbed and flowed… this is, was, and ever shall be my home.
And now, after all these long years… I have my shot. My attempt at the very pinnacle of this place.
I did not think it would ever happen.
You see, Gordy – or Jarvis, or Johnny, or whoever you think you are – though you dream of the legend of Jarvis King, I was the one who fought by his side. I was the one who aided him in battle countless times, and it was under his guidance that I honed my skill. From the World Tag Team Titles to the Impact Title, my skill grew.
And here’s the rub, Gordy – you and whatever other personalities you have rattling around in that hockey-stick-damaged skull of yours – you didn’t know Jarvis. I did. Jarvis was my mentor, and dare I say my friend. So much of what I learned in this industry, I learned from him.
And yet… so long as Jarvis was around, I knew that the only way to step out from his shadow was to defeat him. But… well. We know how Jarvis’ story ended. I never got the chance to fight him.
Carlton seems rattled, and takes a deep breath before continuing.
I will never know if I could have beaten Jarvis King. I was denied that chance. So I’m going to have to make do with the pretender. You may bear his name, “King”… but I, I am the true bearer of Jarvis King’s legacy.
And as for –
Carlton looks at a person behind the camera.
What did his name turn out to be?
Steve Hamilton, offscreen: Ozric Mortimer.
Carlton: And he’s… a clown?
Steve Hamilton, offscreen and slightly annoyed: I mean, he’s a psychologically terrifying and extremely deadly clown…
Carlton: So… he is a clown.
Steve: Just take him seriously!
Carlton: Very well… now listen here, Mortimer Ozric…
Steve: Ozric Mortimer!
Carlton: Ozric Mortimer. To deny that you are strong would be foolish beyond even my standards. You did, after all, successfully ambush a World Champion and cause an abrupt end to their reign… but then, so did I.
The difference between us is that I didn’t need to resort to something so inelegant as murder to get it done.
In the end, Ozric, you might be able to instill fear among the weak of heart. But I have gone into battle. I’ve fought and I’ve killed, and I’ve seen horrors that make a clown like you pale in comparison – and I’m not referring to your complexion. You might make Mike Rolash shit his pants – you might even scare Gordy King. But me? I’m not afraid. I’ve been through hell, and I kept on going.
And now… now is my time.
At Golden Intentions, I fulfil my legacy. I reach the pinnacle. I become the World Champion. And I will not let a pretender and a clown stand in my way.
I have nothing else to say. Thank you, and –
He hesitates a moment.
Carlton: And God save the King.