Bully Duke, Noah says on twitter.  That’s the way of the business isn’t?  Bully, bully and bully some more until the victim quits and gives in.  Until they admit they’re beaten, at least in a verbal sense.  See, Noah is good at the verbals.  He’s made a great… well, above average career out of bullying everyone he’s ever faced.  All four matches he has every year while he decides whether this is something he really wants to do or not.

It’s interesting though, Noah.  You can’t bully me.  Try as you might, no matter what you say about me.  I’m teflon.

Sure, you’ll hurl your adolescent insults like you always do and you’ll likely make everyone laugh when you do it, but that’s really all you’ve ever had to offer.  No substance.  No real value.  I mean, you could take Charlie’s route and spew lie after lie, but no one wants to take any professional advice from that piece of shit and I won’t give lies the effort in disputing because lies are too transparent.

You could tell ‘em the truth about me but… then you’ll have to admit just how ridiculously effin’ good I am and that doesn’t really seem like a winning verbal formula either.

---

Having the gauntlet from Doc D'Ville has intrigued me since the moment I lifted it from its box.  Its first use showed me a reality of a young Charlie.  Whether it was an accurate one or not, meaning the Charlie we know and loathe today, only he knows.  It was not my first trip to an alternate dimension.  With Doc's gauntlet, it most assuredly wouldn't be my last.

Some time ago, with his help, I found myself in another time.  One that was distant, but far too real.  One where I, several years prior, succumbed to a bullet to the chest.  A different reality to be sure, yet I still carry the scar of that day.  Mentally and physically.

I had my revenge though.  The demented moronic king of the day meant to kill me again two years ago.  As much heat as I take for rash decisions, I do learn from my mistakes.  Knowing the rare pistol he possessed in a medieval time was susceptible to jamming, I would not be denied in delivering the Lion's justice to that idiot king.  Immediately after, I allowed Doc to convince me to sit on that king's throne. I allowed Doc to place that king's crown upon my head.

Here in the real world, I've left desires for world domination behind.  I'm content in leading a normal, everyday life.  Or at least, whatever ‘normal’ I’m able to reach.  In that one though, the throne, the crown, the kingdom… they all belonged to me.

"You rang?" says Sebastian Everett-Bryce as he enters the ‘abandoned’ warehouse in Brooklyn.

"Check this out," I say to him as he approaches the work bench.  Laid out in front of us, is the gauntlet.

"Is that…?" He begins but pauses as he furrows his brow and scrunches his nose.  "...a replica?"

"Better," I say while turning to him.

"Is a prop?  From the actual movie?"

"Better," I chuckled.

"How could it be better?" Seb asks incredulously.

"I dunno how to explain this but," I pause a moment.  "This is the real thing."

We stare at each other for a moment as the gravity of what I just told him…

"...wuutt?"

…is lost entirely.

"Put it on," I say while lifting the heavy gilded glove from the bench and hand it to him.  "I have to warn you though.  It hurts like a mother fucker."

Seb winces in anticipation, waiting for the ensuing pain… but nothing happens.  "Thought you said it was gonna hurt?" He questions.

"What the… it does," I insisted with an obviously perplexed look on my face.  "Did you break it?" I ask as I pull the gauntlet from his hand and start to look it over.  “Not here even two minutes and you broke my shit.”

"How could I break it? I only put my hand in it," he argues as I slide my hand inside.

"Well you had to have… Fuuuuuuck!" I yell out and double over as the searing pain envelopes my right arm.  It takes several long excruciating moments for the pain to subside.

"On a pain scale of 1 to 10," Seb begins with a laugh.

"Eleventy-Six!" I cry out.

“I’m still a bit lost,” Seb says as he eyes the contraption.  “Why does it hurt?”

“I don’t know why it hurts,” I admit to him.  “Maybe it’s like, syncing to my body or somethin'.”

"If it hurts when you put it on, it’s probably a good thing if it only works for you," Seb suggests.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "Last thing I'd want is for Frankie to get his hands on it.”

"So what's its purpose?" Seb asked.

My response is a knowing smile.

"Wut?" He asked.

"What if I told you, I can visit other dimensions?" I asked my best friend.

Sebastian furrows his brow in obvious disbelief.  I can't say I honestly blame him.  It sounds crazy.  If I hadn't done it before and someone said they could, I probably wouldn't believe them either.

"It's a good thing you're here my man," I said to him.  "Seeing is believing, my handsome friend, and you, are, coming with me."

"Coming where?" He asks as I grab him by his hand and close my eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

---

See, I could never quite figure out whether Noah was an underachiever or an overachiever.  Much like his ‘stepmum,’ he’s really very good inside the ropes and I’d never deny it.  Despite his skillset, he’s always kind of shriveled up and withered away any time he built up any kind of momentum.  As good as he is, he could be so much better, so much more.

Just like dear old mum.

Now that I think about it, we’re probably approaching the end of the line for this latest Noah Jackson run.  He’s had a decent time during March Madness, but its coming to a screeching, unsatisfying end very soon.  Which by the way, unsatisfying ends is another “family” trait he no doubt picked up from our old friend Yawn Borestein.

There’s no blood relation as far as I know, but like anything else, traits can be learned.  It’s a good thing Noah never learned how to lose with grace and dignity like his old “daddy” right?

---

After the cool rush of air passes as we transcend space and time, we land with a thud on the hard ground of another time.  Opening my eyes, Seb lays on his back beside me in a meadow with a warm night breeze washing over us.

"Thad?" Seb called out as we lay in the dew covered field.

"Yeah mate?" I called back.

"What the fuck just happened?" He asked.

"We're in a different world," I said to him as I sat up in the high grass.  He sits up too and surveys our surroundings.  Climbing to my feet I brush off my backside before reaching my hand out to him.  "A world in which I am King of everything you see."

"Of fucking course you are," he sighs.

"I haven't been here in like two years," I began as I started to survey the horizon lit up with the midnight sun.  Off past the meadow is a thick wooded area.  Beyond that lies the capital of Connecticut County.

As we walk through the field, our normal modern day dress changes to medieval armor.





"What the actual fuck!?" Seb cries out.  To which I only smile.

In the distance, amidst the trees, a number of torches are visible.  Appearing as if they’re coming closer, my heart starts to pound a little.  For all intents and purposes, Seb and I are safe and we’ll remain that way.  As far as I know, we face no real danger no matter what happens to us.

“Seb,” I call out as he remains oblivious to the oncoming party of armored men.

“Yeah?” he answers while looking over his ornate armor in the moonlight.

“No matter what happens,” I said to my dearest friend.  “Just stay behind me.”

“Huh?” he mutters as he pries his eyes from his armor and looks up at me.  Nodding in the direction of the torchlight, Seb takes notice of at least a dozen armored men.  Saying nothing, each of them draws their swords.  Thinking quickly, I reach for the hilt of my own, but find none.

“Seb,” I whispered.

“Hmm?” he replied.

“We might be in deep shit,” I answered back.

“Name yourselves!” shouts one of them.  I’ll assume they’re knights.

“This is Sebastian Everett-Bryce, and…”

“What sort of name is Everettbryce?” he asks.

“A distinguished one,” I answered.

“Not in the Kingdom of New England,” the knight replied.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kingdom of what?” Seb chimes in.

“Are you new here?” he asks while taking a step closer.

“Isn’t this Connecticut?” I questioned.

The knight turns and looks at his buddies and laughs.  A second or so later, the other knights join in.

“Formerly, Mister Everettbryce,” he says.

“No, I’m…”

“SILENCE!” he yells.  “New or not, you find yourselves illegally in the King’s private yard!  Illegally intruding on the King’s grounds is punishable by death!”

“We’re right here man, you don’t have to yell,” Seb interjects.

In response, the alpha knight swings his sword at Seb.  He flops to his back in avoidance and instinctively, I throw my gauntlet hand to block.  Another knight jumps into the fray.  Acting quickly, Sebastian, still on the ground, trips him.  He stumbles forward.  Shifting to the side, I guide the stumbling knight's blade into the side of his boss.  Sebastian jumps to his feet as I relieve the dying knight of his sword, spin and drive the blade into the stumbling knight's neck in quick succession.





“Two down,” I said to Seb as I passed him a bloody sword.

“Great!  Only ten more to go.”

Sarcasm.

Two knights lunge toward me as Sebastian is frozen.  Not out of fear, but of culture shock.  One swings over hand.  Again, I stop the blade with the gauntlet.  Gripping it without risk of injury, I turn my back to my assailant, driving my foot into the other knight's chest.  He stumbles back and Seb snaps to it, forcing his blade between the armor plates.  Elbowing the knight behind me, it stuns him enough for Seb to cut him down too.  Unfortunately for me, another knight jumps in to intervene. Grabbing me from behind, he placed his blade against my throat.

---

They say sometimes it's better to be lucky than good.  I never needed luck.  Everything I’ve accomplished, I worked my ass off for.  It’s okay to be proud of that.  I’m only 24 years old and I’ve already had a legendary career.  People will dispute that no doubt, but their opinions hold very little if any value to me.

My resume is indisputable.  I know where I started, I know the heights I climbed to.  I know the marquee names I put down in the middle of the ring and I remember those I failed to beat, too.  I have a resume filled with championship gold in every single promotion I’ve ever laced them up for, but a lot of us can say that.

No matter where I’ve gone, no matter what I’ve won.  None of them taste as sweet as doing it right here.  Throughout my career no matter what my goal was, I achieved it and moved on to the next.

Manifest Destiny.

No, not the spread of democracy.  All of my dreams and desires, I’ve manifested them into a reality.  That’s what real legends do.  That’s what real champions do.  Real men and women create their own destinies and see them through to the finish.

March Madness.

Manifest.

Destiny.