The Supervillainy Saga (Book 7): The Horror of Supervillainy

by Phipps, C. T.

  Nevertheless, I coordinated our efforts and they had a synergetic effect. Whatever was on the other side of the Hell gate—I mentally decided just to think it was Beelzebub because why not—was pushing against the opposite side of the door we were trying to push closed.

  Normally, that would have had the same effect as a ninety-five-pound cheerleader trying to hold the door against Jason Voorhees, but we managed to keep the door wedged with the monster’s nightmarish head, as well as its arm sticking up through the hole like a building.

  The thing really was the whole Halloween Devil with goat horns, shark teeth, brimstone-colored eyes, and a mouth full of hellfire. I was offended on behalf of all the pagans who’d had the image of Pan modified into a symbol of evil.

  Beelzebub snarled at me. “You may have destroyed Gog and Magog, Merciless, but you cannot destroy me! I will burn your world to ashes!”

  “Wow, that was like way back in the first novel of my biography! I was a newbie supervillain then!” I said.

  Beelzebub pulled back his mouth as if he was going to belch a dragon’s breath full of hellfire—and probably was—which I couldn’t guard against because I was trying to prevent an archdemon from entering reality. He gathered a massive vortex of flame within the back of his mouth and I saw it was going to blast us with the power of a volcano. Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn insubstantial to avoid it either since magical fire could still affect intangible beings. Those were the rules you know.

  “Whelp,” I muttered. “This sucks.”

  “I want you to know before we die,” David muttered. “I always hated you the most.”

  “Would mean a lot more if I knew who you were,” I replied.

  “I am—” David started to admit.

  That was when Nancy jumped on top of its head and jabbed down a fishing harpoon, something I had no idea as to why a summer camp had, through the top of Beelzebub’s head. The monster screamed, howled, and then slowly crumbled to dust before the gate sealed under him. The ashen remains collapsed into an enormous pile of outdoor barbeque clean-up with Nancy standing triumphant over it.

  “Huh,” I said, staring. “That was anticlimactic.”

  “Artemises are made to kill demons,” Nancy said. “I’m the best of them. No matter what reality.”

  I gave a golf clap. “Since he died here, he won’t be regenerating anytime soon. That should probably lower the divorce rate, car crashes, and depression across this reality. Demons don’t make people do bad things but they sure as hell don’t help. No pun intended.”

  That was when David started pecking my head and beating me with his wings. “You moron! You complete and utter moron!”

  “Ow! Ow!” I said, trying to protect myself with my hands. I wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “If you get a bunch of rats, you do not get a bunch of cats, then a bunch of dogs to get rid of the cats,” David shouted.

  “Why would I want to use cats to get rid of rats? Cats eat mice. There’s numerous dog breeds designed to hunt rats,” I said.

  David paused, mid-attack, looking confused. “What?”

  “It’s why pit bull and bull terrier breeds exist,” I said. “People keep forgetting I’m a dog man. I sponsor like fifteen different rescues and kennels. People who think pit bulls are violent should also note that’s entirely on the owner. You’ll be grateful if one of those disease carrying Mercirats comes—”

  David resumed attacking me during my speech.

  “Ow! Ow!” I repeated. “You know you have to tell me who you are now! It’s dramatically appropriate!”

  That was when David flew off.

  “Oh come on!” I snapped, watching him fly away.

  Mandy, Jane, and Cindy arrived soon after. Nancy and William hung back, finishing off a few straggling Lich-Wights that strangely crumbled to dust when they killed them. It seemed that both serial killer killers possessed an ability to make dead things stay dead that the rest of us didn’t. I personally believed that was cheap since, as the psychopomp of this dimension, I should be able to kill anything. Like the Raid can of the undead. Still, ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine percent of the army attacking Camp Blood was destroyed, so a win was a win. Right?

  “Gary, what the hell was that?” Mandy asked.

  “Either utter genius or utter madness,” I said, replying. “Surely not just plain incompetence.”

  “I think it was anything but plain in its incompetence,” Jane said. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

  “Damn, I was going to make the Airplane reference,” Cindy muttered. “This was Dracula’s revenge for setting up on his turf, even though we were here first.”

  “Someone is using us as chess pieces,” Mandy said. “Probably to get the Primal Orbs.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Now it’s time to have fun storming the castle. I’m going to go Belmont on his ass. Anyone got a whip?”

  “I do,” Cindy said. “But it’s for funsies not killing vampires.”

  Jane looked at Cindy.

  “What?” Cindy asked.

  “We have a spy in Dracula’s castle,” Mandy said. “It was extremely hard to get him in and he clearly didn’t have a chance to warn us so he could be compromised. Still, I think that gives us an opportunity if you can put aside quoting Monty Python and the Holy Grail or whatever for a few minutes.”

  “Oh God,” Cindy said, muttering. “Now you’ve done it.”

  Jane looked at Mandy. “You just had to dare him. Didn’t you?”

  “What?” Mandy said.

  “There’s a castle in the swamp!” Jane said. “They said I was daft to build it!”

  “The first castle sank, so did the second castle!” Cindy said. “The third burned down, fell over, and then sank in the swamp. The fourth one, though, that stayed up!”

  I stared at them. “I should point out that you’re the ones who did that bit, not me. Also, of course the fourth one stayed up, it was built on a foundation of three sunken castles.”

  “Can we do the bit about the terrifying bunny?” Jane asked.

  “No we cannot!” Mandy snapped. “I swear, it’s like dealing with children.”

  “Who is more the fool, the fool or the fool who follows him?” I asked, crossing my arms and doing my best Alec Guinness impression.

  “You would be the fool in that analogy, Gary,” Cindy pointed out. “I also regularly question why we hang around you when you’re always doing things like opening gateways to Hell that almost end the world.”

  “Almost!” I pointed out. “The key word is almost!”

  “Don’t do that again,” Cindy said.

  “Say please,” I said, smiling.

  Cindy gave me a dope slap to the back of the head. “Never!”

  “Right!” I said. “I promise to never again open any portals to Hell unless I really-really need to.”

  Cindy sighed. “Listen, will you go along with our plan or not?”

  I took a deep breath. “You guys have graduated to become the Charlie’s Angels of supervillains. I’m so proud of all three of you. I trust you all to have some truly dastardly plan that will bring about the fall of our opponent and our ultimate victory.”

  “We’re going to turn you over to Dracula,” Mandy said. “That will get us inside Dracula’s castle.”

  “Literally the plot from Star Wars and Return of the Jedi with me as Chewbacca,” I replied. “Yet I am the immature pop culture quoting one.”

  “Yep,” Mandy said. “This is gonna hurt.”

  “What’s gonna—”

  That was when Mandy slugged me in the face, and I hit the ground. It was like being hit with a small car.

  “Sorry,” Mandy said.

  “I’m still conscious!” I snapped.

  “Oh, crap,” Mandy said, lifting her foot to stomp on me.

  “You know, we could drug him,” Cindy pointed out.

  “Or use magic,” Jane said. “I know Sleep! Just he may be too high level to af
fect.”

  “Think this through before hitting me!” I snapped, lying on the ground.

  We finally figured it out about an hour later.

  Chapter Twenty

  It’s Like a Family Reunion

  Yes, today was a day for getting my ass beaten. Sometimes it was by redneck alien sheriffs, other times it was at the hands of my so-called allies. Jane, Mandy, and Cindy had come up with the plan to use me as bait to get me inside Dracula’s hidden fortress. By the way, Hidden Fortress was the Akira Kurosawa movie that Star Wars was based on. I learned that in college film studies. Really, it should be required viewing along with other classic Western and samurai movies for anyone who wants to make a Star Wars movie. Seriously Disney, hire me as a consultant. You’ll only regret it, like, weeks after you hire me.

  Okay, where was I? Oh yes. I was waking up from getting my ass beaten by my allies to do a somewhat stupid plan that would probably get me killed. There used to be a rule of supervillainy that you didn’t kill superheroes that fell into your clutches. Yes, I said fell into your clutches. Spare me your criticism, I think I had a concussion.

  I woke up in a dingy cell made of Medieval construction with a set of bars in front of me. It was, in fact, a literal dungeon and there was a skeleton chained to the wall. Honestly, it felt a little Disney-esque, as if someone had put some poor bastard up against the wall and let him starve to death in order to complete the ambiance. Then again, thinking about that, it actually made the whole thing a lot less Disney. There were the bones of rats on the ground as well as several loose bricks to complete the effect. All the other prison cells were empty as the moonlight trailed in through our windows.

  “Sorry, fella,” I said to the skeleton. “I guess you got sentenced to life.”

  “And death!” the skeleton said.

  I blinked. “Oh, wow, you’re one of those talking skeletons.”

  “Yep!” the skeleton replied. “I had my soul damned to be in my body as it rotted away. Now I’m imprisoned here until I can feast upon the flesh of the living in order to rejuvenate myself!”

  “Harsh,” I said, looking at him. “What was your crime?”

  “Eh, kids,” the skeleton said. “I love ’em.”

  I blinked then snapped my fingers to see if I still had my powers. Nope. Apparently, something about these cells—or Castle Dracula in particular—suppressed my powers. With that, I picked up a brick from the ground and smashed the skeleton’s head to pieces before doing the same to rest of him. I didn’t stop until the skeleton was completely shattered and whatever spirit inside it was released to the Hell it deserved.

  I paused. “In retrospect, I hope he didn’t mean he loved kids and refused to hurt them on Dracula’s behalf.”

  “No, he was a pervert,” A female voice spoke at the end of the hall.

  I turned around and saw two figures approaching my cell. The first was Leslie Trust, who had traded out her business suit dress and blonde hair for a tight leather outfit with green highlights. She looked like she was copying Mandy’s style and it was kind of ridiculous. Standing beside her, in a business suit with a grinning Japanese oni mask, was a figure I didn’t recognize. He was, however, holding an advanced super-technology pistol equipped with a laser silencer that looked like it had been built in the future. Given the amount of time traveling I’d done, I’d say circa 2040 or so. Really, they looked like someone had gone to central casting for “Bond villainess and henchman.”

  I looked at Leslie. “It would appear you are not actually a prisoner at Chateau De Count von Count.”

  Leslie sneered. “As if!”

  I blinked. “Wow, you really need to work on your accent. Alicia Silverstone circa Clueless is not going to take you very far in supervillainy.”

  “I am the Countess von Cobress!” Leslie said. “Enemy of Merciless and Supreme Executive Leader of Neo-PHANTOM!”

  I blinked. “First of all, I think that title is going to get you sued by Hasbro. Second, weren’t you satisfied being the president’s daughter? I mean, you had your own crappy clothing line and everything. Third, Neo-PHANTOM is not a thing. This is not a video game. You kill the boss of an organization, like Tom Terror, and the group collapses.”

  “That is exactly how a video game works!” Leslie snarled. “You can’t kill an idea!”

  “Yes, you can,” I said. “You can kill every single person who holds an idea. That does wonders for killing it. They were also Nazis and Nazis are bad.”

  I was really hoping Leslie Trust was brainwashed because if she actually had gone and become a supervillain then this whole thing was for nothing.

  “They’re not Nazis!” Leslie said. “I know because I founded them.”

  “You founded a group that’s the new version of a Nazi group,” I said. “What does this have to do with Dracula?”

  Leslie chuckled. “Dracula is the first recruit to my new organization! We shall make America great—”

  “Don’t please,” I said. “That was overused years ago.”

  The man in the oni mask chuckled. Clearly, he had a superior sense of humor since he was laughing at my jokes.

  Leslie stared. “I would kill you now if not for the fact that you are needed, Merciless.”

  “I am needed, really?” I asked, smiling. “It’s nice to be needed.”

  Leslie hissed. “You have the missing Primal Orbs but even they cannot be used to overturn the resurrection ban until you will it. I intend to make sure you’re tortured until you do so.”

  I blinked. “How the hell does…wait, is that what this is all about? You guys lured me here to get the Primal Orbs and have me overturn my tournament wish? That’s it?”

  “That’s it?” Leslie snapped. “Do you realize what you did?”

  “Stopped the revolving door of death?” I said.

  “Yes!” Leslie said. “So many supervillains used to be able to raise as much hell as they wanted! Tom Terror, President Omega, the Death’s Head—”

  “All Nazis,” I said. “I’m noticing a theme.”

  Leslie shook a fist in front of me. “They could get killed but our necromancers and clone masters would have them up and running within months—sometimes days—after their deaths. Nothing would stand in our way but heroes and while they could come back too, our eventual triumph was guaranteed! Now heroes and villains both die while peasants live.”

  I blinked. “I’ve got to say, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to put President Omega’s former VP in charge. I am so glad I voted for the other guy.”

  “Can you even vote as a felon?” The guy asked. There was something very familiar about his voice, no matter how muffled it was by his oni mask.

  “No,” I said. “However, if I did vote, it would be for the other guy. I figure I made my feelings unambiguously clear when I killed the time traveling Nazi who brainwashed everyone into voting for him.”

  “I don’t think that’s a real political position,” the man in the oni mask said.

  “Says you,” I said. “Make America Nazi free again! Not invoking Godwin’s law, not calling my opponents Nazis, just actually against Third Reich supporting jerks. If that’s a wrong position, I don’t want to be right.”

  “Give me the cattle prod,” Leslie said, holding her hand out to the man. He proceeded to give her an electrified prod that looked like it, too, came from the future. “I am going to make you pay for killing President Omega. When you beg for a chance to undo your wish, I will torture you some more. Then after we resurrect him, I will give him the privilege of being the one to take your life, Merciless.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think you’re really giving me much reason to cooperate, toots,” I said, leaning back against the wall of the cell.

  “We have ways of making you talk,” Leslie said, adopting a fake German accent.

  “Bork off, lady,” I said, staring.

  I had the plan of dodging past her when she tried to torture me. Leslie was a deranged First Daughter who had spent mo
st of her life selling clothing made in economically underdeveloped countries and playing off her family name. I didn’t expect her to be particularly difficult to fight. Magic or no magic on my part. The unknown quality was the man in the oni mask. I had no idea if he was tough or not but there was something about him that said he was the Oddjob in this particular Bond movie. Oddjob, racist caricature aside, beat the living hell out of Sean Connery. Not many villains could say that.

  Leslie opened the door and I proceeded to jump her with my cat-like reflexes. So, it was much to my surprise when she caught me in mid-air by the throat. Then proceeded to jab me with the futuristic cattle prod. It was the week of getting my ass kicked it seemed, and I managed to hold off from screaming for a good thirty seconds before succumbing. I wondered if this ever happened to the Nightwalker. If you find that to be a non sequitur even by my standards, take note my brain was truly scrambled.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Leslie said, putting her boot on my chest. It was, of course, a high heeled one. Leslie had apparently gotten her ideas of how supervillainesses acted from dominatrixes. Which, honestly, is not my scene.

  I coughed, smelling my own burning flesh. “I actually am one of the few musicians on Earth who know how to properly use a keytar.”

  “A keytar is just a keyboard shaped like a guitar on a strap,” Leslie said, jabbing me with the prod again. “It’s also a really stupid instrument. Tell me what I really want to hear. Tell me how to bring an end to the resurrection ban.”

  I grimaced, forcing down my next scream. “Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  She jabbed me again. “Talk!”

  “I’m really fond of William Shatner’s TekWar series from the Nineties! I intend to review it after I finish my Murder, She Wrote retrospective!”

  “No one was fond of that show!” Leslie shouted, jabbing me again. “Now, I shall begin work on your genitals!”