by M. K. Gibson
“Is that everything?” Dr. Reality asked.
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Eva said. “What’s the catch?”
Shrugging, I decided it was best to be honest. “First, I need all your fucking money. All of it.”
The room exploded in angry voices, all of which were calling for my head. I used my power over my realm to cause my voice to boom.
“I am not finished!” I announced.
The room grew quiet, if only for a moment. Tension hung in the air like a spring-loaded trap, itching to be set off.
I smiled a wide, contemptuous grin. “And I also need—no, I demand—everyone to immediately cease and desist all villainous activity.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Where I Bring Villains To Heel, Do Something I’ve Wanted To Do Since 2008, and Equate Psychosis with the Muppets
Considering how they reacted, you would think I’d just asked everyone in the room to fellate a leprous mule. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. They were, after all, self-absorbed, greedy supervillains.
But I was still disappointed.
Seeing as this world was the gritty version of their former selves, that usually carried a sense of “realism” and weight. So when a clearly superior mind stepped up to guide lesser beings to greatness, one would think the lessers would be grateful for the superior’s benevolence.
But no. They never are.
Just like in the prime universe. You can take the time and effort to point out how dumb, repulsive, politically wrong, socially deficient, and all around abhorrent people are, but what’s the point? They’re never grateful. They never say “thank you” and then fix the things you graciously exposed.
No, they instead dig their heels in and say things like, “How dare you?!”, or “Who do you think you are?!”, or the occasional “What are you doing in my bedroom?!”
Sigh.
“Our fortunes?” a villain called out. “Are you insane?”
“No, I’ve been tested,” I answered.
“Quit being villains? And do what?” another voice called out.
“Whatever I tell you to. Sheep need a shepherd.”
I heard plasma weapons powering up, bladed weapons being drawn, spells being chanted, muscles flexing, and mental probes attempting to shut down my mind.
“If you are all done overreacting, I will explain.”
“Foolish man, I say nay! Oblivion marks you his enemy from this day onward!” Dr. Oblivion bellowed while pointing his finger of doom at me.
The rest of the room had the same reaction. Only they used a different finger to let me know what they thought.
“Enough of this shit,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes. Slamming my hand down on the lectern, I hit the panic button.
The air in the room was suddenly gone, leaving only a vacuum. Immediately people began to choke and gasp. Each of the auditorium’s chairs emitted an electrical shock, just to ensure people let out that last gasp of air they were holding. No sooner had the gathered villains begun to fall to the ground than the anti-gravity fields activated.
And then, just for funsies, the psychic pain emitters embedded in the walls began pulsing out blinding, migraine-inducing waves.
Naturally, as this was an embassy of my realm, the devices did nothing to me. I wasn’t sure of everyone’s specific power set, so I covered my bases. I knew this tactic would in no way incapacitate everyone. No, this was simply for show. To complete the next phase of my plan, I needed these jackanapes. And since I’d rather not force another reboot, killing them all off was unacceptable.
That being said, it was time for them to learn who was in charge.
I tapped the button once more and the room flooded with air, but I left the psychic emitters on at a low level. And while watching idiots float around in anti-gravity was amusing, if I was going to address them, I needed them paying attention to me and not performing bad zero-G ballet.
I turned off the device, and in a flash, gravity dumped the gathered crowd back to ground in painful heaps of excessively purple spandex.
“Listen, and heed my words,” I growled, my power amplifying my words as the room grew dark and cold. Shadows moved like ebony vipers, while mischievous shadow imps danced along the corners of everyone’s vision.
“This is not a negotiation. Nor is this a power play by a peer. I have no peer. This is a decree from a god who walks among you. All you have, all you own, all those who are in your employ, are now mine. Mine to do with as I see fit.”
“Never,” Magus said in utter defiance. “We will never give ourselves over to you. And I for one will not remain here and be lectured or intimidated by some charlatan.”
“Magus is right,” Fallen Angel said. “You think this—or you, for that matter—are scary? Please. I vacation in Hell. This is amateur hour.”
The devil/angel hybrid turned her back on me in a flash of feathers and contempt. Gritty reboots, I swear. No one has any shock left in them.
The Magus summoned his Variant-born magic while Fallen Angel attempted to open a brimstone portal.
Both failed.
“Impossible,” Fallen Angel said.
“How?” Magus said, stunned.
Fallen Angel growled in frustration, echoing Magus’s sentiments. She tried again, and again, nothing happened. “What have you done?”
“Welcome to amateur hour,” I said with a sneer. “This charlatan is in charge, not you. Now kneel.”
“I will not—” Magus began. But his knees bent of their own volition.
Thanks to her divine/infernal breeding, Fallen Angel held out only seconds longer. She too fell to the floor of the auditorium, her forehead touching the ground. One of the most powerful Variants on the planet, and an unholy merger of the wicked and the divine, dropped to her knees in supplication.
The room fell silent.
“Because of the nature of this particular world, I will excuse this outrage and childish rebellion. Once,” I threatened as my form grew. Black shadows swirled around me, lifting me from the dais so that I towered over them. My voice boomed and my form was illuminated by hellish flame.
“Dear villains, get this through your fucking heads . . . I OWN YOU. Your lives are now MINE, to do with as I see fit. Any lingering sense of independence or autonomy your little minds are desperately clawing to grasp is futile.”
“No no no!” a voice I recognized called out.
It was the voice of the black-and-white silent killer clown, The Mime. Only in this new gritty incarnation, The Mime was now The Lunatic, a darker, more sinister killer clown, complete with dreadlock hair and a straight-jacket.
Beside Lunatic was his girlfriend Jestette.
Oy vey.
Girl psychos are just the worst.
“We never-never agree to your demad-mad-mands,” The Lunatic cackled as he cartwheeled down the aisle. Jestette followed behind him, swaying her hips in her hyper-sexualized, neo-punk schoolgirl outfit. The kind of costume horny nerds, hornier writers, and cosplay enthusiasts adore. She hefted a massive great sword over her shoulder and laughed at his antics.
“You tell ’em, Mister L!” Jestette cackled in her high-pitched, city-accented voice.
Lunatic fell into a forward roll, popping up at the base of the dais. “How abouta-bout you come on down here and I end this all for you?!” Lunatic laughed. “This room needs a little bit a’ color. Red will do-do-do nicely!”
Gods above and below, why is it always the same with these freaking nerds.
Looking down from my whirlwind of shadows, I smiled. “I take that as a threat. Allow me to respond in kind.”
I reached into my suit pocket and pulled out a standard number two pencil, then willed my shadows away. I fell on top of Lunatic as he reached for a knife. Landing on top of him, I drove the pencil through his right eye and into his brain. His body went limp and he was dead before he hit the ground.
“No one cares how you got your fucking scars,” I grumbled to the cor
pse.
“Parfait!” Jestette called to her dead lover. “What did you do?!”
“Saved the world from excessive comic-convention-cosplay assholes,” I said with a satisfied nod at Lunatic’s body. Then I looked up at Jestette. “Speaking of . . . you, come here. We need to talk.”
“Oh we’ll talk, all right. You killed my Mister L! Say goodnight!” Jestette screamed as she swung her ridiculously large sword towards me in an overhead chop. I simply stepped aside as the blade slammed into the ground. Grabbing her head in both of my hands, I held her tight. My power began to flow through her the moment we made skin-to-skin contact.
“You are a product of Stockholm Syndrome,” I said in a soothing voice. “You’ve been tortured and abused by this nutball. And in time, you’ve come to accept it as reality. You are the victim equivalent of Kermit the Frog to a violent and abusive Miss Piggy. Continue along this path and people will deify you, dress like you, and make really bad movies about you. So, I do you, and the world, this favor. I set you free.”
I released a surge of divine power into her mind, freeing it.
“What . . . where . . . who?” she said, blinking.
“Now all we’re missing is when, why, and how,” I mused. “Your mind is your own again, Dr. Jestellian. Go forth and do great things.”
Dr. Vespa Jestellian looked at me and a single tear rolled down her face as, in her mind, decades of abuse, misery, and pain were suddenly washed away. Then, the freed woman looked down at Lunatic’s body.
“Your jokes sucked!” Dr. Jestellian said, kicking Lunatic’s corpse. “And you sucked in bed!”
“So with all that out of the way, are there any other dumb questions?”
“What is your plan . . . Master?” Oblivion asked, taking a seat.
Seeing this, the rest of the auditorium did the same. “Good, good,” I nodded. “I honestly think you will enjoy what I have planned. And if you don’t . . . well, I don’t care. I’ll just modify your minds to agree regardless.”
Picking up a small remote, I clicked it, activating the holo-projector once more. “This is my plan.”
“It’s a building,” Eva Destruction said.
“Yes, Eva, it is. It is my building. And to be fair, it’s a skyscraper. And it will be the beginning of the end of superheroes as we know it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Where I Serve Refreshments, Squash a Bug, Debate Architecture, and Throw Shade at Purple
“OK, so how did you do it?” Myst asked with a smirk while I leaned against the dais, sipping at my coffee and enjoying a cigarette.
Most of the villains had left, departing my realm for their own personal lairs. A few stragglers remained at the back of the auditorium, enjoying the light refreshments I’d provided. I may have forced them all into indentured servitude, but nowhere was it written that I couldn’t give my thralls some free soda, coffee, and donuts.
Oh, speaking of donuts. To whomever created the Boston cream donuts, you and your family for seven generations shall be spared when I eventually take over the prime material plane.
And of course you’re exempt from the Boston jokes I make in Chapter 30. You’ll see when you get there.
But the family that cursed the world with Bavarian cream filling? You, and every member of your lineage, will be eradicated.
I have standards against killing for pleasure. But for you sick, twisted, sacks of anal leakage, I’ll set aside my personal code and hunt you all for sport. How dare you fool good people into thinking they will eat a delicious Boston cream donut, only to bite into that tasteless white fluff?!
Shame. SHAME!
Ahh . . . I can see it now. The Bavarian donuts d-bags, just running for their lives. Hauling ass through the fields as I run them down with a four-wheeler ATV, holding a lance. Or a crossbow. Maybe a mancatcher?
Eh . . . I have time to figure it out.
What was I talking about?
“Sir?” Myst said, looking at me blankly. “I asked how you did it.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, while I mentally returned from my daydream rant. “It was actually pretty easy,” I said with a half shrug. “WK, may I see that please?”
Wraith Knight passed me the clipboard with the sign-in sheet. “Thank you,” I said, accepting the sheet. I began flipping through it, looking at the names.
“Ahh, that’s how he resisted,” I said, scanning the sheet. “Lunatic never signed in.”
“What? What am I missing?” Myst asked.
“The sign-in sheet,” Wraith Knight chuckled while gesturing with a large gauntleted finger. “It’s how he tricked The Night Watchman into working for him before we met you. Those who signed in were unknowingly signing over their lives to Jackson—er, Shadow Master.”
I smiled. “It is all right. You’ve earned it. Both of you have.” I waved my hand over the sheet and watched as the plain white paper with signatures transformed into the soul-binding parchment.
“Good to know . . . Jackson,” Myst said, trying out her new privilege.
“But why would they all sign in?” Wraith Knight asked. “If this was a soul-binding trap, then Fallen Angel should have sensed something.”
I cocked my head to the side and looked up at my large minion. “WK . . . please. This is not my first rodeo. I obtained these from a real demon from the Shadow Realm. Not some pretend comic-realm version of a devil.”
This is where a polite person would say “No offense” for insulting someone’s realm of existence. But come on, it’s me.
“There are infernal anti-detection glyphs woven into the very fabric of the parchment,” I explained. “Come to think of it, I think the glyphs are written in martyr’s blood. I need to ask Yolly to be sure.”
“But surely someone should have sensed a trap,” Myst said.
“You would think that. Which is why I made it mandatory in order to gain an audience. Plus, I added this line at the top.”
Myst squinted through her domino mask. “‘Sign up and get a commemorative coffee cup, Amazon gift card, and weekly email blast?’ Oh come on, who would be that stupid?”
“Wait, does this mean we don’t get the commemorative coffee cup, Amazon gift card, and weekly email blast?” Carapace asked.
The buggy supervillain had wandered over to us and was listening in. With a roll of my eyes, I snapped my fingers and Carapace exploded in a spray of chitin, guts, and dimwitted surprise.
The villains in the back dropped their drinks and donuts in surprise.
“HEY!” I yelled. “Clean that shit up. That’s how we get ants.”
The villains all dropped to the ground, picking up each crumb and soaking up the soda and coffee with their clothes. Myst laughed softly.
“You don’t get ants in your embassy.”
“No, I don’t. Other than Carapace, that is.”
“Did he need to die?” Wraith Knight asked, wiping bug guts off his armor. “Or at least so messily?”
“For what I have planned, a giant Variant-born bug man wasn’t exactly fitting the mold.”
“You said you wanted them all to quit villainy,” Myst said, lighting a cigarette in her long-stemmed cigarette holder. “So, you amassed an army, only to make them not fight. So let me guess. This has something to do with your shiny new building.”
“Indeed it does,” I said, picking up my tablet from the dais and bringing up an image of the building.
“Phallic nonsense,” Myst said with a snort of dismissal.
“I didn’t create the rules of physics. Dick-shaped items like buildings and bullets work because of nature. If you can create a practical vagina building, then please, do so. But since there aren’t any, keep your comments to yourself.”
“What about breast shaped?” Wraith Knight said. “Like Epcot Center.”
I glared at the large, shadow-armored man.
“What? I’m a feminist.”
“I watched you slap the snot out of a blind woman back in Chapter Eight.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said with a hand wave.
“Yeah, I hit her,” Wraith Knight admitted. “But you don’t treat women as less than men. All people deserve an ass-beating from time to time. To not hit her would mean she was a zoo panda, something to be protected and thus not an equal and not strong. Uh-uh, no. I was raised by a single mom. That shit doesn’t fly.”
I had to nod my head in acquiescence. I’m pretty sure I spouted some sort of line like that in the last book, right after I met Lydia. I cold cocked her in the face after I was nearly sacrificed to Khasil. If I recall correctly, she in turn kicked me square in the balls. Yay, equality.
Lydia. Damn. What a woman.
I wondered how she was. How far along she was. Was my child kicking? I was missing it all because I was an asshole and because I fell for a stupid setup. Then again, if it weren’t for Lydia, I wouldn’t be here. But if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t feel as complete as I do. And my unborn child is thanks to her.
My child. I smiled.
Oh, don’t look at me like that. I can be wistful.
Oh. You mean I can’t behave like a decent person because I went to boner-town with the shapeshifting vixen.
Well, get over yourself.
I am capable of loving a strong, fierce woman while also rubbing naughty bits with God’s gift to fucking. It’s called having your cake and eating it too.
I can do that. I’m a villain.
I shook my head, bringing myself back to the moment only to overhear a moronic conversation.
“And I’m just saying a pyramid is a balance between the genders,” Wraith Knight was saying, “a vulvic mound and a penis forming the most stable shape in construction.”
“Dick-shaped buildings being what they are, a freaking pyramid in the middle of a modern metropolis? Are you sure that helmet isn’t cutting off the flow of air to your brain?”
“Hey hey HEY! I’ll turn this auditorium around! Watch it,” I said with a glare. “It’s a skyscraper. Besides, I already purchased it with all the villains’ money.”