The Games of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 2) (18 page)

It occurred to me the world he was describing wasn't too different from the one where Tom Terror stored his stuff. It made me wonder if the Brotherhood of Infamy's doppelgangers had succeeded on that world. It was a depressing thought. A world without aliens, magic, or phlebotinum-based technology scarcely bore thinking about.

“So, technically, we could let the world be destroyed and use the book to remake it as something we like?” Cindy interjected, leaning up between Mandy and me. “Like Mercilessland with the city of Cindyopolis?”

“No,” Mandy replied, her voice like steel.

“Mandyopolis?” Cindy suggested.

“No,” I snapped, just as forcibly. “We don't kill kids. Wiping out the entirety of humanity and remaking it with a bunch of new humans is the very opposite of not killing kids. I don't have enough scruples to start violating the few I do.”

“I agree with Merciless... and I never thought I'd be saying that,” Angel Eyes said, even more haughty than usual. “Here, I am a living god. Who knows what sort of reality might be created with such magics or whether it would even work? It's much too risky.”

Cindy gave me a sour look before staring daggers at Mandy. “Fine. I don't even know why I bother anymore.”

“Me either.” I was annoyed. “Weren't you supposed to be a doctor?”

“Yeah, but this pays better,” Cindy answered. “That's what's important.”

“
Miss Wakowski's character in two sentences
.”

“Tell me about it. Okay, you've got one chance of making this out alive. Is the
Book of Midnight
still in there? Is the house guarded by anything else? Where is the ritual going to take place? Three questions and you live.”

Chief Watkins took a deep breath. “It's not too late to make a deal, Merciless. Even if you thwart the ritual, this town still needs a Mayor. Both he and Douglas were too stupid to realize the far reaching power of our cult. We could be very good to one another.”

I set Chief Watkins’ foot on fire with a wave of my mind.

“Ahh!” the Chief screamed.

“I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?” I said, my low and threatening. The number of people the cult had murdered was fresh in my mind. I was a villain, willingly so, but he was a monster. “Answers, now.”

Torture was an imprecise and, frankly, useless means of getting information but I suspected Chief Watkins would try to make a deal with us if he was scared. Intimidation tactics and coercion were viable means to get knowledge.

“Shouldn't you be arguing against that?” Cindy said to Amanda. “Being a superhero and all?”

“He killed my father, so... no.” Amanda looked down.

“I like you,” Cindy said, playing with one of her bunches.

The Chief finally stamped out his foot before saying. “The
Book of Midnight
is still there. Dick Gleeson and I weren't able to get past Douglas' wards so we set up perimeter around the place rather than relocate the tome. The Nightmaster is doing the ritual from notes the cult made in the past at the top of the Falconcrest City Clock Tower. Dick is a sorcerer and can do all sorts of seriously weird stuff so I don't know what you'll encounter in the mansion. Fine, are you satisfied?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Chief Watkins burst into flame, burning to ashes before my eyes as I concentrated more flame into him than I had anyone else prior. He didn't have time to scream before his body started collapsing onto itself as his bones melted before our eyes, his entire frame becoming nothing more than a fine powder.

With his death, Chief Watkins cloak floated up above his body, apparently seeking out a new wearer. I briefly considered giving the cloak to Mandy, violating my deal with Death but she’d played straight with me and I owed it to do the same. Supervillains may not have ruled, but we had standards.

Or I did, at least.

Grabbing it in mid-air, I focused my will through it and the cloak burst into flame. This flame, however, was a pure white and I felt the cloak disappear into it. Death had claimed one of her seven cloaks back and my deal with her was partially filled. All I had to do now was kill five other people with magical cloaks and a physical god.

Super.

Mandy looked down at the man's ashes, all that remained of the former Chief of Police. “That was murder.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” I stared at the flames as they died down. “I'm sorry I didn't clear it with you ahead of time.”

“I don't mind you killing people plotting global genocide,” Mandy said, putting her hands on her hips. “That's about the limit of what I'm comfortable with, however. Don't take it as a blanket permission to start killing people.”

“I'll bear that in mind,” I said, making a mental note not to tell her about all the other people I'd killed.

“I can't believe famed radio commentator Dick Gleeson is evil,” Amanda said, her voice chipper and full of naivety. “I mean, he's a radio commentator. If you can't trust the Fourth Estate, who can you trust?”

It took me a second to realize she was being sarcastic. “Ah. There may be hope for you yet, young padawan. Being a smart-ass is the first thing you have to learn as a supervillain.”

“I'm a super
hero
,” Amanda corrected me.

“Sure you are,” I said, turning around to head to the mansion. “I dub you Merci-Lass.”

“I am
not
Merci-Lass.” Amanda wasn’t amused by her new appellation.

I smirked, walking towards the Douglas family mansion front door. “Well, we can also go with Merciless Girl, Lieutenant Merciless, Mandy Merciless, or Kid Merciless. I'm flexible.”

Mandy reached down to the ground where the skinheads abandoned their weapons and picked up a pair of Colt .45 automatic pistols. Lifting the two weapons up, all trace of her pain vanished. Somehow, Mandy had managed to suppress it under a sea of determination. “If we’re going to fight more zombies, I should get some upgrades. How do I look?”

“Amazing,” I said, worried my wife was embracing the hard-edged path of superheroism a little too quickly.

For years, I'd taken it for granted that superheroes didn't kill and supervillains did. A lot of the public tried to shame them for this, saying the world would be a much better place if Tom Terror was executed by Ultragod or Mister Chaos was stabbed in the head by Guinevere. They never quite made the connection that if they wanted these individuals dead, they could do it themselves through the courtroom or themselves. Superheroes tried to hold themselves to a higher standard and got called to task for not lowering themselves to the depths of everyone else.

The thing was, the world was getting darker again. Most of the Nineties had been filled with superheroes willing to kill, inspired by Shoot-Em-Up and the Extreme's example. Those days had never truly left us. It was estimated more than half of the Society of Superheroes had killed under some set of circumstances or another, even if their official policy was to not. I couldn't condemn them for it but it seemed more and more, the world was trying to put the Anti in front of every hero out there.

I bore some responsibility myself.

I needed to figure out a way to encourage my wife, Douglas, and any other heroes I met to stay away from this path. If that required sparing Nazis and crazy doomsday cultists, ugh, so be it.

Cloak was silent then said, “
I am proud of you, Gary
.”

“
Thank you
.”

“Your wife is tenacious,” Angel Eyes observed, watching her as she strode past Diabloman. “She didn't even look at me when I was speaking to her.”

I took a moment to look at Angel Eyes, reevaluating him. Honestly, he looked like hell. His suit, the one which probably cost more than the Greek national debt, was in tatters. His gorgeous hair was caked with mud, no longer possessed its overwhelming beauty. Even his posture had changed, losing its superhuman grace. Angel Eyes looked tired. Worse, he looked beaten.

It occurred to me that Angel Eyes was an immensely lonely man. He was immortal, which meant he didn't have much in the way of prospects for long-term commitment. The Greek Gods weren't exactly paragons of fidelity. Angel Eyes was also the sort of man that men and women would instantly fall under the sway of, meaning he didn't have many peers. I doubted the man had any more than a handful of friends. I'd feel sorry for him if he wasn't an immensely rich and powerful douchebag.

“Yeah,” I said. “My wife is awesome that way. I don't know why she loves me but she does.”

“If I could kill you to take what you have, I would do it. I hope you realize that,” Angel Eyes said to me, his voice threatening.

“Yeah,” I said. “Also realize that I have the Reaper's Scythe now and I'm pretty sure that will kill immortals.”

Angel Eyes looked like he was debating testing that theory then shrugged. “Perhaps you might be a worthy opponent for Mandy's affections, after all.”

I smiled, realizing Angel Eyes didn't get it. Even if I got jealous and sometimes had doubts, love wasn't a competition. I hoped Angel Eyes would learn that. Otherwise, well, I'd have to kill him and that would require whole
hours
to get Mandy to forgive me. “May the better man win.”

“How generous of you,” Angel Eyes said. “I accept your concession.”

“Yeah, I'm totally killing you after this,” I said.

“We shall see,” Angel Eyes said.

Heading up to the door, I took in the front of the mansion. The exterior was illuminated by Angel Eyes's illusionary flame, allowing me to see all of the castle's details. The door was an impressive double-door wooden edifice with gargoyle-shaped knockers and no doorknobs. A large stone family crest was built into the wall above the doorway, incorporating a pair of crossed swords and a skull. It made me wonder if the previous owners of the mansion had been pirates.

“Seriously, I want to know if all of the architects in this city went to the same school or belong to the same agency. If so, the first thing I'm doing after all of this is burning down their place of business,” Cindy muttered, pulling on the door knob. “It's locked. You want us to knock it down?”

“I'll handle it.” Turning insubstantial, I walked through the door. With that, I entered into the main hallway and immediately found myself surrounded by hundreds of ghosts.

Literally
, hundreds of ghosts.

The main hallway was a two story chamber with two spiraling staircases on either side of the chamber, heading up to the second floor. The place was dark but had a soft illumination from the dozens of spirits standing on them and on the marble tile floor. They glowed like little fluorescent light bulbs, most of them translucent with only a small number as physical looking as the little girl had been.

They were dressed in a mixture of outfits, ranging from the 1930s to the Modern Era. To my disgust and horror, at least half of them were adolescents or teenagers. There were kids holding bloody newspapers as if they were killed hocking them on the street, a girl in a poodle skirt with her throat slashed, and a boy holding a 1980s-era Nintendo game controller with a bullet hole in his head.

I surveyed the scene. “Well dammit.”

Now, by this point, I had become somewhat jaded to ghosts. I'd encountered only a few but I had the basic principle down—restless spirits hanging on despite the fact that they had a better afterlife waiting for them on the other side. At least, you know, if they were good. I had no idea they could exist in such vast numbers.

“
This is going to hurt. Brace yourself
.”

“What do yo...gurk!” I said, before being immediately being washed over by agony beyond measure.

Encountering the little girl had nearly killed me, my 'spook senses' feeling like a heart attack encountering one eighty-year-old ghost. Here, it was like being shot in the chest, repeatedly. I didn't know why I didn't sense them through the door but I fell to the ground, grabbing my throat as if I was being strangled. The pain was excruciating, like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was the Reaper’s Sense, a horrible gut-wrenching feeling which occurred when I was surrounded by ghosts.

“Mandy...” I choked out, falling over and feeling my head as the world's most severe migraine began.

“
Gary, you have to hold on
.
You're feeling the pain of these restless spirits pouring onto you. It's all in your mind. If you absorb too much of it, they'll drag you into the Place Between with them
.”

“No,” I said, reaching into my cloak and pulling out the coin Death had been giving me. “I'm not going to die like this.”

Rubbing the coin, it transformed into a scythe and I braced myself against it. Climbing up the wooden shaft, I leaned on it for dear life as the pain continued. It was agonizing, beyond words, as if a lifetime of horrible deaths were crammed into every single moment I drew breath.

“I am Merciless! The supervillain without mercy!” I shouted, slamming the end of the scythe into the ground, cracking a marble flagstone. In the distance, I swear, I heard a crack of thunder. Instantly, the pain vanished.

“
That was probably not a good idea
.”

“Why?” I said, gasping for breath.

“
The Reaper's Scythe is recognized by all ghosts instinctively
,” Cloak explained. “
You've drawn everyone's attention
.”

“What?”

I noticed there were over a hundred pairs of ghostly eyes staring at me. All of the spirits, which had been standing there motionless before, were now turned to me. All of them had regained the light of comprehension, more than a few of them growling at me as if I was dinner.

“Dammit,” I grunted. “Why does this shit keep happening to me?”

“
Because you're a terrible person
.”

“In a way, that's comforting.” I leaned on my scythe for support. “It makes the world make a kind of perverse sense.”

A ghost dressed like John Travolta in
Grease
, all slicked back hair and leather, pulled out a switchblade and advanced on me. “Kill you, kill you, kill you.”

“Back off, John, I loved you in
Pulp Fiction
but I am
not
in the mood.

I considered using the scythe on him but I could already see several dozen other ghosts advancing towards me. In a few minutes, it would become open season on supervillains. I wasn't about to dump that problem on my henchmen.

So, I decided to improvise.

Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I blew on them. The whistle was loud and shrill. “Alright, you damn dirty spooks, it's time for your annual evaluation!”

“
Oh this, I've got to hear.”

“As a duly appointed necromancer and psychopomp of Her Majesty, the One True Death, also known as the Hot Chick Who Looks Like My Wife, it is my duty to reap your souls. You have been derailed from the Circle of Life, which is not just a song from
The Lion King
. It now falls upon me to correct this grave, no pun intended, imbalance. Please note that if you have any objections to this, you can file a complaint at your local divinity's gateway to the underworld. The gateway to hell is under Omegamart. Seriously, I've seen it.” I spoke so fast
I
didn't know what I was saying.

Which happens a lot to me.

The ghost dressed like John Travolta paused, along with a large portion of the other spirits. “What?”

“I'm here to help you move on,” I said. “Free you from your eternal imprisonment in a painful half-life. You know, all the stuff that makes being a ghost awesome. Heaven is great and if you're a bad person, well hell has its perks too. I hear they've traded in the fire and brimstone thing for nonstop television and sex. They get more recruits that way.”

“You're the Grim Reaper's agent?” A female ghost dressed like a hippie asked, having a hole where her heart should be.

“Obey the Merciless Scythe!” I shouted, slamming it down on the flagstones again. That got everyone's attention. Even the ghosts advancing on me were stopped, looking more confused than anything else. “Now, I need a quick summary of what is keeping you tethered to the mortal plane.”

“Pardon?” A bald ghost a mustache and horned rimmed glasses asked. He had no visible wounds but was the most problematic to look at, mostly because he was naked. Damn, that was a cruddy way to die.

“Dude, imagine some clothes.” I looked away. “Tell me why you're here.”

The bald ghost looked down at his naked form and squinted, a pair of suspenders, striped shirt, and suspenders appearing. He looked like an accountant now. “Wow, it worked!”

“Of course it did,” I said. “I have the Merciless Scythe.
Anyone
want to answer my question?”

The hippie, thankfully, answered. “We were all sacrifices for the Brotherhood of Infamy's rituals. They invited us here, tortured us, sacrificed us, and bound our spirits to the castle’s walls. Professor Weird tried to help us but he was forced to sell the mansion due to lawsuits from the Falcon Corporation.”

I squinted at her. “That just begs for further explanation but I'll leave it alone. Okay, I'm your answer. With this scythe, I'm going to send you all on your way.”

“You're going to kill us?” the hippie said. “Again?”

I had to wonder what everyone was thinking outside. Did they think I was having trouble with the lock or did they think I'd been eaten by whatever was lying on the other side of the door? It was hard to tell. I had to reassure the horde of spooks that I was on the level, though. You know, before they ate me.

“No,” I said. “I'm going to use my scythe to sever your ties to the Earth and allow you to move on.”

“
That's not going to work
,” Cloak said. “
In fact, I find this whole thing you're doing despicable
.”

“Any volunteers?” I hefted up the Reaper's Scythe.

None of the ghosts volunteered immediately, most looking at me like I was a crazy person. I can't imagine why.

Finally, the one who looked like John Travolta threw aside his switchblade. “Do me first.”

“Okay, close your eyes and think 'ascension.' It's as easy as dying. You know, unless you had a horrible and violent death. In which case, it's quite a bit easier.”