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

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Says who?” I snapped, pushing my way up off the ground despite the pain I was in. It was getting worse rather than better and I didn’t feel strong enough to heal myself. In fact, I didn’t feel like my magic was coming back. That was going to be a serious issue since I needed my magic to access the Primal Orbs and if I didn’t have it, I didn’t have them. They were stuck in the Reaper’s Cloak’s pocket dimension.

  Crap.

  “The Red Goddess,” William replied. “I am a servant of the Living Spirit of Murder. However, unlike other slashers, if I must be compelled to shed blood then let it be the blood of the guilty. The blood of those who deserve to die.”

  I was not a big fan of antiheroes. The difference between a superhero and an antihero was generally how they reacted to killing people. A superhero, despite what the media might tell you, was usually willing to kill in self-defense or the defense of an innocent. Antiheroes were executioners who set on assassination missions or outright military operations that could end up with severe collateral damage. During the Nineties, a bunch of antiheroes had risen to become extremely popular and helped permanently stain the reputation of superheroes forever. It had also resulted in the death of my brother, Keith, at the hands of the first. I had a bunch of blood on my hands, but the difference was that I didn’t claim to be a hero. Well, until now. Crap.

  “Uh huh,” I said, replying. “Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Jane, you know these two?”

  “Yeah,” Jane said, looking embarrassed. “This is William Englund—”

  “England,” William corrected. Apparently, the a versus the u sound was important.

  “And Nancy Loomis,” Jane replied. “They’re slasher hunters. William uses his power as an immortal serial killer and Nancy as an Artemis to hunt the worst of the supernatural. Not weredeer like me, but demons or Lovecraftian monstrosities.”

  “Sometimes vampires too,” William said. “Sometimes humans. All monsters are our prey.”

  “Nice job with the first impressions, lovebug,” Nancy said. “I’m sure he doesn’t think we’re psycho killers.”

  “Aren’t we?” William asked.

  Nancy rolled her eyes.

  I blinked. “So Buffy and Angel are randomly in Satan’s Hollow.”

  “That’s… not an entirely bad comparison,” Jane said. “How the hell did you get into this reality?”

  “Magic,” William said. “People are disappearing across our world and appearing on this one. The same is happening on this planet. There are people from other realities as well. Some places where superhumans do not exist, have had their world destroyed by monsters, or are great space-faring civilizations.”

  “It’s like Crisis on Infinite Earths,” Nancy said. “Which would be a funnier joke if not for the fact we’re on an Earth with real honest to goddess superheroes.”

  I stared at them. “Said the superpowered man and woman who fight crime.”

  “That’s completely different,” Nancy said.

  “Who have codenames,” David said, entering the conversation for the first time.

  Nancy looked abashed. “Codenames are cool.”

  I glared at Jane. “So your world does have superheroes.”

  Jane looked sideways. “Not ones with capes. Capes are cool.”

  I snorted. “So, you guys are investigating the same disturbance I am?”

  “I thought we were rescuing the president’s daughter!” David whined. “Listen, man, I paid for you to be a hero and I expect you to live up to our bargain. I mean, yeah, the gold bar is buried under a ton of debris and would just barely pay for repairing your building, but a deal is a deal. This is America. What would our country be like today if we broke our treaties with the Native Americans?”

  Jane glared at David.

  “Oh, right, sorry there,” David said. “Forgot you were of the Last of the Mohicans persuasion.”

  Jane grabbed David and started throttling him with her bare hands.

  “Help, animal abuse!” David shouted.

  I ignored them.

  “No, actually,” Nancy replied. “The fact that this seems to be the center of everything weird going on is a complete coincidence.”

  “Except for the fact the majority of people appearing on this world seem to be appearing around Falconcrest City,” William replied. “You didn’t attempt to investigate?”

  “I didn’t know!” I replied. “Mind you, maybe if I paid attention to the news, I would have but it’s so depressing these days.”

  Jane stopped strangling David to stare at me. “You are a terrible superhero.”

  “I know!” I said, admitting it. “I’m not good at this.”

  “We’ve been working with some of the local… superheroes to apply our skills to help,” Nancy said. “We have a training camp nearby.”

  I blinked. “Other local heroes? Training camp?”

  There were not that many places to train superheroes in the world. There was the Guardians Academy, the Society of Superheroes moon base, the Temple of the Flaming Fist in Shamballa, and the Evo-Lutionaries’ various secret bases. Basically, people hated Supers and were generally not too inclined to let them train in the use of their powers. Finding out there was one in my backyard was yet another sign I was really botching this superhero thing. There were also no other local heroes if Mr. Inventor and the second Nightwalker were off with the Society of Superheroes Dark. That was when everything started to get blurry.

  “Uh, Gary,” Jane said. “You don’t look well.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think I was poisoned.”

  “What?” Jane asked.

  “Sorry,” I said, seeing everything start to get blurry. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to join you on this final leg of our journey.”

  It was a relief, really.

  “You’re not dying, Gary,” Jane said, sounding less confidant than I did. She still had her fist wrapped around David’s neck.

  “I’m sorry,” William said. “I can feel your essence leaving.”

  “Jeez, sorry man,” Nancy said, not knowing me that well. “Is there a hospital nearby?”

  “Sorry, no,” I replied.

  “I want a refund!” David squawked.

  “I’m not afraid of dying,” I said, sighing before sitting down on the ground. “Sheriff Injustice already killed me once before, so I know what waits for me on the other side.”

  “What?” Jane asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Dying is a part of the dangers in being a superhero. While I made the rule that all deaths are permanent, there’s a little leeway between the moment of death and permanent brain death, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. It was enough that I had a glimpse of my afterlife before I managed to revive.”

  “That seems like cheating but whenever comic book editors say that deaths are final, you know they’re lying,” Jane said.

  “You do realize I’m not a fictional character and that editors actually don’t determine my fate, right?” I asked, almost done.

  “I’m still debating on that,” Jane said. “It would explain a few things about my life too.”

  I paused, smiling. “Sometimes my life does read like fanfic. Then again, I suppose it’s mostly just that nerds are naturally sexy and thus irresistible to beautiful Amazon superheroines. That and a wealth of pop culture knowledge is a guarantee of success in life.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “So, what afterlife awaits you?”

  I puffed out my chest. “I was sentenced to Heck, the Realm for the Insufficiently Good! I was darned there by forces beyond comprehension! You get cable but only Cinemax, bad covers of your favorite songs, and the internet but only dial up. All the bottled water is tap and the food is pre-prepared! Oh, the humanity! It is truly the most unexceptional place in the Multiverse!”

  Jane frowned. “You just stole that from The Good Place.”

  I shrugged, almost done. “Kristen Bell was the runner up for playing Cindy in th
e Merciless movie. She lost to some Italian assassin chick.”

  I would miss seeing my children grow up, as well as Cindy, and Mandy. Strange how those were the three things I regretted most.

  “What’s your real afterlife like?” Jane asked, looking terrified and wanting to hug me. She finally let go of David and he flew away.

  I sucked in my breaths. “An endless road paved in regrets going nowhere.”

  Jane put her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were tearing up. “I’m sorry.”

  “Eh, it’s okay, I plan to haunt you all as a ghost. Either that or ascend to godhood. I think that’s still allowed under the rules I imposed,” I replied. “Either that or take over my own hell dimension like Jackson Blackwell or Henry Kissinger.”

  “Do I want to know about the last one?” Jane asked.

  “I’m getting sued for reaping his soul,” I replied. “The Republican Party took it personally.”

  With that, I died.

  All deaths final.

  What a stupid rule.

  Chapter Ten

  What It Means to Be a Superhero

  Death was an old friend.

  I meant that literally. There were eight Primals in the multiverse and they were each a fragment of God, though the One Above was perhaps less like my rabbi had described him than I was strictly comfortable with as an observant Jew. Death ruled over all afterlives and customized them accordingly to your spirituality, sins, as well as virtues.

  I was the exception.

  For whatever reason, whenever I died, I tended to relieve my past and find myself wallowing in both my regrets as well as triumphs. I hadn’t been lying when I told Jane that my personal hell was a boulevard of broken dreams. Which, yes, outs me as a Green Day fan. God, I just realized that “American Idiot” was sixteen years old. That would have been music from the Seventies when I was in high school. I was getting old… er. Yes, older. Not anywhere near old, just older. You were only as young as you felt and your magic kept you.

  Anyway, I found myself back just a few months during the start of my career. I was not in Falconcrest City but hanging around in Atlas City, Ultragod’s old pad. There was a billboard just outside of Atlas City, Florida that stuck with me. I often came out there to look at it when I needed time to think about what being a hero meant.

  It was a cheerful, bright, and optimistic portrait of Ultragod and Ultragoddess standing before an art deco skyline of the city. Underneath their smiling heroic poses were the words, “Welcome to the Hope of Superheroes.” It was a transparent reference to the Magic Kingdom that was about forty miles due East of the city called the “New Amsterdam of the South” and unnecessary since until recently it was one of the most thriving cities in America. Well, circumstances had changed.

  The brightly colored billboard was now cracked and faded with pieces peeling off in the smog-laden air. Graffiti had marred the optimistic portrait with the words ULTRAGOD IS DEAD over Ultragod’s features in neon pink and WHORE over Ultragoddess in purple letters. The slogan at the bottom was further changed with a strike through its last word, changing it to WELCOME TO THE HORROR OF SUPERVILLAINY.

  Title drop.

  The skyline of Atlas City had changed from a bunch of beautiful WW2-era structures designed to show the best of human achievement to glittering cyberpunk-esque towers of steel and glass. The sun was setting behind them and made them look like dark and menacing black obelisks. They loomed over the increasingly large slums of the city as alien, Super, and regular old human refugees crowded the city out.

  Atlas City was a refugee center a la Ellis Island designed to process people fleeing from their home planets. Unfortunately, that no longer was viable due to the backlash following President Omega’s coup with alien mercenaries. Worse, the economy of Atlas City had tanked following the death of Ultragod and investors no longer trusted it to be a safe place for their money since the only superhero watching over the city was, well, me. Well, me and the Super-Duper Splotch Man.

  “You suck, Merciless! Get the hell out of our city!” A teenage boy shouted before hurling a glass bottle at my head. “We don’t need your kind here.”

  I was sitting on the guardrail of Highway 333 leading into Atlas City across the street from the abandoned tourism board building. I had my dinner of power bars and a bottle of water in my lap. It turned out waiting for crimes to happen in order to stop them was a lot less satisfying than committing them.

  I turned insubstantial and let the thrown bottle pass through my head. “My kind, really? Do you mean Jewish, superhero, supervillain, or devastatingly handsome geek? Where did you learn your taunts? The terrible book of bullying clichés?”

  Truth be told I was just tempted to ignore the group of teenagers that were dressed like some Eighties politician’s idea of a feral teenager. They were wearing leather jackets, had punk hair styles, and were (gasp!) multiethnic (sarcastic shudder!). Honestly, I was not concerned about them and sympathized with their anti-authoritarianism. I just bored and trying to figure out what a superhero did. Atlas had a rocketing crime rate, but it wasn’t like the police had any desire for my help and my powers weren’t really designed to be non-lethal.

  The kid didn’t respond well to my taunt and pulled out a gun. “Yeah, we’ll see how smart your mouth is… ah!”

  I heated the gun and he dropped it on the ground. “Yes, because it’s a great idea to assault the guy who has fought actual space gods. Also, really, assault with a deadly weapon? Do you know what they do to pretty boys like you in prison? I’ll tell you. They bake you a cake and treat you with great dignity and respect.”

  “Huh?” The kid asked, looking confused.

  “Except not!” I snapped. “Now leave me alone or I’ll turn you into toads. Which I can do, because magic!”

  I made several elaborate but meaningless hand gestures. I couldn’t actually turn people into toads because I hadn’t yet adapted Polymorph Other into my new magical system. I was only to second level spells.

  “Let’s get him!” Another one of the teens shouted. He was an obese Asian kid taller than the rest. “Superheroes can’t hurt people!”

  “I heard he’s actually a supervillain!” A young teenage Asian girl with pink hair said. She was a good deal younger and reminded me of my niece. I suspected she was the fat one’s sister by their similar faces.

  Another picked up a crowbar.

  I conjured a wand made of ice and pointed it at their direction. “Avada Krev—”

  “Ah! It’s the killing curse!” the obese kid shouted and ran. Everyone else joined him except the pink-haired girl who stopped to look at me.

  “Thanks for saving the world a couple of times! My mom has your poster!” Pinkie said, before running away. “She’d totally give you a BJ!”

  I waved back, not bothering to look at her. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Reduced to harassing street kids now?” Cindy’s voice spoke in my earpiece. My daughter, Leia, had constructed it from spare parts to keep in touch with everyone on missions. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that cell phones already existed.

  “Hey, they were harassing me,” I snapped. “Also, what ever happened to the lost art of tagging? There should be elaborate murals and social critiques on the walls here. Instead, we’ve got some insults to Ultragod and Ultragoddess. It’s like no one takes any pride in their work. Hell, the abandoned tourism board next to me still has unbroken windows.”

  “You are terrible at this,” Cindy said.

  “Says you,” I said, shrugging. “Listen, I don’t want to harass people. I’ll save lives and go after professional criminals, but these guys are harmless.”

  It was conveniently ignoring one had tried to shoot me in the face. That was a sign he was probably not going anywhere but prison or the morgue. There was nothing I could do about that, though. It’s not like I was qualified to inspire people to be their best self and any “scared straight” speech about avoiding juvenile delinquency would be undermined by the fac
t I was a billionaire due to disorganized crime. You can grow up to be anything you want to, kids, as long as you take advantage of systemic bias or rob the people involved in it.

  “Gary, how much crime are you ignoring?” Cindy asked.

  “Well, I don’t go after drug dealers. I don’t go after prostitutes. I stopped three cops from shooting a guy they thought had a gun, who turned out to actually have a gun and had just robbed a gas station. He really needed the money, though, and the gas station was a front for human trafficking! So, I stopped that!”

  “That’s good, I guess,” Cindy said, sounding skeptical. “You know this city has several dozen supervillains operating in it, right? That’s part of the reason you chose it. Gabrielle apparently has better things to do than protect her father’s old city.”

  “The Super-Duper Splotch Man has that mostly under control,” I replied.

  “You don’t have to say Super-Duper Splotch Man, you can just say Splotch,” Cindy said.

  “I don’t think I can,” I replied. “Otherwise people might not use my trademark when I call myself Merciless: The Superhero without MercyTM. Which is not a great brand for a hero but I’m not changing it.”

  The Super-Duper Splotch Man was the hardest working superhero in the business and the least appreciated. He’d been empowered with obscuromancy, or shadow magic, by bonding with an alien being from a lightless dimension. He could conjure extra limbs, shoot blasts of mystical darkness, and even make crude constructs. He was a man of living inky black energy but one of the brightest most optimistic heroes in the world. You know, when the papers were not calling him a menace or trying to blame him for the crimes he stopped.

  Atlas City had grown accustomed to a special kind of hero in the Ultragod family and just did not warm up to its other hometown hero. He was too flawed, too weak, and too street level compared to their champion. Then again, given how they were mourning Ultragod, maybe it was just that the people of Atlas City were assholes. Mind you, this was technically the third Splotch as father had passed it down to son since the Sixties. They were all wise-cracking, heroic, and self-sacrificing types, though.