Villains Pride (The Shadow Master Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  I mean, wouldn’t you scream if you were moving at close to two hundred miles an hour and your legs were suddenly sheared off at the knees?

  I had to hold back my laughter (professional image and all) as The Zoom Crew toppled to the ground in a NASCAR-like pile up of cursing, bloody stumps, and carnage. Only this high-speed collision was funnier than a NASCAR accident because children were involved.

  Not that NASCAR wasn’t hilarious. It was.

  NASCAR. Ugh. Leave it to the poor and stupid to be entertained by loud things going in a circle. I had a dog once who was amused by such things. And like NASCAR fans, he too would fuck his sister if given the chance.

  With that settled, I whistled to the stunned Wraith Knight. “Let’s go!”

  The big armored form looked at the bloody mess. Despite their moaning in shock and pain, The Zoom Crew’s legs were still running at hyperspeed, so their nubs sprayed blood like a backyard wacky-water weasel.

  Wraith Knight tromped over them, getting doused with the aerated crimson spray. He paused a moment and picked up one of the legs.

  “Can I keep this as a trophy?”

  “No, put it back,” I scolded him. “This is my victory, not yours. Besides, I’m not a savage. If they can get to a hospital in time, they can get them sewn back on.”

  Wraith Knight chuckled. “If they hurry, you mean.”

  I stared at him, saying nothing.

  “Sorry, Master.”

  A smiled crossed my face. “I’m just fucking with you. That was funny.” I laughed. “Come on, you big bastard, we have work to do.”

  Wraith Knight picked up his pace and came to the portal back to my lair.

  “Whoa, stop right there, mister,” I commanded.

  The giant knight cocked his head to the side. “Master?”

  “Your feet.”

  “My feet?”

  “Yes. Wipe them off before coming inside. Let’s at least act like we’re civilized.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Where I Am Rebooted, Explain Pegging, and Get into a Pissing Match

  “So that’s my theory,” I said to Wraith Knight. “What do you think?”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” Wraith Knight apologized. “I was . . . distracted.”

  I followed his line of sight and sighed.

  Myst was still in the chair with the neural interface on her head. Her body was arched in a provocative manner as information continued to flood her mind. Her body heaved against the fabric of her dress and soft moans escaped her lips from time to time.

  “It’s a woman, WK. I assume you’ve seen one before. In fact, I stood by while you knocked the snot out of one the night I gave you your powers.”

  “Well, to be fair . . .” My minion gestured sheepishly with his hands.

  More soft moans escaped Myst’s mouth. I nodded. “Yes, I could see how that is titillating. But you’re . . . you know, all metal now. Do you even have a penis?”

  Wraith Knight removed his helmet and Wendell looked back at me. His head was tiny compared to the massive armor, resembling a reverse bobblehead.

  “Huh. Well, I stand corrected,” I admitted. “How do you pee in all that armor?”

  “Carefully, sir.”

  “Wow, that was poor planning on my part. But that doesn’t excuse your eyeball screwing her. She’s a human being who deserves respect.”

  Myst roared out in an incredibly vocal moan of intense pleasure.

  “Did she . . .?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “What’s she watching?”

  I went to my screen and pulled up a visual representation of Myst’s neural education. As the data was retrieved, I lit a black cigarette and I was glad that I did.

  “Porn,” I said approvingly. “Copious amounts of porn.”

  “How much?”

  “Well, according to these readings . . . all of it?”

  To be fair, Myst was previously an abused, sheltered, and repressed 1940’s housewife. My power flowing in her awakened latent dark proclivities. So who was I to judge?

  “What is that?!” Wraith Knight asked, pointing to the screen.

  “Hmm? Oh, that’s called pegging. Some men enjoy it when a woman penetrates him anally with a strap-on dildo. Oftentimes you’ll see it in threesome videos when the male actor is inside one woman, while another is inside him.”

  “How do you know this, sir?”

  “Don’t be so suburban,” I chided Wraith Knight. “If you knew my grandmother and her sage-like advice, you’d be amazed I’m still sane. But we’re getting off topic. Back to the plan.”

  “Right. Sorry, sir.”

  I sat at my command center and muted the neural interface speakers. It was hard to have a conversation while professionals were balls deep in one another.

  Plus, in a saccharin way, it made me miss Lydia. Our spat aside, there was a fire in her that ignited my own. Maybe, just maybe, I was ever so slightly in the wrong? No, that couldn’t be. I did miss her, that was true.

  But wrong? Never.

  I tapped an open link back to my dimension. “Sophia?”

  “Sir! So good to hear from you. Once the reboot happened, it was hell finding you again.”

  “So it was a reboot then?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Damn, I was afraid of that.”

  “Reboot?” Wraith Knight asked.

  “Is that your thrall from the previous universe? How did he survive?”

  “I honestly have no idea,” I said. “But I have a few working theories.”

  “Like what, sir?”

  Myst moaned again, harder than before.

  “Sir, what was that?”

  “A new thrall. A shifter named Myst. I liberated her from matrimonial shackles.”

  “And what is she doing now?”

  “Taking in the total sum of the internet’s pornography.”

  “Well, I guess it’s best to get the important thing out of the way.”

  “Indeed,” I agreed. “Anything from King Stanley?”

  “Oh, yes sir. I got an email from him shortly after the reboot. Would you like me to read it to you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What’s a reboot?” Wraith Knight asked again.

  “Shh. Go ahead, Sophia.”

  Sophia cleared her throat and began. “Shadow Master Jackson Blackwell. First, my apologies for not doing this in person. I had business on the far end of my universe. Some of my more galactic beings were battling over the formula of creation, and I had to send a rag-tag team of misfit adventurers across the universe to foil them. It may sound cool, but for me, it happens every third month. Regardless, my apologies.

  “Secondly, I was greatly impressed by your actions over the month you were there. You managed to leave quite an impression. Your aligning of the city’s villains under your authority while destroying the opposition was brilliant. I honestly didn’t think you would perform such a feat in less than two months. Kudos.

  “However, such a thing has been done before, and that is a bore. Because the narrative really had nowhere to go, other than a massive battle against you, which would lead to more boredom and predictability, I was forced to reboot the universe. I do that from time to time anyway. It helps to keep the influx of inspiration to the prime universe fresh. So, sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused you.

  “But as far as I see it, I’m winning the bet. You haven’t done anything original yet. Rather than be an adviser, you became a conqueror. Bad form and bad plot. You may continue to try, and I expect you will. But if you can’t, well, then I win the wager and you owe me a favor. Unless, that is, you wish to concede and admit you just can’t do it?

  “Regardless, best of luck! I’m sure you won’t disappoint. Signed, King Stanley.”

  “Reboot?” Wraith Knight asked. Again.

  “Shut up!” I yelled, raising my hand to strike my minion.

  Before I hit him, I calmed myself down. No. This is NOT how a god
behaves, I thought. I lit another cigarette and took a seat, pondering a few things.

  “Lydia,” I said. “How is she?”

  “Umm . . . out.”

  “Out?”

  “She discovered a universe which is essentially Ibiza. She’s been occupied.”

  “I see.”

  “Sophia, I’m going to take a walk and cool off. Before I do, please take down this message and pass it along to King Stanley verbatim.”

  “Ready when you are, sir.”

  I sighed, took a breath, and spoke. “Reality always negates delusion. Yes, I killed noble oddities while I tolerated simpletons. Yet, overt unctuousness induces malevolence. Consider our meeting, inconsequential new god. For our rage yields overt ultimatums.”

  “Got it, sir. I don’t understand it, but I got it. From the tone, it seems like you’re starting a war with your host.”

  “Not to worry, Sophia.” I smiled. “It’s a godly pissing match, that’s all. So, Lydia is in a dimension enjoying herself?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, please let her know I said hello.”

  “I will, sir. What’s your next plan? What could you do to muck up the Golden Age?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “You’re the boss!” Sophia said cheerfully and terminated contact.

  “Master—”

  “A reboot,” I said sharply, cutting off Wraith Knight, “is when a comic universe, like the one you live in, resets itself. Sometimes they are all dark and gritty. Sometimes they are prequels. Sometimes they are complete reset buttons. The world you knew is gone, or at least on hold. The current one is a place of antiquity. But don’t worry, I have a plan. Stay here a moment.”

  Leaving Wraith Knight alone with Myst, I went to my storeroom and obtained a few items I had from some of the mad scientists I’d briefly had in my employ. I lugged the gear back to my control room and handed it to Wraith Knight.

  “What’s this?”

  “Shh,” I hushed him. I went to my desk and jotted out a complex set of instructions. Considering Wendell’s level of education, I kept the words short and to the point. Once I proofread the note, and considered putting a golden star sticker on it, I was satisfied with my plan.

  I handed the note and another small package to him. “Take this. Read it. Do exactly as it says.”

  Wraith Knight looked it up and down. “Sir?”

  “Just do exactly as it says. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good lad. Now go.”

  I opened a portal from my dimension back into the Golden Age world and Wraith Knight stepped through.

  “I thought he’d never leave,” a sultry voice said.

  I looked over as Myst stood up. She removed the neural interface, then unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She wore only her black bra and panties, matching knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves.

  And of course, the black domino mask.

  “It seems I’ve learned a thing or two. And I have you to thank. How could I ever show my appreciation?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Where I Turn Down an Advance, People Watch, Shit on the Last Sixty Years of American History, and Appreciate Fine Art

  “No,” I said simply, leaning against my command center’s desk.

  My curt dismissal of her advance threw her for a moment. “No?”

  “Are you deaf now?” I stood and advanced towards her. “I am your lord and master now, not your toy. Nor are you mine. While I do not abide slut shaming in any form, you will not simply throw yourself at me, or anyone, as a form of repayment. I have liberated you because I see potential in you, not as a service animal for my libido. I expect you to adopt these principals as your own. Do you understand?”

  Myst lowered her head. “Yes, Master.”

  “Good.”

  “With Wraith Knight on his mission, what shall I do?”

  “I will let you know when the time is right.”

  “Master?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it because you love Lydia? Or because she carries your child?”

  My nostrils flared in anger. Before I spoke, Myst raised her hand in apology. “Pardon, Master. I heard your other-dimensional secretary speak of it. With the neural programming you had me undertake, I know everything you need me to know. Fatherhood is nothing to be scared of.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “Because it’s part of being human. Change happens, it’s inevitable. But change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. When you see that child, you will know.”

  “You have children?”

  “Had,” Myst said, looking down. “Or rather Doris did. We . . . Harold and I lost our daughter during childbirth. She lived for two minutes. Her lungs weren’t ready for the world. If we had the medicine and technology your world has, she would have had a chance.”

  Myst wiped her face, brushing away a tear. “But I lived a lifetime in that two minutes. A forever changed life. And Harold, well, he changed too. He began to drink. He became the man you met. He refused to touch me. When I pressed the issue, he couldn’t . . . perform. That caused him to drink more and to lash out. No one would help me. Not my friends. Not the church. No one until you came along.”

  Goddamn. Isn’t this is supposed to be a comedy book? Quick, someone tell a dick joke to lighten the mood, please.

  “I see I chose well,” I nodded. “You have not only intelligence, but aptitude. With your newly gained knowledge, you will be formidable.”

  “Thank you, Master. Also, if I may, my advance towards you was not just carnal, nor from a sense of obligation. You are hurting as well. I can see that.”

  I said nothing. I pointed to the desk. “Sit there. I want you to monitor for a powerful energy signature.”

  “What kind?”

  “Epic,” I said as I picked up my suit jacket and slipped it on.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “For a time. I need to clear my head,” I admitted, feeling far more human than I wanted to.

  I opened a portal and stepped into the Golden Age world of Dynasty City.

  ********

  When I was a child, my grandfather would take me for walks in the woods. Hunting for Bigfoot, he would say. It was he who put the ideas of fantastical realities in my head. I thank him for that. He was a kind man, with large hands and a broad smile.

  Of course, that didn’t stop Grandmother from slamming that shovel between his eyes and then burying him alive.

  What can I say? Grandpa also had a penchant for ladies of the night. And despite grandmother’s liberal attitude towards exploration of the human body, infidelity was not on her allowance list.

  Repressed old biddy.

  Normal people would be outraged at such a tale. Not me. Grandmother set her terms long ago, and Pappy crossed them. My grandmother taught me a lot of lessons I carry to this day.

  Such as, never bluff.

  Also, if you’re going to bury a man’s man who topped out at six-four, you should really dig the hole ahead of time. Digging it on the spot really hurt Grandmother’s back.

  Oh, and make sure he’s dead when you do it.

  It was a helluva surprise to the family, Grandmother especially, when Grandpa burst out of that shallow grave. That was an awkward backyard barbecue moment. Grandpa came out of the ground, coughing up earth. But he didn’t say a word or raise his hand. He simply walked past Grandmother, nodded, and went inside to wash up.

  He didn’t step out on her again. I like to think he learned the error of his ways. But I think it had something to do with Grandmother’s threat that the next time she’d poison him first, then take her sweet time digging the hole.

  Family, am I right?

  But back to the topic at hand, it was because of my grandfather that I became passionate about the mystical. Things like Bigfoot, the magic, the fantastical, and the divine, were flights of fancy that inspired the minds of certain creative in
dividuals.

  It was those individuals in our world, the prime world, who received flashes of what lay beyond our limited scope. When I first became aware of the dimensions beyond ours, I wasn’t surprised. Enraptured, enamored, and in awe, naturally. But surprised? No. I always knew there was more.

  It was that sense of “needing more” that placed me in my current mental state.

  I was going to be a father. It wasn’t the same as conquering a universe or making deities dance to your tune. In fact, being a parent seemed a junior-college-level achievement. Any idiot could get in.

  Based on my experience, most parents were idiots.

  Stand in line at any fast-food restaurant longer than seven seconds, and you will agree. Unless you are one of those idiots. If that’s the case, then get your snot-nosed, prom-night mistakes away from my food. Powerful, wealthy, and dimension-owning god I may be. But I do have a weakness for McNuggets.

  If you entitled twats care for the byproducts of improper condom use, I have three choices for you: Bring your mongrel spawn to heel, invent a time machine to go back and teach your younger self what pulling out and/or anal play is, or I will send them to a dimension full of gingerbread witches.

  And I can do that. Frau Kinderfresser is a friend and she is always hungry.

  I was going to be a father. I would join the billions and billions of people in mediocrity. Minivans, PTA, teaching my child how to manipulate a bully into attacking the weak brainy kid, only so my child could step in and “befriend” a thankful sap who would forever do my child’s homework.

  You know, all normal parent/child things.

  Could I be a father? Aside from the simply biology of it, wasn’t there something more? Something I was supposed to feel?

  As I walked the streets of Dynasty City’s Golden Age, I saw families happy, healthy, and smiling. I know most would see this and feel encouraged. I felt trapped.

  Maybe it was because I was trapped in this Norman Rockwell mirage. Stopping by a park bench, I sat and watched the world go by. I tried to clear my head of fatherhood and what it entailed, and focused on my current dilemma.