Villains Pride (The Shadow Master Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  But it wasn’t a guard I wanted to talk to. I had a grander conversation planned. Problem was, my intended speaking partner was taking his damned sweet time. I stretched my arms overhead, interlacing my fingers behind my neck as I lounged on my bunk.

  “Lydia,” I said aloud, “I don’t have my phone or earpiece. But I’m guessing you’re listening in. Something big is about to go down. And I don’t know how it’s going to play out. Just know . . . Jackson Blackwell loves Lydia Barrowbride. Always has and always will.”

  I nodded to myself, satisfied with the sentiment.

  “OK. Come on, Stanley. It’s time we had that chat,” I said. “I think I won our bet.”

  “Hardly,” Stanley said, blinking into existence outside my cell. “You think a simple battle between heroes is original? Please.”

  “It was more of a war, thank you,” I sniffed.

  “Fine, I’ll give you that. But original, it is not. Heroes have wars in every major crossover.”

  “One where all the major characters are killed?” I asked. “That’s a little hard to simply sweep under the rug, or brush away.”

  Stanley laughed, taking off his oversized glasses. He wiped them clean on his cardigan, then returned them to his wrinkly old face and smoothed his beard with his hand.

  “You really think that, don’t you? Oh, young godling, you’re cute when you think you’re clever. Even without a reboot, all I have to do is simply say they were all clones, or alien impostors. Synthetic decoys, shapeshifters, or a complete tangent story from a parallel universe, as seen through the mind of a powerful child psychic. Then I can repopulate the hero pantheon with new versions of heroes and start it all over.”

  “That is a rather large middle finger to your fan base back in the prime material plane,” I said.

  “Do you think I care what those nerds think?” Stanley asked with a wave of his hand. “Besides, they’re used to it. I’ve been abusing their undying love for decades.”

  It was time to get down to it.

  “Fine,” I said. “I admit it. Aside from causing some creative and hilarious havoc, I did nothing ‘original,’” I said, using air quotes. “So fine. You win. I owe you a favor.”

  “Thank you. I would like you to honor that favor now.”

  “Sure,” I said. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to die.” Stanley smiled.

  Odd as it may seem, I did not smile.

  “Huh. Well, that’s an option,” I said with a nod. “But I’d prefer something less permanent. Maybe help you move a couch or something? Plus there’s this whole ‘I’m behind this energy shield, and you’re out there’ thing.”

  With a snap of his fingers, the energy shield to my cell vanished.

  “Right.” I nodded. “A god.”

  King Stanley stepped up and into my cell. As he did, he no longer walked like an old man, instead standing tall and strong. A sword made of fiery light and silvery steel manifested in his hand. “You made an agreement. From one god to another. And my favor, from you, is for you to die.”

  “Nice sword,” said, leaning in close and lighting a cigarette off it. “But if you want me to beg, I won’t. You think I didn’t know you were up to something with Khasil? Do I look stupid? I just needed a break from Lydia, and welcomed the punishment from The One. But soon, the investigation will be over, and I’ll return to my universe and pick up right where I left off. So please, get the fuck out of my way.”

  King Stanley pressed the sword to my chest, pushing the blade about a quarter inch into my left pectoral. The heat from the blade burned with an incredible intensity, and an intense hatred, aimed at me.

  It was as if the blade itself were angry at me.

  But I refused to show him even an iota of concern.

  “We both know you aren’t going to kill me. A god cannot directly kill a god from another universe without it being sanctioned from The One. And you don’t have that. So stop your grandstanding.”

  The blade drove through my chest, piercing my heart.

  I felt giddy warmth, then intense heat, and finally incredible pain.

  The form of King Stanley vanished. Standing there, with the blade in his hand, was my nephew, Randy Blackwell.

  And the smug fuck was grinning from ear to ear.

  “No, Uncle Jackson, you’re right. A god cannot kill a god from another plane. But demi-gods, like me? Well, we do the impossible all the time. And this time, I win.”

  It was hard to argue with the boy.

  Especially considering that I died.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Where Randolph Blackwell Rises as the New Shadow Master . . . WTF???

  Randolph Blackwell, the avatar of Valliar, God of Justice from the Realm of Caledon, dismissed his sword back to the ether from whence it came.

  With his hands free, Randolph removed his manhood from his pants and urinated on the corpse of Jackson Blackwell, the Shadow Master.

  Former Shadow Master, Randolph mused to himself. With his uncle finally dead, he could assume the mantle and title of Shadow Master. His reign would not be whimsical romps of comedic, go-nowhere misadventures through the multiverse. They would not be full of vulgarity and charm.

  No, the new Shadow Master would bring the darkness back to the name. The name caused men and gods alike to tremble, and knees to bend, when he approached.

  Randolph finished his act of defiance with a final shake, put away his member, and buckled his pants. Once done, Randolph knelt down next to his urine-soaked uncle’s corpse.

  “You got soft, Uncle. Sloppy and complacent. But I honestly have to say thank you. When you left me in Calaedon, beaten, I hated you. Leaving me in that backwoods fantasy realm as a punishment, forcing me to live as an embodiment of justice as Valliar’s avatar, was a devilish touch.

  “However, justice is . . . flexible. The good and the righteous deserve justice for their transgressions as much as the sinful and the wicked. In time I learned to turn my hate for you into motivation. It was easy to see how Valliar favored the elves, holding back the other races. You yourself pointed that out during your time there. Well, that is not ‘just’, now is it? One tenuous relationship with Khasil later, and I managed to bind Valliar and assume his power. Being a demi-god has its advantages, after all.

  “But I was still stuck in that damn realm. That was until King Stanley came to visit Caledon. He had some crazy idea about starting up a new dimension within his realm for fantasy-based comics. As I was acting as ‘Valliar,’ Stanley offered me an invitation to come here and act as an adviser for this new dimension’s construction. Do you know how powerful this universe is? No, of course you do not. No doubt you dismissed it as all others did, to include myself, I must admit. But surely you felt the power of this place when you came here? And you never bothered to investigate it. Another reason you do not deserve the Shadow Master mantle.

  “This universe is actually very, very old. There are near-infinite realities contained here, each one containing complete micro-universes. A god who held power here would be nigh omnipotent and rival any other being. Yet that doddering fool of a god Stanley uses this gift to play out simple superhero stories?

  “Masquerading as Valliar, I convinced Stanley to grant me use of his power to help construct the new fantasy sub-realm. Once Stanley’s grace entered me, it was easy to subdue, cage, and assume King Stanley’s mantle using the power I siphoned from Valliar. Now, all I had to do was kill Stanley.”

  Randolph fished though his uncle’s pockets, finding the pack of black cigarettes with silver tips. Lighting one, Randolph breathed in and out. “Nice. No wonder you keep these for yourself.”

  Randolph stood and walked over to the bed in Jackson’s cell. Seeing as his uncle no longer had any use for it, Randolph sat down and enjoyed his pilfered cigarette.

  “You see, somehow Stanley was too powerful to destroy. Contain, yes. But destroy? No. I surmised he had to be weakened further for me to take full control. But eve
rything I tried, I am loath to admit, failed. Then a stroke of brilliance occurred to me. Who could I use to get what I wanted? Who had enough hubris to think themselves untouchable? And who did I want to hurt the most in the process? Well, Uncle, I think we both know the answer.”

  Randolph finished his smoke and flicked the butt onto his uncle’s dead body. “The trick was getting you here. Again, Khasil filled that role. She really, really hates you. And I used her hate for you to plant my seed. She is an imbecile, as you knew, but she had the godly connections I needed. So I presented her the plan to bring you here. Khasil jumped on the chance to make you suffer. She lodged the formal protest, eliciting The One’s edict. Using your own paranoia to doubt the Barrowbride’s loyalty was easy, especially knowing you would take the bait.

  “Once you were here, all I had to do was make the bet with you. You see, each time you thought you accomplished something here, you caused a reboot. But do you know what those reboots did? They further weakened King Stanley. Each time you knocked the universe out of alignment, his divine essence inherently needed to reset the balance. Each time, the reboots exacted an incredible toll on him. So each and every time you had your little fun brought me closer to finishing him off. And once he is finally gone, his power and control over this universe will flood to the nearest god, which, thanks to Valliar’s essence, is me. And to think you were content with that little floating tower in a pocket dimension. You always thought too highly of yourself, Uncle, while also thinking too small. Now, I am but one reboot away from destroying Stanley and taking my place as a full god.

  “I will admit, your trick of enforcing reality was interesting, and I did not see it coming. But because you did, you killed off all the major heroes of this world. So a reboot is definitely in order.”

  Randolph stood from the bunk, looked down at his fallen nemesis, and smiled. “Thanks for the talk, Uncle Jackson. Do not worry, the Shadow Master name will be put to good use.”

  Randolph focused on his godly tether to King Stanley, held up his hand, and snapped his fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  Ol’ Randy looked puzzled, then snapped his fingers again.

  And again, nothing happened. No reboot.

  “Wait,” Randy said. “If he’s dead . . . why is the narration in the third person? And . . . why did that say ‘Randy’ and not ‘Randolph?’”

  Randy came to the slow realization that he was in fact not the new protagonist of the tale. His dimwitted mind hadn’t grasped the fact that he’d been played. Or perhaps his youth gave him the illusion of wisdom.

  Regardless, Randy was an asshole.

  “HEY! You, narrator!”

  Hmm?

  “This is MY story now!”

  I told you he was dimwitted.

  “No, no I’m not. Wait—who’s that voice?”

  Uh-oh, you just used a contraction. You pride yourself on your speech pattern. You must be getting frustrated. It’s OK. It’s cute. Like when a kid doesn’t understand big-people thoughts and says words like “p’sghetti.”

  “ENOUGH!”

  Randy looked about the prison cell, confused and angry. Then, understanding dawned on his stupid, stupid face.

  “No. No. NO!”

  Heya Randy, how are you. In case you haven’t grasped it yet, it’s your uncle. You know, the real Shadow Master. Your evil monologue skills are pretty good. But next time, make sure your opponent is dead before you gloat.

  “He’s . . . YOU’RE dead!”

  Randy yelled, screamed, and kicked the corpse of who he believed to be Jackson Blackwell. He resembled a child throwing a tantrum, angry when he didn’t get his way. Come to think of it, he didn’t. Huh. In that case, go ahead and kick away, Randy. You’ve earned it.

  “Stop! Stop talking! This is my time! Mine! I have the power now!”

  Power? You want a talk about power? Fine. Get ready, you amateur.

  Is there any creature in nature happier than a vulture . . . at an Ethiopian village?

  “What?”

  What’s Jesus’s favorite band? Nine Inch Nails.

  “Uhh . . .”

  I refused to talk to my son once I found out he was a skinhead, and that was ten years ago. Turned out he just had leukemia. I miss him sometimes.

  “What the fuck? That’s not power; that’s just dark humor.”

  Dark humor is like a kitten with cancer—it never gets old. And I just made countless readers read some things they can’t unread. In fact, a lot of them probably laughed, in so doing revealing a darkness either they know about and embrace or don’t know about, but which will now grow. To touch many, with little effort, is power.

  Now, go over to one of those monitors outside the cell and turn it on.

  Randy, confused, did as instructed.

  Flipping on the monitor, Jackson Blackwell, the one and only Shadow Master, smiled at him. He was safe and sound within his embassy and most definitely alive.

  Superhero Fun Fact #11

  In Marvel’s Ultimates Vol. 3, twin brother and sister, Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch were also lovers. But since we’ve all watched or read Game of Thrones . . . meh?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Where I Am Alive and Well, Monologue to Randy, and Tell Him, Indirectly, to Eat a Dick

  “Hello Randy,” I said to my nephew through the monitor with a big, shit-eating smile. “Having trouble rebooting the universe? Have you figured out why yet?”

  Randy’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

  “Wanna take a guess?”

  Randy thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Reality.”

  I nodded. “Go on.”

  “Your ability to impose reality is somehow blocking it. Because reality doesn’t allow for reboots. But you shouldn’t be able to. Even at your full strength, you can’t block the power of King Stanley.”

  I shrugged. “You admitted yourself, he’s weakened.”

  “No, it’s still not enough.”

  “You’re right,” I told him. “It isn’t. Which is why I do what I always do.”

  “Bore me.”

  “Oh, nephew. If you were just twenty-five percent less asshole, we’d work well together. But since you took the time to say thank you to me, allow me to do the same to you.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “And so soon shall you be,” I sneered. “You see, I knew it was you. Not at first, I’ll admit, but shortly after the first reboot, I figured it out.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I sighed. “Chapter 18, fourth page. The letter I had Sophia send you. The one that began, ‘Reality always negates delusion.’ I warned you then about my use of reality. I also left you a message. I honestly thought you’d get it back then. I know my editor caught it on the first try.”

  Randy pulled a copy of Villains Pride from his back pocket and flipped to that point in the story. He began scanning the section I told him.

  “I can see your lips moving when you read,” I mocked him.

  “Shut up. Yes, I see the passage. Some esoteric rambling.”

  “What do the first letters of each word in the message spell out?” I asked.

  “R-a-n-d-y . . . I k-n-o-w i-t-s y-o-u . . . Oh. Well, shit.”

  “Yup. And thanks to your arrogance, some douche Amazon reviewer is going to ding me down to two stars or less because ‘Randy was totally unbelievable.’ Or worse, a snarky bibliophile is going to leave a three-star review, justifying their five-paragraph manifesto by saying, ‘I read a bajillion books a week and in my opinion . . . blah blah blah,’” I said, using air quotes, “like that fucking matters. Excessive reading, like masturbation numbs you. Do those three-star-review people ever realize that they’re gaping, hemorrhoid-riddled assholes? I mean, it’s clear they want to be professional writers and critics. But instead of putting in the work and taking a chance, they’d rather vomit up their ‘brilliant insight’ via a five-hundred-word essay on why an indie writer’s hard work was ‘only OK’. God, I ho
pe those people either get laid, get happy, or get dead.”

  “Feel better getting that out of your system?” Randy asked.

  I nodded. “You know what? I do. Thank you.”

  Randy sighed. “This book deserves three stars.”

  “Hardy-freaking-har,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Not five stars, sure, but a solid fun four, I think. But you’re the reason this particular tale turned out the way it did. After all, I stole your best ideas and used what you gave me.”

  Randy scowled, pursing his lips.

  “What’s that you say?” I asked, cupping my hand to my ear. “Tell you what I meant? Well, since you asked so nicely, how could I say no to my favorite nephew. You see, dear Randy, do you remember what advice you gave me back in Caledon concerning totems?”

  “Yes,” Randy said through gritted teeth. “I used time-release capsules.”

  “Exactly. And since you were nice enough to allow me full use of my godly powers here, I never needed them. Why did you allow me full use? Hmm? Let me guess, so I wouldn’t suspect anything. And with my full powers, I could cause a lot of damage, which led to your needed reboots?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, don’t be a sourpuss,” I chided him. “You were nice enough to explain your plans to me; allow me to reciprocate. Now, where was I?”

  “Stealing my ideas.”

  “Right! So, after I arrived, you sent the Greek Chorus after me as a nice warm-up. But what you actually did was plant a seed in my mind. What if I could use my godly power in others, and thereby use my abilities through them as proxies? If you recall, I kidnapped poor Gamma and Eta and dragged them both into my shadow realm and back to my embassy.”

  I stood up and pointed off screen. “Hey, WK, can you grab that camera and follow me?”

  “Sure thing,” Wraith Knight said from off camera.