Tournament of Supervillainy

by Phipps, C. T.

  “May I ask you a question?” Jane asked. “Assuming you aren’t weirded out by a woman who used to read your comics from the time she was eight until her high school years?”

  “I am, in fact, very weirded out,” I said, having not actually given the matter much thought. It was a little strange to think about the possibility what was fiction in one reality was fact in another but I’d encountered weirder things. In an infinite multiverse, everything was bound to be real somewhere, though. “Still, I’m anxious for something to take my mind off my friend’s death. This seems as good anything. How accurate are those, anyway? I mean, do they have everyone’s secret identity and all that?”

  “You’re Gary Karkofsky in them so I guess. Did you really once own a flying pirate ship?” Jane asked.

  “I did, actually,” I said, proudly. “Sadly, I crashed it into Wall Street.”

  “I wonder how many people got that was a riff on a Monty Python sketch.”

  “Among geeks? Quite a few.”

  Down below, Andy Johnson aka The Amazing Andy, was getting blasted by the Shadowmaster. Amazing Andy could regenerate but that was just causing him to get spammed by the black cloaked figure’s fire magic. The Shadowmaster was an evil wizard who’d shot me during one of my ‘Murder Hitler’ time-jumps (I got better) and ran a villainous consultation agency. Personally, I thought the guy’s advice was overrated. I was surprised to see him here, multiverse at stake or not, and suspected he’d bail the moment he could.

  “May I ask a question?”

  “You just did,” I said.

  “Point taken.” Jane asked. “Why call yourself a villain?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, turning to her.

  “The whole card-carrying villain thing,” Jane said, wrinkling her brow in a fashion that reminded me of my sister, Kerri. “I mean, no one in the real world thinks they’re villains. Everyone is the hero of their own story. They don’t grow up wanting to put on costumes and hold the world ransom.”

  “Maybe not in your world,” I said, shrugging. “To paraphrase Henry Hill, I always wanted to be a supervillain.”

  “Goodfellas was about how the mob lifestyle was destructive and self-defeating.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, but it also showed Ray Liotta having a lot of fun first. It’s like the Bond movies. Yes, the villains all die in the end but damn they have nice pads and hot girlfriends. Talk about a life well lived.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Gary, you forget I’ve read your comics. You only kill bad guys.”

  “Heroes don’t kill,” I said.

  “Tell that to World War 2 veterans.”

  Jane had a point there. “Do the comics tell why I became a supervillain in the first place?”

  “Your brother got killed by a superhero,” Jane said, reciting it as if it was a fact of a fictional character rather than something that had happened to the person across from her. “Some gun crazy wannabe vigilante broke in your house and gunned him down.”

  “Yeah,” I said, taking a deep breath. I still had nightmares about that night, decades later. “He was a superhero who people cheered for murdering the dangerous Stingray despite the fact my brother, Keith, was out on parole. If he’s the kind of guy who people consider to be a superhero then I don’t want any part of it. Being a supervillain means I’m accountable to myself and myself alone.”

  I wondered if the Merciless comic books on Jane’s world talked about how I’d eventually tracked down Shoot-Em-Up when I was fourteen. He’d been visiting Falconcrest City’s worst establishments, carrying out his brand of justice, and taking time to have sex with underage prostitutes. I’d killed him when he’d answered the door and the authorities never found out I was responsible. The only person who knew the truth on my world was Cindy. I hadn’t even told Mandy.

  “There’s a difference between a dirty cop who murders a guy at a traffic site because he looks different versus a guy who takes a bullet trying to stop an armed robbery,” Jane said, her voice low. “I know real life heroes and they have to make hard choices sometimes. You remind me more of them than the alternative.”

  I felt a headache coming on before I leaned my head against the stone wall beside me. “Did you know I actually got to speak with my brother’s ghost?”

  “Merciless: The Supervillain Without Mercy #113, yeah.”

  I paused. “You know you’re an urban fantasy series in this world, right? I’m totally going to read those now to find embarrassing stuff about you. In fact, if we survive this, I’m going to your world to give you samples of your fanfic.”

  “I’ve actually written Merciless fanfic. My hard drive is full of Cindy/Gabrielle and Gary/Diabloman fanfic.” Jane then realized what she said. “Oh Jesus, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, sighing. “Our relationship wasn’t like that but I understand. In any case, I got to talk to my brother and he told me I was wasting my life being a supervillain. That I had so much potential to be anything I wanted, I’d served myself and my family poorly by imitating his mistakes. My father said about the same thing when he passed away.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jane said. “I think you are a hero and the only person who you need to convince of that is yourself.”

  “I was thinking about that earlier,” I said, pausing. “There’s no way Guinevere or the other Society of Superheroes folk would ever accept me, though. I don’t know if it was because of what I did last year or something more personal but she hates me.”

  I’d been hoping to turn over a new leaf and be accepted like the proverbial prodigal son but that didn’t seem to be the kind of reaction that the Society of Superheroes was likely to give. They’d already welcomed “me” into their ranks once and it had turned into an epic disaster. Worse, Guinevere’s reaction meant I had the dislike of the person reputed to be the most compassionate as well as fundamentally “good” in the organization.

  Frankly, if they ever found out Ultragod was dead because he’d thought Merciful was worth keeping on the street then they’d find the deepest hole in the world to toss me into—which they probably owned. Merciful had used Ultragod’s trust to close and put an Ultranium bullet in his chest. I still had nightmares about that. I was responsible for the world’s greatest hero’s death, however indirectly.

  “Yeah, I expected Guinevere to be a lot nicer,” Jane said, looking back out to the fight going on below. “I mean, I feel like I should turn in my throwing tiara and net of justice from Halloween 2007.”

  “We’ve all been wounded these past few years,” I said, thinking back to when we first met. Guinevere had been putting me in jails but there hadn’t been any of the anger or resentment she’d felt earlier. She’d been happy. The sum of her losses had worn that person away, especially Lady Hollywood’s death. A wound even an immortal like her couldn’t heal.

  “Maybe that justifies some of it but not all of it,” Jane said. “I’ve got quite a few broken pedestals of my own. The thing about being a hero is it’s about trying to do better, even if you don’t succeed.”

  “Who said that?” I asked.

  “Ultragod,” Jane said. “Amazing! comics Issue #600. I have the foil and hologram cover that was supposed to be worth big bucks in twenty years but costs less than my brother paid for it now.”

  “God, I hate when that happens,” I said, grinning despite myself. “Still, I don’t have any idea where I’d even begin trying to be a hero.”

  “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Jane said, smiling. “Just with less theft and mayhem. You can also try the no-killing thing if you really want to. I’m not going to hold it against you if you don’t.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m becoming a hero anytime soon. Entropicus needs to be killed.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be an idiot about it either,” Jane replied. “If a guy is an inter-dimensional dictator who wants to enslave or murder billions then go ahead and kill him. The same goes for a mass murdering supervillai
n who escapes constantly because prisons are apparently made of cardboard in your world. Just don’t do it for repentant criminals, drug dealers, or robbers. Hell, just focus on murderers and people who are threatening the world if you have to.”

  I paused. “A lot of my friends are criminals so it’ll be difficult but I suppose I could use Gabrielle as an example and work from there.”

  “Yeah, I suppose that would make you Merciless: The Hero with Some MercyTM.”

  “That makes no damn sense,” I said, chuckling at the very idea “Too bad my doppelganger already took Merciful.”

  “Yeah, but he was an asshole,” Jane said. I was really starting to like the walking talking slab of venison.

  “He was,” I said, pausing. “However, I may have to hold off on becoming a hero until after I’ve conquered the world. I’m sorry, but that’s been on my bucket list for a long time and I’m not about to give that up just yet.”

  “Whatever Gary,” Jane said, finishing her drink and putting the plastic bottle to one side before standing up. “In any case, I think I spotted Robin Hood down there. I’m going to ask him if he’s up for a go.”

  I snorted. “Aren’t you with someone back home?”

  “Hey, what happens on Hell Island stays on Hell Island,” Jane said. “I’ll make it up to him when I get back.”

  “Good luck, Jane,” I said, smiling. “You’ve got this sociopathic hero’s friendship.”

  “Gary, you’re not a sociopath.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “If you were then you wouldn’t have friends,” Jane said, jumping on the parapet and walking off.

  She had a point. There went my insanity plea. I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the life of a superhero but I wanted to do right by Keith and Diabloman. I wasn’t worried about Keith’s soul and I had a better track record than Orpheus for rescuing souls from the Underworld. If I had to contact the Trenchcoat Magician and transfer all of Diabloman’s karmic debt to myself or some other way to get him a “Get out of Hell Free” card, I would.

  Hell, I could probably take it on since as a Chosen of Death I wasn’t ever going to Heaven or Hell. I was effectively doomed to become an Elohim postmortem. Like Samael with a place in the 5th Heavens as well as real estate in Hell. I tried not to think about that.

  Getting up, I proceeded to head down the rampart’s top floor toward the snack bar. Hell Castle, despite its name, was actually a decent vacation spot. It had ghostly servitors who provided everything from snacks to magazines to more sensual desires if you were up for that. It really was like Han’s island from Enter the Dragon. Personally, I never slept with anything from hell as you never knew where they’d been. Also, I was pretty sure succubi wouldn’t fall under Mandy’s rules of ‘expanded monogamy.’

  I didn’t get to sleep with anyone she didn’t get to sleep with, which opened quite a few doors while closing others. I hope that didn’t change when I became a hero. Who knew what kind of weird rules they operated under. Anyway, I went down to the bar and got myself several vodka martinis that I hoped my enhanced metabolism would deal with. Walking back with an extra-large one in tow, I decided to take a nap until my next battle.

  “Psst!” A voice spoke from an alcove I was passing.

  I stopped and turned to see Gabrielle had ditched her normal costume for a one-piece cleavage-exposing blue bathing suit with a V-neck tied together by string, kinky boots, and ninja mask. She had a pair of sais in her hands.

  “Gabrielle, why are you dressed like a ninja stripper?” I paused. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you but—”

  “It’s a disguise!” Gabrielle snapped.

  I paused. “Shouldn’t a disguise not draw the attention of every red-blooded heterosexual male and queer female in the area?”

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Gary, please.”

  “No, seriously. It’s only disguising your face and there are not that many stunningly gorgeous Afro Hispanic women on the island. Well, if there are, then Cindy is going to be all—”

  Gabrielle gave me an Ultra-Force dope slap to the side of the head. “Focus.”

  I stared at her. “Gotcha.”

  “Eyes up here,” Gabrielle said.

  “Again, the downside to your outfit,” I said, blinking.

  “I need your help,” Gabrielle said.

  I nodded. “Always. Except, well, if my wife gets mad about it. Honestly, I think it may not be so much the fact I’m spending time with other women but spending time with you, specifically. Have you two had any superhero fights recently I’ve not been aware of? I can barely keep up with my own continuity these days. Did you know I only spent six months in Merciful’s underground prison?”

  “Gary, have you been drinking?”

  I paused. “Yes. Water. Also, whiskey. Diabloman died today.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gabrielle said, looking behind me then both ways down the rampart. “This may be bigger than all of us, though.”

  “How?” I asked. Gabrielle knew how important Diabloman was to me.

  “Someone is trying to steal the Primal Orbs!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE RULES OF THIS TOURNAMENT SUCK

  I stared at Gabrielle and blinked. “Umm, I know this is probably not the answer you’re expecting but isn’t that a good thing?”

  “What?” Gabrielle asked, an appalled look on her face.

  “I mean, we’re all here because these damned orbs represent an existential threat to everything. Skullface McWizardton only wins if he wins the tournament and uses the orbs to kill everyone.”

  I neglected to mention I was also here because I wanted a wish to conquer the solar system. I didn’t know if Gabrielle would overthrow me afterward, probably, but I was comfortable with her defeating me. If destiny hadn’t made it so the two of us could be together, I loved my wife and Cindy after all, I was comfortable being her archnemesis. How screwed up was that?

  Gabrielle shook her head. “It’s not that easy, Gary.”

  I sighed. “Of course, it isn’t. The universe is set up to keep its audience of violence and joke-hungry masses amused.”

  I turned to my left.

  “Gary, what are you doing?” Gabrielle asked, looking at me sideways.

  “Staring at the fourth wall. I assume the Primals can see me glaring at them,” I said, making the most annoyed face I could.

  “Uh huh,” Gabrielle said, annoyed.

  “So,” I said, going back to what she said. “What happens if they get away with them?”

  I had no idea who ‘they’ were but I figured we could get to that in time. It wasn’t like this was a place that lacked for potential suspects. As far as I could tell, it could be anyone from Professor Moriarty to Arsène Lupin.

  “If they succeed in stealing the orbs then the tournament is cancelled,” Gabrielle explained, a fearful look on her face. “All participants forfeit their matches and the tournament’s host wins by default.”

  I blinked. “The tournament host being Mumm-Ra.”

  Gabrielle blinked. “You shouldn’t call Entropicus that.”

  “The tournament host being Jack Skellington.”

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Yes, Gary, the tournament host being him.”

  “Which will result in the end of the world,” I said.

  Gabrielle nodded. “Every world everywhere.”

  “Which means he actually has a vested interest in letting these yokels get away with the orbs,” I said.

  Gabrielle nodded again. “Is there like a rulebook I didn’t get a copy of? I feel like there should have been one to let us know about these things. It should have been passed out at the start.”

  “There was a four-hour orientation by the priests of the All-Knowing on the beach at the start,” Gabrielle said, frowning. “You didn’t attend?”

  I stared at her, trying not to be snide. “No, I was too busy mourning my best friend.”

  It was hard to believe Diabloman was gone. I kept expecting h
im to come back but the return of heroes (or villains) to the land of the living was greatly overstated. There had been a few times it had happened, Ultragod coming back from the dead once in the Nineties as well as Mandy of course, but the vast majority of heroes stayed dead. Sunlight, Ultragod for the second time, the Nightwalker, and others were beyond this life now.

  Ironically, I’d faced many of my enemies multiple times before. The Ice Cream Man, Big Ben, the Typewriter, and others had come back repeatedly. I’d faced them as zombies, ghosts, and even demons only to send them right back to hell after I was done with them. It seemed the damned spirits had the least to trouble crossing back over into this world.

  For a moment, it actually made me hope there was no peace for my best friend since that would make it easier to summon him back with necromancy. But I wasn’t a very good wizard. I didn’t know the dozens of languages necessary to translate spells, possess the mathematical genius to coordinate the stars properly, or even simply have the right spells. I hadn’t just been joking back at the pizzeria that I wasn’t smart enough to get all the bonus spells your typical D&D wizard needed to dominate the world. I did have the approval of a very powerful patron but she was a spirit who was fickle in her patronage.

  “I’m sorry, Gary,” Gabrielle said, placing her arm on my shoulder. “Diabloman was a… complicated individual but I knew you and he were close. You made him a better person.”

  Gabrielle was suppressing her anger at Diabloman, I could tell. Being imprisoned for years (months?) at the hands of Merciful had shredded her formerly calm demeanor. Gabrielle had been a member of the Texas Guardians with the Guitarist and Spellbinder, only for Diabloman to kill both of her friends. He’d also tried to kill her on numerous occasions. That’s not including the time he destroyed the universe. So, yeah, I understood why she couldn’t bring herself to mourn him like me.

  “Did I?” I asked. “Did I really? If so, what does that make me?”