World Domination

by Steve Beaulieu

  “I think we should do as he asks,” G-Man said, again talking to the rest of them as if I weren’t there. But this time I didn’t mind. For once, his voice sounded compassionate, as if he’d finally realized that I was asking for this because I needed this relief, not because I was crazy. “Any objections?” he asked.

  “Many,” Z-Man said to nods from the rest of them. “But maybe you’re right.” Zedekiah’s voice was so soft that I, with my super hearing, could barely make it out over the whipping wind. “Nic,” my best friend of a very long lifetime said, “are you absolutely sure this is what you want, brother?”

  I gulped. Once dead, I hoped I’d end up in a place where I couldn’t miss my friend and his genuine caring. “I’m sure. I’m sorry to ask this of you all, truly I am.” I met everyone’s eyes, even G-Man’s, to show them I meant what I said. “If there were any other way, I’d never put you in this position. But I’ve been debating this for nearly a hundred years. I’ve decided and I won’t change my mind, I’ll only push further into being the Unkillable Killer until you do as my heart needs you to do.”

  I sighed and brought my hands to my sides, all pretense of threats gone. “Please, my dear brothers, free me from this cursed torment. I’ll be grateful to you.”

  And that’s all I could say. My crushed and pulverized heart was on display. It confirmed this was my truth.

  A whole minute passed. Eventually, Zedekiah said, “All right. I’ll do it.”

  I was stricken with unforeseen panic because I’d been certain G-Man would do it and spare my best friend. “G, please, you do it.”

  I didn’t have to explain. G-Man nodded his understanding. He might be a neon-green prick most of the time, but he wasn’t all bad. None of them were. In my own way, I loved them all, even with a heart no longer capable of the true emotion.

  “All together,” my brother in red piped up.

  “Yes,” another in yellow added. “So that no one of us carries the burden.”

  “Very well,” G-Man said. “Now then…”

  “Wait,” I stammered. I thought they’d at least give me time for farewells and some semblance of composure after my supervillain stunt.

  But the next instant I couldn’t talk or string together coherent thoughts. I couldn’t hear anything beyond the loud whooshing, pulsing sound in my head, and I imagined it to be the sound of doom. Unbearable pressure assaulted my body from all directions, pulling and pushing in on me at the same time.

  My eyes wouldn’t register anything beyond pain, but I understood what my friends must be doing. Ever since lightning gave us superhuman strength, we could push and pull with an immeasurable force—perhaps that of ten thousand men. Some of my friends hurled all of their might in my direction, while others pulled with equal force. My body was at once being crushed into oblivion and ripped into its smallest component parts.

  I’d either implode or explode, and I hoped it’d happen before I could feel any more of this pain. I hadn’t experienced real pain since the lightning storm lit up our cloister ages ago. Now I experienced enough of it to distribute fairly across all that missed time.

  Next, I was falling, hurtling toward the car dealership and its mangled evidence of my earlier power.

  I was in a free fall, unable to do anything to stop the ground, littered with metal and glass, from rising to meet me.

  Every single speck of me was being pulled apart, dissolving my life into its actual meaninglessness. And simultaneously every part of me was condensed until I was made to feel as small as I believed myself to be.

  I had to be nearly at the car lot. I tried to open my eyes, squinting toward the sky. All I could make out was light and colored blotches that matched my pace as I rocketed out of the sky.

  When I hit the ground, whatever breath was left to me fled in a final puff. My last jumbled thought was that I wouldn’t need it anymore.

  Then blessed, empty darkness clouded my vision. It settled across my consciousness like a smothering blanket.

  And finally, I was delivered to death.

  • • •

  The darkness began to fade even as I desperately begged for it not to abandon me, although I couldn’t move any part of my body to make my efforts more convincing. I’d sunken into myself like a black hole, but I was moving back toward the light.

  I wanted to scream, but my head pounded and the thought of any sound beyond what pressed against my mind was out of the question.

  Beyond the pulsing in my brain, I made out the angry thumping of my heart.

  Then, sounds outside of me coalesced into murmurs, voices.

  As my resistance to the pull of life went unheeded, the voices focused into discernible words.

  “I guess the Unkillable Killer can’t be killed.” It wasn’t Germaine’s smug voice as I might have expected. It was the compassionate voice of my closest friend, whom I’d forced to kill me and bear the burden of that action for an eternity.

  But Zedekiah hadn’t managed to kill me.

  None of them had.

  The scream that tore through me, shattering whatever stability I had left, was sufficient to push me back toward the relief of unfeeling darkness for another time.

  But the relief would end.

  And I wouldn’t.

  I was alive.

  A Word About Lucía Ashta

  I’ve been fascinated with super powers since I was a girl. I used to tie my bathrobe to my neck as a cape, climb atop the dresser, and launch myself onto the bed crying out, “Under woman!” Nowadays I can properly pronounce Wonder Woman, but I’m still in love with super powers and just as quirky. So when Steve Beaulieu invited me to be a part of this anthology, I jumped at the opportunity, and right away I started wondering, What would it be like to have super powers and be nearly immortal? And “The Unkillable Killer” was born.

  I wanted to take a look at the human side of the superhero, or in this case, the supervillain. What would it feel like to survive the people you love? To have to adjust, over and again, to the changing eras? As I explored these questions, I hope you experienced a bit of the human side of this reluctant supervillain, Nicodemus, who grew tired of his spandex superhero outfit and the rest of life.

  I’ve been creating stories since I was jumping off furniture and proclaiming myself Wonder Woman, but I became an architect and later an attorney before I finally realized I was made for a world of super powers. Now I write full-time in Sedona, Arizona, where I sometimes wear a cape and live with my husband and three daughters.

  I write a variety of speculative fiction. I’m the author of the ongoing space opera series Planet Origins, the fantasy series The Witching World (because magic is just another form of super power), and the upcoming visionary fantasy series The Light Warriors. I also write standalone stories and regularly contribute to anthologies like this one. To see more of my fiction, visit my Amazon author page and sign up for my newsletter to receive a free book and exclusive content.

  I’m always happy to connect with readers. You can find me on Facebook or email me at luciamashta@gmail.com.

  Thanks for reading and sharing in my appreciation of super powers!

  BLACK RAZOR

  BY PHILLIP HALL

  BLACK RAZOR

  BY PHILLIP HALL

  The Black Razor crouched in the shadows of an alleyway. He watched the thugs, crack dealers, and killers walk in and out of the old, run down Harrison Hotel across the street.

  It used to be a nice place until the South Rockhaven Stranglers showed up and murdered the owners. The police didn’t have the manpower or the firepower to do much about it. Slowly the entire five-block area became a no man’s land, with the Harrison serving as the gang’s headquarters. Everyone knew to stay far away from the Strangler’s turf unless you had an army backing you up.

  The Black Razor stood and stretched his legs, then straightened his clothes. He still hated dressing up in the themed black outfit. He had gone through several versions of his costume, including
tights and a cape. He learned quickly that tights were uncomfortable, and capes may look cool, but slow you down. He finally settled on solid black combat pants, black combat boots, black long sleeve form fitting shirt, black gloves, and his black mask. He especially liked the mask because the special material formed to his face, but let him breathe, see, and hear perfectly. Any onlooker merely saw a blank face and head. It was even creepy to him when he looked in the mirror. The only thing missing was a watch. He hated not having a watch, but it really didn’t fit with the whole supervillain theme.

  Satisfied that he looked the part, he strode from the dark alley and headed for the front door of the Harrison. As he approached, a burly man carrying a military issue machine gun stepped forward.

  “Hold on a second,” the door guard said.

  Black Razor continued walking until he stood face to face with the large man. He watched the guard nervously clench his assault rifle tighter. He smiled under the mask, happy that even this hardened beast of a man feared him. He stood there silently until the guard finally spoke up.

  “Uh... You’re the Black Razor, right?”

  “Yes,” Black Razor replied in a low evil voice.

  The guard quickly stepped aside. As Black Razor strode past, the guard swallowed hard.

  “You can go right up, Mr. Black Razor,” the guard said weakly. “Garrett is waiting in the master suite on the top floor.”

  Black Razor stepped into the open lobby of the hotel. He walked toward the elevators with a commanding air. Several thugs and dealers darted out of his path. He shook his head, remembering how many years of his life he’d wasted in this building. It felt like yesterday, even though it had been years since the day that changed everything, since he found his mission and the means to carry it out.

  He came to the other side of the lobby and reached out to press the elevator button when he heard someone come up behind him. He paused before hitting the button.

  “Hey! You think because you’re some fancy supervillain that you can walk into our house without paying your dues?” a hardened killer shouted as he approached Black Razor.

  “Dues?” Black Razor asked.

  “Yeah, your freaking dues, man! Now pay up or pay with your life,” the killer said.

  Black Razor burst into a fit of evil laughter. The killer, standing only a few feet behind now, began to grow angry.

  “Turn around here you freak! No one’s gonna walk in here and dis the Slasher!”

  Black Razor stopped laughing and silence flooded the lobby. Slasher pulled a large hunting knife and readied himself to attack.

  “I paid my dues a long time ago,” Black Razor said under his breath.

  “What’s that, freak? You got something to say to me? You turn around and face the Slasher head on!”

  In one swift move, the Black Razor spun around and called upon his power, then completed the spin facing the elevator and pressing the up button. As the doors opened, Slasher’s head rolled from his shoulders. The rest of him collapsed shortly after. Black Razor stepped into the elevator, turned around, and smiled. Everyone in the lobby was frozen, staring at him. He held his hand out to keep the elevator from closing and addressed the entire lobby.

  “Anyone else need me to pay my dues?”

  After a few seconds of silence, he let go of the door, allowing it to close. The elevator only took a moment to arrive at the top floor. He stepped out to see a skinny, well-dressed man who had been waiting there.

  “You are the Black Razor, I presume? My name is Mr. Filmoore. I am Garrett’s accountant,” the skinny man said nervously.

  “The South Rockhaven Stranglers have an accountant now?” Black Razor asked in a shocked voice.

  “That is correct. There is a lot of money changing hands, especially with deals like the one we’ll be doing tonight with you,” Mr. Filmoore answered. “Now if you’ll just follow me to the master suite, Garrett and Mr. X are waiting.”

  Mr. Filmoore turned and led the way toward the suite. Black Razor shook his head in disbelief. They arrived at the door. A violent looking guard held up his hand.

  “I’ve got to check the both of you for weapons.”

  Mr. Filmoore held his arms out and the tough patted him down thoroughly. Then he moved over to the Black Razor. There was a tense moment as the Black Razor stood, unmoving. Finally, he put his arms out to the side. The guard patted him down but found nothing. He turned and knocked three times, then opened the door.

  “Two coming in. Filmoore and Razor. Both of ‘em clean,” the guard yelled.

  As they entered the suite, Black Razor could see Garrett and Mr. X sitting in the large living area ahead. He let Mr. Filmoore lead the way. Garrett stood and smiled. He walked past his accountant and stood in front of the Black Razor.

  “Whoa man, you are way bigger than you look on the news. I’m Garrett, the leader of the Stranglers. Come on in and have a seat,” Garrett said as he gestured to an open chair across from Mr. X.

  Black Razor sat down, staring at Mr. X, instantly taking a dislike to the man. He watched as Garrett sat and Mr. Filmoore walked over to stand next to him.

  “So let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” It was more a command than a question.

  After short negotiations over the price of C-4, all three men stood. Garrett shook hands with Mr. X, then watched as he left to retrieve the explosives. Garrett turned and extended his hand to Black Razor.

  “Well it’s been cool doing business with a supervillain, but I’m sure you’ll be on your way to retrieve the money now,” Garrett said.

  Black Razor looked at the hand offered to him and laughed. Garrett pulled his hand back and anger flashed in his eyes.

  “Let me explain something to you,” Garrett said angrily. “There are only two ways I extend my hand to a man. One is in friendship, and the other is to pull a trigger. You may be some tough super—“

  Black Razor shoved him backward, knocking him violently to the floor. Mr. Filmoore started to rush over to Garrett when Black Razor focused his power and formed a long black katana. He stuck it against Mr. Filmoore’s throat, stopping him in his tracks. Garrett scrambled to his feet but didn’t make a move.

  “What the hell is this, man? I thought we were doing business here,” Garrett shouted. “And where the hell did you get a sword from?”

  Black Razor laughed again as he reached up with his open hand and removed his mask. Garrett’s face instantly lit up with recognition.

  “Johnny?” Garrett said, then squinted to look closer. “Johnny Goldman, is that really you?”

  Johnny smiled, then laughed before replying.

  “Yeah man, it’s me.”

  Garrett laughed out loud, instantly at ease.

  “Oh man, it’s been what, like five years since we seen you? So you’re the Black Razor,” Garrett said then laughed again. “And here I thought we were dealing with some psychotic murdering supervillain.”

  Johnny smiled, then flicked the katana, killing Mr. Filmoore in one swift motion. Before Garrett could react, Johnny focused his power and formed a black dagger to replace the katana. He pounced on Garrett, knocking him into a chair. He put the dagger to Garret’s throat, then leaned in close to speak.

  “Garrett, you are dealing with some psychotic murdering supervillain.”

  • • •

  “Detective, we found it over here,” a uniformed officer shouted out across the lobby.

  Detective Frank Carmon looked behind the fake potted fern where the officer was pointing and found the head they’d been looking for.

  “Yeah that must belong to headless guy number seventeen by the elevators,” Frank said. “Make sure crime scene gets some photos of the face before they bag it.”

  Frank had been a homicide detective in Rockhaven for fourteen years and had seen a lot of murders, but this was the first time he’d seen an entire hotel full of them. Forty-two bodies so far, and every last one of them members of the South Rockhaven Stranglers. He’d se
en enough and headed for the front door so he could get away from the smell of death.

  The Detective stepped outside and had to walk around the body of what used to be the door guard. He watched as a crime scene tech removed the military issue rifle that hadn’t even been fired. Frank shrugged and walked several blocks away until he could no longer smell the blood. He took a deep breath, then reached for a metal flask under his coat. He unscrewed the cap and went to take a drink when it suddenly disappeared from his hand.

  “What in the...” Frank squeaked.

  As he stared at his empty hand in disbelief, a giant, hulking figure appeared before him. Startled, Frank took a step back and went for his gun. Finally, he realized that standing before him was Power House, the leader of the Guardians of Earth. Frank had only seen superheroes on the news. Now, standing face to face with the most famous superhero of all time, he couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous the blue and yellow, skin-tight outfit looked. Power House held up the flask. It looked like a toy in his massive hands.

  “Drinking on the job is like riding a horse blindfolded into oncoming traffic. Never a good idea. You should be solving homicides, not drinking. You are an example to your fellow officers and to the civilians, big and small. You...”

  “Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture. What’s a big time super guy like you want with a small town fish like me?” Frank asked sarcastically.

  Power House screwed the lid onto the flask, pinched the top, crushing the metal together, and handed it back to the detective.

  “It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the case you have on your hands. Hawkshaw arrived at the hotel within three minutes of the first 911 call that came into your dispatcher. Since it took Rockhaven PD forty-five minutes to respond, he had plenty of time to process the entire hotel from top to bottom. I assure you, the response time is something I intend to discuss with the Mayor and Chief of Police. I’ll let Hawkshaw explain the rest.”