Villains Pride (The Shadow Master Book 2) Page 7

  Hmm, by the form-fitting outfits, several of the henchmen were women. Hench . . . person? Hench people? Henchers? Yes, henchers should work.

  A couple of the henchers, with MP-5’s hanging from tactical slings, kept watch while others did the loading. Well, if tropes were tropes, then my name-stealing villain should have a midnight visitor any time now.

  Scanning the docks, I spotted a shadowy figure moving like a ninja. Right on time, I thought. Opening my senses, I felt the hero move silently through the night.

  “What do you see, sir?” Sophia asked.

  “A robbery in progress and a vigilante-style hero working his or her way closer to the crooks,” I said, scrolling through the hero list and trying to figure out who it could be.

  “Any guess who the hero is?”

  “I admit I’m not completely sure. But if I had to hazard a guess, it’s Fearless, the blind zen master, perhaps?”

  “Oh lord. Really?”

  “It looks like it.”

  “Let me guess,” Sophia said, typing on her computer. “A white guy who happened to master the mystical Asian arts and is a prophesied white-washing hero and herald of a dawning age?”

  “Surprisingly, no,” I said getting a good look at the hero as she moved in behind a hencher. Fearless silently snaked an arm around the hench and choked the larger man out. The form-fitting, blood-red-and-black costume with a half-cowl revealed several key facts. “It appears Fearless is actually a black female.”

  “Well, hooray for social justice,” Sophia said dryly. “OK, here we are, Fearless. Real name Claudia Cooper, and she lost her eyesight in a freak lightning storm accident. Ever since then she has an electric-sense.”

  “Electric-sense?”

  “She emits small amounts of static around her, allowing her to see the world through an electrical form of echolocation.”

  “That’s . . . really dumb,” I said.

  “You’re telling me, sir. Apparently she also has enhanced speed and strength from the constant surge in her body. Oh, get this—she works for the police.”

  “She’s a cop?”

  “No, even better.” Sophia chuckled. “She’s a police sketch artist.”

  “She was a sketch artist?”

  “IS, sir,” Sophia corrected. “Don’t be an ableist. She still hears what the witness tells her and hand draws the images. She’s very good.”

  “So, works with the police by day, listening in on their private cop-talk, and by night, a vigilante using the knowledge she picked up in the precinct,” I said under my breath. “You know what that sounds like, don’t you, Sophia?”

  “Yes sir,” said Sophia. “A very bad plot for a TV action/hero show. Most likely on FOX, where it would be canceled eight episodes in. So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Of course. Schedule a meeting with FOX once I’m back in my universe. That idiotic premise could be the best eight episodes and a cancellation TV has ever produced. Do you think we can get Aisha Tyler or Rosario Dawson?”

  “I’m contacting their agents now, sir,” Sophia said, typing out an email on her computer. “And for what’s going on down there? What’s your play?”

  “For the moment, I’m only going to watch,” I told Sophia. “Let’s see what this ‘Shadow Master’ can do.”

  From my perch, I watched Fearless silently dismantle all of Shadow Master’s lookout henchers near the shipping crate, while the rest continued their robbery in ignorance. Sigh. This was strictly minor league night.

  Shadow Master . . . wait, you know what? No. I refuse to call him that. I pulled up the app on my phone and scrolled through.

  “Sophia, does the desktop version of this have a better GUI? The app sucks. Everything is truncated and hard to navigate. All I’m trying to do is find the subject’s biographical data.”

  “Go into your settings, sir. From there you have to click on—”

  “No!” I growled. “I’m a goddamn god, not a mouth-breathing consumer. If one is going to make a product, then it should be made to work correctly. This half-ass on mobile trend needs to stop. Now!”

  “Sir. You’re unraveling. You’re not your normal self. I do not approve. Candidly, sir, get your shit together.”

  “Fine,” I said, then calmed myself with three deep breaths. “I’m in the settings. Now what?”

  I could hear Sophia’s smug smile. “From the display, scroll down, click on ‘data presentation.’”

  “OK.”

  “Scroll to ‘hero data,’ click on ‘display all.’ If you want the same for villains, then repeat the process under the ‘villains’ tab.”

  “I have to do this for both heroes and villains? What? A broad functionality was too hard to code? Goddamn Silicon Valley troglodytes. Wait, why the hell does this app need access to my location, pictures, and text messages?”

  “Sir,” Sophia cautioned.

  “I’m clicking, I’m clicking,” I muttered. “OK, done.”

  Following Sophia’s instructions, I could now click on the tabs to bring up the dossiers I needed. Shadow Master, villain, real name Wendell Dench? Really? Poor bastard, no wonder he picked ‘Shadow Master’ as a code name. Powers and abilities—elevated strength and reflexes. But only at night?

  That’s it?

  Oh, Wendell, you unlucky shit. Even that one hero who talks to fish is better than that. But this will not do. No barely empowered villain named “Wendell Dench” can hold my name.

  The sounds of fighting pulled me out of my research. Looking over the edge of the warehouse rooftop, I saw that Fearless had Wendell in a complicated arm lock on the ground. Wendell was screaming in pain while Fearless demanded to know about another shipment coming in.

  I couldn’t give two well-formed shits about the shipments, as there is always “a shipment coming in” in these types of genres. Hmm, who is always shipping weapons and mystery to the abandoned docks in these worlds?

  Note to self: Open a shipping line.

  But dear Wendell’s screams were quite unbecoming for anyone holding the Shadow Master name, even if he was a usurper. It was time for me to make myself known. Putting my phone away, I melted into the shadows, reappearing beside the shipping container. Around me, henchers were laid out unconscious while Fearless manhandled my quarry.

  A small gesture, and a tendril of shadow lashed out, lifting Fearless by the neck and holding her aloft. Satisfied with the struggling hero’s situation, I turned to Wendell.

  “Good evening. I have some paperwork for you to sign.”

  Chapter Eight

  Where I Make a Deal and Stand Aside for Proper Parenting Lessons

  “Who are you?” Wendell asked.

  “Your new best friend, Wendell,” I said with my best smile. “I’m here to give you a new life. Consider me an adviser of sorts. You clearly see what I can do,” I said, helping Wendell to his feet. “If you agree to work for me, then I can empower you with tremendous abilities beyond your current skills.”

  Wendell looked at Fearless, then back at me. “Why are you helping me?”

  Sigh. I’m not helping you, I’m helping me, I thought.

  “I’ve noticed you,” I lied. “You have some skill. But with my help, you could be even more powerful.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I know everything about you, Wendell Dench,” I said, sneaking a quick peek at my phone, then affecting my most earnest voice. “I know all about your being raised by a single mother after your father left. I know about the lab you worked at as a janitor, the only place to give you employment. And I know about the accident in the lab that gave you enhanced abilities. In order to pay for your mother’s medicine, you turned to a life of crime. All of those things are tragic and not your fault. I am here to make your life easier, if you will allow me.”

  Wendell looked at me and briefly sniffed as he wiped at his eye.

  Man, my acting classes were really paying off. If you have the time, and can stomach theater people (you
know who you are, you overly dramatic, breaking-into-song-and-soliloquy pack of assholes), then I highly recommend taking a few improv classes. Especially if you lie to people for a living, or for fun.

  I know a name is a silly thing to put this much effort and drama into. But Shadow Master is right on the cover of the book. Under normal circumstances I would simply end a bug like this, but apparently things get legally sticky when you are trying to duplicate a brand.

  “If you sign this,” I said, producing a scrolled contract and a very expensive pen, “then we can be in business.”

  “Whoa,” Wendell said, backing up a step and crossing himself.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “Look, I appreciate the assist with Fearless,” Wendell said, looking up at the still struggling hero, “but you have to see things from my end. A mysterious businessman shows up from the darkness with a contract? Are you some kind of . . . devil?”

  “No, but I know a few,” I mused while Sophia cackled in my earpiece.

  And that was true. I know many demons. Before all this BS with Lydia, I would frequently have drinks in the Never Realm. I am one of a very select few who know for a fact that the ice water there is delicious.

  Wendell was not smiling. I sighed.

  “No Wendell, I’m not a demon. I am simply a master villain. I wish to employ you. If you work for me for a period of five years, I will empower you. Plus, a stipend of significant funds will be paid to an account of your choosing. On top of that, I will ensure proper medical care be administered to your ailing mother. Do we have an accord?”

  Wendell cautiously took the contract. I saw his hands shaking slightly. He was afraid. Good. He should be.

  “Wait, I have to renounce my name?” Wendell said as he looked the contract over.

  “Just your code name,” I smiled.

  “But I’m the Shadow Master, the Fear in the Darkness.”

  “No, you’re not,” I growled.

  “Oh, oh shit. Wait, I know you. I saw the video on the internet! You’re that sicko who killed the Greek Chorus!”

  “Technically, gravity killed them. But, yes, I am he.”

  “You called yourself ‘Shadow Master.’ That’s my name! I—I could sue you!”

  “This will go a lot easier if you just sign the form, Wendell,” I said, baring my teeth. “You saw what I did to the chorus. You saw what I just did to her,” I said, thumbing my finger over my shoulder at Fearless, who still hung there. “Just what the fuck do you think you can do to stop me?”

  I advanced on Wendell, the air around the docks growing darker and darker. Shadows began to come to life, dancing like impish demons, biting at Wendell’s feet.

  “Wendell, things have been going a little rough for me lately. I’m not of this world, but yet, here I am. While I’m here, I plan on making the best of it. And in order for that to happen, I need to feel whole. And the name ‘Shadow Master’ has been my business name for some time. So, would you like to sign this simple contract, or would you like to be dissected? To the best of my knowledge, once the name is available, for whatever reason, it would be mine regardless. Make a choice.”

  “You—you’re a monster,” Fearless said, struggling with my shadow bonds.

  “Oh, Ms. Cooper, my apologies. Rest assured I have not forgotten about you. But as you can see, I am conducting business, so please don’t interrupt.”

  “Cooper?” Wendell said, holding his hand up so he could only see her mouth. “Claudia Cooper, the police sketch artist?”

  “You know her?”

  “Shit. She’s the reason I got thrown into jail the first time!” Wendell yelled. “Before the lab accident, I was part of a small robbery. Some witness saw me briefly. Thanks to her sketch, I was picked up and positively ID’d. Thanks to that nickel I spent in jail, I couldn’t get a real job or afford my mom’s medicine.”

  “I see,” I said, smiling.

  “My apologies, sir,” Sophia said in my ear. “It appears these two have a linked past. I should have seen it and let you know.”

  “Not a problem,” I said with a smile. “This is providence.”

  “Let her down! I want to take my five years out of her!”

  “Sign the document, work for me, renounce the name of Shadow Master, and she is all yours along with everything else I promised.”

  “You got a deal!”

  Nodding, I handed the scroll to Wendell along with the pen. The supervillain quickly scribbled a barely legible signature. Energy flared along the document and I instantly felt the power of the soul-bind.

  He was now mine.

  “Good, good.” I grinned. Taking a plastic bottle out from my suit’s inner pocket, I handed Wendell one of the pills. “Now, take this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A new beginning. Take it and feel the power of the Shadow Master.”

  Wendell obliged, popping the pill and dry swallowing. With a nod of satisfaction, I used a trickle of my power to activate the pill linking the totem to my world’s power through me.

  When I was trapped in Caledon and had my back against the wall, all I had were my wits and a cellphone infused with power from my world to serve as my totem. It turned out the mastermind behind the coup against me was my own slacker nephew Randy (I know it sounds crazy, and trust me, it was). But, my dear nephew showed me the trick he used to maintain his power: twelve-hour time-release capsules.

  So I did what any good villain, or author, does. I stole the idea and improved upon it.

  Unlike the previous twelve-hour time-release capsule, which was a good idea, my new pills would sit indefinitely until the power contained within was depleted. Thanks to King Stanley’s generosity, I had an active conduit to my realm’s power and an active soul-bind upon Wendell. Therefore, the pill would simply stay put and empower my newest disciple.

  Wendell’s form shifted. He became taller, stronger, and armor-plated.

  How he would go to the bathroom in that armor was his problem.

  His body shifted between shadow and flesh as his new power settled upon him. When the transformation was over, there was no more Wendell. His hulking, shadowy form now resembled a spectral black knight.

  “Rise, my new Wraith Knight,” I said.

  “Good name,” Wraith Knight said, his voice changed to a deeper, metallic sound.

  I didn’t want to tell him I got the name from an indie book title. He looked happy; no reason to take that away from him.

  Wraith Knight looked over his new form, alternating his hands between human and shadow, shaping them into blades and heavy bludgeoning instruments. “I am yours . . . Shadow Master. I will tell every villain I know of your power and vision. They will flock to you. They will worship you.”

  If it weren’t inappropriate, I would have sported an incredible power-trip erection. But considering the circumstances and present company, my man-dangle remained impressive but holstered.

  Well . . . impressive to me. I’m a god, after all. You should see all the neat things I can do. Musing about my member aside, I had a new minion to command. Time to take him out for a test drive.

  “When I release her, what are you going to do? She is a blind woman, after all. Do you have an issue with that?” I asked.

  Wraith Knight looked at me. “My mother always taught me never to treat a woman or the differently abled as lesser than anyone else.”

  Who was I to argue with good parenting? “Have at her.”

  Superhero Fun Fact #3

  In Batman Beyond 2.0 #28 it was revealed that not only did Batman and Batgirl have sex while she and Robin/Nightwing were “on a break”. . . but Batman also got her pregnant.

  Guess the greatest detective couldn’t deduce when to pull out.

  Chapter Nine

  Where I Break in My New Assistant and Ponder the Repercussions for Black Coffee Drinkers

  Topside was a mess.

  Well, it was always a mess; it was a garbage dump, after all. But the dump wasn’t
usually decorated with bloody chunks of what used to be Deep Ones. All around the vault’s entrance were wet fleshy pieces, smoldering chitin, shrapnel, scorched earth, and rancid-smelling, whitish-yellow, pus-like blood.

  “Mr. Blackwell, sir?”

  “Yes, Trent?” I said to the intern as he approached my desk with a cup of coffee.

  Trent seemed a little old to be an intern. He was mid-30’s, Caucasian, and handsome with a strong jawline. He walked with a slouch and wore glasses and an oversized sweater vest that hid his impressive build. His khaki slacks were high on his ankle, and he seemed uncomfortable in them. I estimated he was six-foot-three if he stood up straight.

  I had to repress a smile.

  “Sir, first, thank you for the job,” Trent said.

  “You’re welcome. But get to the point, Trent, or I’ll explain to the temp agency that you left and I never saw you again. The police will find portions of your body a few days later in various dumpsters across the city. Oh, and I will have an excellent alibi.”

  “Heh . . . g-good one, sir.”

  “I’m not joking, Trent. Give your agency a quick call and ask what happened to Ruth and Bryan.”

  Trent began to hyperventilate.

  “Trent, Trent TrentTrentTrent,” I said. “I’m joking. Lighten up.”

  “Oh, ok. Yes, yes sir.”

  I was totally not joking. Ruth and Bryan proved to be inept. They were dealt with appropriately.

  “What do you want, Trent?” I asked, growing impatient.

  “Oh, yes, yes sir. First, your coffee.”

  The ring I wore on my right hand ensured me the coffee wasn’t poisoned. I took it from him and took a sip, nodding in satisfaction. A bundle of nerves or not, Trent made damn fine coffee, and exactly the way I wanted it: a dash or two of hazelnut cream and sugar in the raw for sweetener.

  Oh, if you’re one of those people who have to tell everyone how you only drink black coffee, then I have a retort for you. First, everyone knows you’re an asshole. Every time you spout your black coffee statements in an idiotic attempt to prove some form of machismo, all anyone hears is “Attention everyone: I’m an asshole.”